Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The elevator dinged and its sleek silver doors opened to reveal a carefree-looking Clint Barton, stuffing his face with a mystery-meat burrito. And Steve Rogers, aka Captain America when clad in his red, white and blue Kevlar triple layer bio-weave fiber suit and cowl, briefly looked up from his Starktech laptop and greeted, “hey, Clint.”

“Hiya, Cap! What’s up? Still trying to get a feel for that new laptop of yours, I see,” Clint observed, shooting the last remaining bite of his burrito in his mouth with a slight twitch of the corners of his lips, in imitation of amusement. “It hasn’t died on you, has it?” Clint asked, noticing the slight wrinkle between Steve’s brows as the latter lowered his eyes again to return his unadulterated attention to the laptop’s screen.

“I don’t get it. I keep closing this window that tells me I’ve won the lottery in Maryland, but it keeps flashing back up. I don’t know what I’m doing wrong!” Steve looked up to meet Clint’s eyes again, irritation quite plainly evident in the tone of his voice and the flash of his otherwise clear, robin’s egg-blue eyes. “Please don’t poke fun at me… I swear I got this when I was using the SHIELD-issued tablet, but now it’s like I’m back at the starting line,” the blond groaned, vigorously scratching the nape of his neck with a grimace. He looked about thirty seconds away from picking up the god-awful contraption and hurling it against the nearest wall.

Considering that the nearest wall currently showcased Tony Stark’s high-flying coffee machine that looked like it would sooner launch a Mars-bound pod in an explosion of sparks in all shades found in the bloody color wheel than brew coffee, Clint thought a timely intervention was definitely necessary. There was no need to add an apoplectic Tony Stark in the mix—Captain America nearly blowing a gasket over being repeatedly told that he’d won a Maryland lottery was more than enough.

Then again, it was only ten o’clock in the morning. Plenty of time left for things to get horribly wrong in the Avengers Tower. Natasha hasn’t yet found her favorite Sleeping Beauty pajamas that Clint hid in the collapsible wall of the northeast vent, and she looked more than ready to choke someone out with the teabag string that morning when she tried to casually ask the rest of them about it.

Plenty. Of time.

Clint positioned himself behind the Captain to get a full view of what the latter’s concerns were about and leaned forward, bracing himself against the countertop and peeking at the screen by Steve’s right shoulder. “What are you doing at this site anyway? You’re not looking for porn, are you?”

“We eat here! You think I’d pick here to use the internet to look up porn?!” Steve turned to look at him, aghast but the beginnings of embarrassment were obvious in the pink shades of his ears.

The common floor, as the Tower’s peculiar group of residents has fondly begun to call it, housed the kitchen, dining area, gym, recreation room and reading room. The room was where they commonly assembled—not to face some nefarious villain or save ailing citizens by the thousands but to fight over who gets the first pot of fresh coffee, choose the next movie, pop a batch of popcorn, or suggest the next card or board game—when they got bored. The rest of the rooms comprising the common floor were situated off both sides of the wide hallway, the edge of which faced the elevator, bisecting the main space where the recreation room and the kitchen and dining area were located.

The common floor was brightly-lit during the day by the natural light coming in from the floor-to-ceiling tempered glass windows that could be dimmed on command with the help of Stark’s artificial intelligence and butler, JARVIS that everyone has also begun to fondly consider as an unofficial Avenger. By night, the room glowed from the ever-shining lights of the City that Never Sleeps and the dramatic, if at times over-the-top, mood lights scattered all over the critical points of the area. Comfy armchairs, couches and bean bag chairs littered the floor, especially in front of the humongous flat-screen television and home entertainment system right across from the kitchen and dining area.

While every resident of the Tower had their actual sleeping quarters at different floors of the building—and for Bruce, Stark and the former SHIELD operatives who had their personal laboratory, workshop and training space, respectively, in yet other floors, what undeniably made for home for most of them was the common floor.

“Alright, alright! Don’t look at me like that—all defensive and shit! What are you looking for?”

“I’m looking for book recommendations. I’ve finished the last ones that Natasha suggested. I thought I’d look up some good recommendations in Google, but when I clicked a link to a—what’s that called—a thread? I keep getting these flashing windows and advertisements fill up half my screen! I keep clicking them off, but they refuse to go away. And then I get error notifications like nobody’s business!” Steve complained, pursing his lips in frustration.

He couldn’t really understand what technology had against him. He thought he was slowly but surely getting a feel for this unfamiliar world he’d woken up to a little over two years ago, but every time he thought he had a pretty good handle on things, a newer version of some cockamamie contraption would be shoved in his hands for him to re-acquaint himself with all over again. And every time he thought he could finally have even the vaguest of grasps of a pop culture reference, some other new fad would come and tweak the pop culture landscape. Steve really didn’t know what was worse: to be the last person to get the reference after looking at people knowingly nodding their heads in understanding for five whole minutes; or to be pointedly informed of the reference because people suspected that he wouldn’t know it for they would further suspect that he’d been sitting in front of a bare concrete wall for the past thirty months, mourning the bygone era; or to have to pretend to get the reference when he really couldn’t make heads or tails of the whole thing just so the conversation would not die a quick and painful death, moving forward.

A lesser man would be moved to tears. To noisy, messy tears.

But like before the time he was injected with the Super Soldier Serum, Steve took the punches and celebrated what little victories he could get. Hey—he did know about Google. At least.

“Know what you need? You need a one-stop, have-it-all website to go to. What do you need—book recommendations, movie recommendations, advanced reading copies of novels from upcoming authors, live streaming of documentaries, songs or virtual classes or online discussions and debates about history, psychology, philosophy, pop culture? What else—video instructional of cooking? Baking? Mixed Martial Arts techniques? Didn’t you once ask me if I know of any sites that announce art exhibits, art showcases or just art shows of up and coming artists? Well—have I got a website for you!” Clint elbowed Steve’s body out of the way to gain control of the keyboard so he could type an address on the web browser.

“www.stem.org?” Steve read off the screen with furrowed eyebrows. “This is not some dirty website with nearly naked da—ladies, is it? Because I can still remember the last website you told me to click, Clint.”

In Clint’s defense, he really didn’t imagine that the website was dirty and the homepage was of a group of scantily-clad girls in various come-hither poses, giving a big-ass dildo the best time of its life that left no ambiguity whatsoever as to the nature of the site. Steve was so angry and so embarrassed that he cracked the LCD of—quite unfortunately—Natasha’s tablet that Steve was borrowing at that time. Clint tried to invoke the defense of plausible deniability but ended up owing Natasha a new tablet and Steve some creative and profuse apologies. How was he to know that BOOKIE’S IDEAS was a porn site and Bookie was the name of the goddamned giant dildo?!

“No matter what ‘stem’ means in your innuendo dictionary, Steve, I assure you this is not another name for a giant dildo. This is a legit site and exactly what you need,” Clint countered. The website’s homepage loaded and Clint relinquished control over the laptop to Steve with a flourish like a magician waiting for applause from a captured crowd.

“’Welcome to Stem—a community that is divided into various points of interest that members and visitors alike may explore. The community is divided into Branches, Stems and Veins for easy navigation. Membership is by invitation. Kindly request for the issuance of an invitation by signing up using your email address. The site administrators send out 1,000 invitations every day to those in the queue. Request for an invitation now and enjoy Stem, your one-stop site for any and all requirements of the human condition!’” Steve read off the homepage description. Clint, with a whoop, further directed his attention to another notification at the bottom of the page. “’The site may contain information, works or products for adult enjoyment, but the same may only be accessed by members after an attestation of their voluntariness and age. Despite this, note that Stem is NOT a site for pornography or prostitution, and any member reported to be in violation of this directive shall have their membership revoked.’”

“You will thank—hell, worship me for introducing you to this site, Steve,” Clint elbowed Steve with an excited smile. “You will love it! You want to get book recommendations? All you have to do is go to the Literature branch, then the Book recommendations stem and various veins for the different genres—sci-fi, classics, popular, YA, fantasy, general, mystery, etcetera. You want music recommendations? Stem has a Music branch. You want art stuff—they’ve got it… locations and dates for art shows and exhibits, works up for sale by up and coming artists; they even have a discussion of the different art styles and new developments in the field. They have the Marketplace branch where you can buy old books, collector’s item books, previously owned Blu-ray DVDs for cheap prices, antiques, anything that money can buy that isn’t otherwise illegal! They have videos of how to cook Nutella cheesecakes, audio files of university lectures and talks and fora of various subjects. Stem even has make-up instructional videos—don’t ask me but Natasha is hugely invested in those,” Clint ticked off, animatedly. “They have poetry readings, they even have virtual raffles for special interest coupons or fashion sales or movie premiere tickets. I think Bruce uses this site to sit in on discussions about genetics or whatever it is he gets up to these days. Universities even make use of Stem to host their virtual classroom lectures which members can sit-in for once in a while. You have virtual walkthroughs of museums and expos—if that’s your thing. Stem even has a speed dating vein where you get to meet all members currently logged-in and accessing the same vein and you are given five minutes to chat exclusively with each of them.”

“Speed dating?” Steve raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

“Tough to explain, big guy. But why do I have to explain when you can live it?” Clint wiggles his eyebrows with a devious smile, gesturing at the laptop with another flourish. “This is like YouTube, eBay, Facebook, Skype, Goodreads and Amazon all rolled into one. It’s fairly new and it’s currently getting a lot of talk among netizens,” Clint explained, walking towards the fridge, flipping its door open and rooting around for some soda.

“Netizens?” Steve asked, testing the roll of the word in his mouth.

“Come on keep up with me, big guy! Netizens… internet citizens,” the archer answered with a slight roll of his eyes. “You’ve been around in this century—what—almost three years now? You have to remember these things! No wonder Stark doesn’t like talking to you,” Clint said, offhandedly. Steve knew that Clint meant no offense by that, but it still made Steve’s shoulders fall a smidgen. Clint could hardly be faulted for making that observation because he was only stating a fact—after nearly twenty-seven months since he and Stark first encountered each other in that quinjet, transporting Loki from Stuttgart and shortly thereafter, fighting for their lives in the Chitauri invasion, and after two and a half months since Steve decided to move into the Tower after the kind but insistent urging of Ms Potts, he and Stark are still no better than strangers to each other. If strangers could fight side by side in an alien invasion, share a shawarma dinner and the occasional meal, debriefing or movie, that is…

Steve could actually count his notable encounters with Stark since they met using the fingers of just one hand, loath as he was to admit it. He couldn’t understand it—how they could bear to fight bad guys, face life-threatening risks and put their lives on the line or in the hands of each other and not talk. He could imagine two people who truly hated each other’s guts actually talk more than they did. Even if it was only to hurl invectives at each other.

Now that Steve thought about it, he couldn’t remember the last time he saw Stark around. Man, people who lived in the same damn house shouldn’t do this!

“Stark doesn’t like talking to me because he thinks I’m self-righteous, and that has nothing to do with my command of the 21^st century… at all,” Steve countered, shifting in his seat to put his face closer to the screen so he could better read what he had to do to get a membership to this Stem thing.

“Hey since we’re on the subject of Tony… I thought you were going to lodge that request for your friend’s commitment—how’s that coming along?” Clint, as subtly as he could, steered the conversation to what he thought was a less sensitive topic.

Bucky’s commitment with a view to full rehabilitation.

Ever since Steve and his friend, Sam Wilson, successfully lured James Buchanan Barnes—Bucky—back to New York after a merry chase all over the blasted country that lasted for a couple of months, Steve had been languishing with the remnants of the agency that was SHIELD and Stark Industries—the Avengers’ unofficial sponsor—for any sort of plan or arrangement to have Bucky committed so he could make a full recovery after decades and decades of mind wipes and brain washing by HYDRA or any such nefarious organization that the Red Room—the one that Steve and Sam discovered to have been primarily responsible for turning Bucky into the Winter Soldier—mooched from.

“It’s in red tape hell. I’m trying to figure out the procedure for a request of this magnitude, and all I’ve been able to accomplish so far is irk Ms Potts because of my unrelenting follow-ups on that informal written request I filed. She always lets me down gently by telling me it’s in the agenda but I don’t even know what in blue blazes she talks about most of the time,” Steve said, gnashing his teeth to keep from showing any more of his displeasure over the current state of things. “I know it’s not my place to push this because I don’t know what mountains and oceans need moving for something of this scale, but I really, really want to do something for Buck, and I know he’s not going to get any better in that middling institution where he is right now. The extent of their expertise is to inject Paracetamol in his IV drips,” Steve continued, combing a hand through his blond hair and averting his worry-filled gaze from Clint back to the screen of his laptop.

“All I’ve gleaned from my clipped conversations with Ms Potts is that Stark is the approving authority, and without his signature, Bucky may be waiting for another sixty years before he even sees the hem of a specialist’s lab gown,” Steve mouthed. His finger may have been too hard on the mouse button as he clicked the link to queue his email address for Stem membership invites.

“Well—now is the perfect time to try to get to Tony’s good side then. Maybe you can bond in one of the Stem veins,” Clint jokingly suggested.

“I don’t know. I mean, you get along with Stark—well—better than I do. Maybe I should be taking your advice,” Steve grudgingly admitted. “How do you get along with Stark anyway?”

“I always make a point to talk about his favorite person,” Clint replied, taking another swig of his soda.

“Which is? Ms Potts? Colonel Rhodes?”

“Himself,” Clint provided with a casual shrug. “I never presume to know more about technology or some such shit than he does. And—I hate to admit it—the guy knows his stuff. So I just let him talk and sometimes we debate about the propriety of delayed trigger or EMP arrowheads and I let him humor me. I make one or two negligible suggestions that he can completely ignore. He’s not really as much of an asshole as the tabloids say he is. He is arrogant and sarcastic, but get him talking about stuff he knows like the back of his hand and he’s like a completely different dude. And I guess, the key to Tony is that you shouldn’t—and I mean shouldn’t—try to impose your will on the guy. He’s headstrong and he does get into the defensive if you try to call him out on his bullshit,” Clint explained, tapping the side of his soda can against the edge of the countertop in a staccato beat.

“So we just let him bully us, is that it? So the key to a good relationship with Stark is to let him push us around?” Steve asked, incredulous. He slapped the lid of his laptop closed to give Clint his attention.

“That’s not what I meant,” Clint denied, slightly shaking his head. “Tony considers himself a smart guy. And he is, in some aspects. And what I’m saying is, there is a certain manner of agreeing to disagree with a guy like that without openly throwing shit to his face. You, I’m afraid, have yet to… figure out that technique. So what happens is that you rub each other in all the wrong ways,” Clint concludes. He tilted his head to finish off what was left of his soda and then slammed the can flat on the countertop. “It’s like… instead of saying right out that ‘You’re wrong,’ you should instead say ‘what about if we explore other options?’ Subtlety, Cap. You try to assert yourself without ruffling feathers in the process.”

Steve looked at Clint, perplexed and mildly unconvinced at the concept that the latter was trying to expound on.

“See—you’re the type of person who wants other people to be upfront with you. If they have a problem with you, you want them to say it to your face, right?” Clint prompted, and Steve inclined his head in grudging agreement to the archer’s assessment. “Because you are a straightforward kind of guy. That’s you… that’s who you are. Only you cannot assume that of other people. You especially cannot assume that with Tony. And that’s why there’s this tension between the two of you. Because you want him to do what you do and tell you exactly what he thinks of you, but he doesn’t want to; and he’s the type who doesn’t do anything unless he wants to. So what results is this strange…dance between the two of you, which I must say is occasionally fun to watch.” He bumped a closed fist against the countertop as if to accent the point he wanted to drive home. “Natasha and I are exceedingly entertained. I think—but don’t quote me on this because I will go to my grave with adamant denial on my lips—Natasha may have decided to move into the Tower precisely to bear witness to you and Tony’s enjoyable dynamics. She might have said something about a similar exchange in the helicarrier, but I wouldn’t know about that because I was on my temporary stint as a mindless Loki lackey,” Clint finished with a self-deprecating snort before standing up and mildly stretching.

“I have introduced you to the joys of Stem and tried my best to shed some light in the darkness that is your association with Tony Stark, so I say, my work here is done. And I will see you on the bridge, Captain Kirk!” Clint gave a mock salute before pushing the elevator button. The elevator doors dinged open as if the machine had been waiting for Clint to leave the common floor all that time.

Steve’s only acknowledgement of the archer’s departure was a forceful but otherwise silent exhale through his nose, unsure if any such light was shed at all.

###

The doors to Dr. Bruce Banner’s laboratory hissed open and Tony Stark sauntered in like he owned the place, which technically, he did. He made his way into the lab like someone with a single-minded purpose and looked every inch like the powerful tech magnate that he was if it could be ignored that he was wearing tattered stonewashed denims, loafers darkened by grease and a worse for wear Metallica muscle shirt over a gray long-sleeved shirt, the sleeves of which were about halfway down his forearms, exposing his Girard Perregaux Opera Three watch on his left wrist that Bruce knew for a fact cost roughly the GDP of a small country, and a red and gold elastic loom band on his right that Bruce also knew was a gift from a cancer-surviving kid who proclaimed himself to be Iron Man’s biggest fan in Good Morning America.

Tony Stark always was a walking, breathing contradiction, in Bruce’s genius-level opinion.

“You do know that you are walking into a sterile environment, and you are, in effect, bypassing about four decontamination protocols, don’t you?” Bruce scathingly said, giving Tony the once-over with a severe frown through the top of his eyeglasses. The doctor’s gaze lingered on Tony’s offensively filthy loafers like he wanted to yank them off their owner’s feet and throw them to the nearest fire.

Bruce may have been a nuclear physicist by profession, but he has been known to dabble in many fields of science: genetics, immunology, cellular biology, bio-organics, quantum electrodynamics, thermo-nuclear astrophysics, biochemistry, and medicine, among others. So it was no wonder that his laboratory was an amalgamation of these many fields of interest.

Tony made a cursory sweep of the laboratory space with his ever-twinkling golden brown eyes and took in the bleeping machines, rows after rows of microscopes of varying resolutions atop stainless metal tables, miniaturized particle accelerators, several electron microscopes, a centrifugal compressor, wooden tables half-buried in wads of paper, books, journals, computer print-outs, the huge banks of flat screen computers intermittently situated in different sections of the lab—of which only Bruce would know about, the comfortably convenient walk-in cryo chamber in the far side, what was most likely the incubation chamber a considerable walk across from cryo that was separated from the rest of the space by ominous glass and stainless steel partitions and decontamination pockets with fiber glass panels, an inoculation chamber, lab coats, hazmat suits, aprons, gloves and a baseball mitt in various states of shabbiness, and a fair amount of uncapped pens, pencils, ballpoints, fountain pens and colored Sharpies that made for the familiar—and surprisingly homey—space that was unquestionably Bruce’s.

Tony made a mental note to make a firm refusal should Bruce invite him to the floor where he actually slept—if Bruce even actually slept there and not in the lab. 

“Please don’t insult me, Bruce. As if you really have dangerous specimen under culture here that I don’t know about. Besides, as your host, I have a standing and irrevocable invitation to each and every floor, chamber, corner, crevice, compartment, cupboard and cabinet in this entire building at any and all times of the day or night,” Tony retorted by way of greeting, emphasizing his nifty use of alliteration and plucking a rolled-up sheaf of papers from the rear pocket of his jeans and brandishing it to the doctor.

“What’s up?” Bruce inquired, looking at the papers in Tony’s hand that were being held out to him.

“I need you to countersign these.” Tony pulled Bruce’s free hand and shoved the papers in it with a clipped, close-mouthed smile.

Bruce unrolled the papers and gave them a cursory glance, without really discerning what they were about.”Care to tell me what I’m being asked to put my name on here? I wouldn’t want to find out later on how I’ve signed over my soul to the devil or pawned my yet unborn spawn to the fey,” the otherwise meek and unassuming doctor tried the aura of mildly amused but slightly curious.

“Rogers’ request for re-allocation of the budget to provide for his friend’s de-programming,” Tony answered with a slight twitch of an eyebrow, as if daring Bruce to ask another question or provide contrary arguments against what the papers would set out to accomplish.

“You want to finance Barnes’ rehabilitation?” Bruce asked, slightly taken aback by what he thought he’d heard. Narrowing his brows and biting the corner of his lower lip, Bruce crossed his arms over his chest and asked: “why?”

“Why not?”

“Is that really Avengers business that absolutely calls for a re-alignment of the funds? I mean—what’s the justification? Doesn’t that mean, like, a boatload of work for Pepper to be able to sell to the Stark Industries Board to obtain their approval?” Bruce inquired further, casually leafing through the papers in his hands but with a critical eye.

“There’s no need for Board approval. Funds have already been set aside for this kind of eventuality. It just needs to be specifically identified and directed to an end—this end—but the mechanism requires for a countersignature before the approving authority’s sign-off for cogs to start turning,” Tony rattled off. He lazily leaned his hip against Bruce’s messy table while absent-mindedly rifling through the papers, newsprints, blueprints, candy wrappers, pen caps, stress balls and rags on the tabletop. Wrinkling his nose, Tony held up what looked like a wire, about two feet in length and wrapped around an electrical cord that looked like it had been chewed through by god-knows-what. “Do I even want to know?” Tony asked him with an ‘is this for real?’ expression on his face while holding out the wire-and-cord mystery lab implement.

“Don’t give me that look because I’ve seen your shop, Tony, and it looked like a crime scene,” Bruce huffed, yanking the wire thingy from Tony’s grip and stuffing it in the oversized pockets of his lab coat.

“In my own defense, that splatter of blood you saw when you came down to the shop was a one-off because there had been an accident with Dummy,” came the indignant argument.

“And you couldn’t have asked Clint or Tasha to countersign these because...” Bruce prompted the other man so they could get off the topic of who’s the messier genius because with Tony, that conversation could absolutely stretch for days. Days.

“They’re still, technically, affiliated with SHIELD. Anything they sign-off on would still have to be reported and threshed out by what’s left of the agency. There are still some obscure departments of it that are functioning. I don’t want them to have to clear this with some bumbling, low-level clearance idiot that’s still running that place to its very last legs,” Tony argued with an uncharacteristically serene half-smile. “Oh, and Thor’s still in Tulsa with Jane’s team. So—hmm—who else is left then? Come on, genius Bruce. I’m sure you’ve already reached the same conclusion as I have.”

“And you, yourself, couldn’t have signed off on this… Remind me why again?”

“Jesus! Remind me to play twenty questions with you the next time you want to order for pizza,” Tony groaned. But with a pout and teenager-like huff, he deigned to answer, “I am signing as the approving authority on this, but I can’t very well countersign and then approve the same thing now, can I? I am a genius but even geniuses are occasionally subject to the system—for purposes of checks and balances, accountability and some such horseshit. Now, can you please sign it already so I can leave your lab because that very curious smell like fresh warm piss is starting to overwhelm me,” Tony plowed on, daintily making a show of flicking a forefinger on the tip of his nose and making a gagging face.

Bruce plucked his pen from the lapel of his lab coat, bent over the table and affixed his signature in the spaces where he thought it was needed, but as he handed Tony the signed pages, he couldn’t help but needle some more. “You know, you still haven’t answered the question of why you’re pushing for this,” Bruce observed. “I hope you’re not doing this for Steve to start owing you and getting off your back when you bungle stuff during response incidents. Because that’s low even for you, Tony,” the doctor said as offhandedly as he could.

Tony just saw it fit to swallow the no-doubt sarcastic quip that was threatening to spill from his mouth and just smiled wanly. This was a new level of maturity for him—he usually had no qualms about giving people a piece of his mind since—hey!—there was a lot of it to go around with him being a genius and all. Plus he really, really liked the sound of his voice.

But he would sooner gouge out his eyeballs and shave his elegant and trademarked goatee than discuss with Bruce the exasperated complaints and shrill reminders that were getting more and more creative by the day from Pepper or the uncertain but sneaky looks and stares from Rogers that seemed like he had several choice words to tell Tony, but Rogers was just too decorous to say them. Either that or he couldn’t say the cuss words without making himself blush a bright puce.

“Like I said, you’re a genius, Brucie-baby. You’ll figure it out,” Tony, his words dripping with playful sarcasm, answered, snatching the papers back from Bruce before the latter could do anything more with them. “Oh—and if the good Cap asks, don’t make me out to be some kind of bleeding heart martyr that championed his cause because we both know that, as a businessman-slash-industrialist-slash-futurist, I always have ulterior motives with a view to self-preservation, or profit, or both. Let’s try to not give him the wrong idea,” Tony reminded, stuffing the papers back where they came from.

“What—don’t want him to know how deeply you care?” Bruce jested with a dramatic hand over his heart. Needling Tony was always a good pastime especially since Bruce knew that nothing irked Tony more than the emphasis of his apparent and cool indifference towards the rest of the team and towards the Captain, in particular.

“Stop lurking in Stem and get some work done, asswipe…” Tony, by way of parting words, spat with a shit-eating grin while signaling the nearby flat screen with a roll of his golden brown irises and a wiggle of his well-defined, mahogany brown brows.

A computer window was open, showing an active Stem vein with a raging discussion on genetic engineering.

“I was working before you started bugging me. Dick!” Bruce called out at Tony’s retreating back as his way of ‘Catch you later!’ and to conclude their banter for the time being.

Bruce snorted, shook his head with an amused smirk and went back to work.

Chapter Text

Steve was getting a snack of yogurt in front of his laptop on the dining table when Natasha Romanoff came into the dining area, trailed by Bruce.

Natasha—one of the most deadly women alive by Steve’s estimation—made her way to the kitchen counter behind Steve, slinging a towel over her shoulder. She was attired in a Lycra training suit that hugged her body in all the right places, leaving nothing to the imagination of a lecherous man, which could only mean that she must have come from the gym for an afternoon of giving grief to one of their free-standing punching bags. She pulled the right fridge door open, lifted a water bottle from the middle door ledge and, opening the cap with a vicious twist, took a huge gulp of what she’d labeled ‘detox water’.

Steve could still vaguely make out the lemon wedges and mint leaves floating in her drink.

“Tasha’s helping me make dinner,” Bruce volunteered the information just as Steve was about to ask him if he’d come from the gym also.

Bruce hated sparring just as much as Stark did and spent as little time in the gym as possible unless he got dragged there, kicking and screaming, by either Ms Potts or their ‘handler’, Maria Hill—formerly of mostly defunct-SHIELD, and then he’d begrudgingly get on the Stairmaster for a couple of minutes to humor them before making the quickest, most cunning escape.

“I think oven-roasted chicken quarters sound good—with a nice herb rub, don’t you?” Bruce asked, flipping cabinets open for the necessary kitchen implements.

But Bruce loved, loved to cook. He’d claim that his cooking was nothing fancy, but because he’d missed the domesticity of cooking so much while he was on the run in the past, he always volunteered to cook either breakfast or dinner for the Tower residents when he wasn’t busy with some time-sensitive experiment in his laboratory. Sometimes, Natasha or Steve or both would offer to help—well, because Steve thought that was the least he could do to pull his own weight. He really didn’t know and he didn’t want to have to hazard a guess as to why Natasha would occasionally volunteer a hand with their meals. He sure as hell hoped that it wasn’t because she was trying to poison them little by little or something.

“Sounds good. And some veggies on the side? Or mashed potatoes, maybe?” Steve offered, momentarily taking his attention away from his laptop screen to look at his teammates.

“I think I’ll make cold potato salad,” Natasha interjected breathlessly, returning her water bottle to the fridge door ledge and wiping her face with her towel.

“I’ll give you guys a hand,” Steve decided, pushing his laptop lid down and moving to get up from the table.

Bruce pursed his lips with a slight quirk of the corners. Before Steve had managed to shut his laptop off, Bruce was able to catch a glimpse of the very unmistakable layout of the Stem website. “Getting acquainted with Stem huh? What—Tony couldn’t help rubbing it in?”

Steve could have snorted. Like Stark would really sit down with him and tell him anything! Unless it was to reprimand him for getting the first drip of the morning coffee, or to make fun of his ‘grandpa’ khakis, or to snort at his battle strategies, or to interrupt him during meetings, or to just sit there and be his unambiguously cocky self, Stark didn’t really know Steve existed. Or if Stark knew, he refused to acknowledge it anyway.  Steve couldn’t even remember when he’d seen Stark last. Or if Stark even still lived in the same Tower with them.

“No, ah, it was Clint,” Steve answered, wanting to keep things simple and uncomplicated. He knew that if he got started on the issue of Stark, they’d be there roasting chicken quarter after chicken quarter for days.

“You’ll like it. Have you gotten your invitation yet?” Natasha butted in, arms laden with plastic-wrapped packs of baby potatoes, parsley, mayonnaise and ham, which she spread out on the table by Steve’s laptop.

“Clint did say something about you being on Stem. And you, too, Bruce,” Steve said with a slight snicker. “Yeah, I just got the confirmation request.”

“Maybe Thor’d also be on Stem when he gets back. It’s definitely something Jane would get him hooked on,” Natasha said, earnestly beginning to prepare her salad by putting on water to boil for the potatoes.

“Not unlikely,” Bruce agreed.

“And Tony’s on Stem, of course,” Natasha assumed, maintaining her characteristic, emotionless, poker face that she’d argued once was her ‘resting face’.

“Well, he knows about Stem, yes. I think Stark Industries analysts might have had a hand in the coding and the development of the site for public consumption, but I don’t think Tony’s on Stem. For one thing, he thinks it’s a stupid, waste of time,” Bruce said, peeling the packaging off the chicken quarters.

“And that’s from the man who posted a comment on the page where his own sex video was uploaded? Not anonymously, I might add… He seriously needs to review the meaning of ‘stupid, waste of time’ in that case. Isn’t he supposed to be smart?” Natasha muttered before following that up with some nasty-sounding Russian that were, without a doubt, swear words in all possible hues of the color spectrum.

“You already know that Tony has a problem with playing well with others. An internet-based community as thriving as Stem must send him running for the hills, screaming bloody murder. He can hack anything with the best of them without batting an eyelash, but I don’t think his skill set includes rubbing elbows, virtual or otherwise, with other people,” Bruce told Natasha but also looked at Steve from out of the corner of his eye. “I mean, don’t get me wrong; he can charm the pants off anybody—anybody, when he needs to, but he seldom finds the need to or stubbornly refuses to find the need to.”

“Volatile,” Natasha mouthed. “I think I put that in my report for the Avengers Initiative.”

Bruce jerked his head, conceding the point.

“Well, you know him best, Bruce,” Steve added after clipped silence had passed with them just fiddling with herb containers or chopping ham.

Steve was a bit taken aback to hear that Stark, who was the self-proclaimed ‘Overlord of Pop Culture’ and one of the most updated when it came to anything that had to do with technology of the here and now, was not a member of Stem, which was fast becoming the website that no self-respecting citizen of the 21^st century would be caught dead missing out on. It was weird that a fossil like Steve would be ahead of Stark in something that remotely resembled popular culture or technology. 

Natasha turned to Steve again with an unguarded, soft smile while absent-mindedly scrubbing the grime off baby potatoes for her salad. “So what’s your username in Stem?”

“shield_storm… I know, I know—it sounds a bit childish,” Steve conceded, his neck and jaw turning a bit pink. “But I drew a blank when I was asked to provide a username. I thought putting Captain America for my username was going to be in poor taste.”

“And it would’ve already been taken,” Natasha cut in, winking in amusement. “That’s another thing about Stem that might have put Tony off,” she turned to Bruce who was intent on getting the right proportion for the rub in a big, ceramic bowl. “After all, he just loves it when people know exactly who he is.”

“So what are your usernames?” Steve asked. He just wanted to change the topic already. He’d just realized that he’d been talking about Stark almost all day—with Clint that morning and now with Natasha and Bruce. To think he still couldn’t remember for the life of him when he’d last seen the man!

“Mine’s red_halo84,” Natasha said. “I think Clint’s is better.than.L3g0145, but I can’t be absolutely sure. So you better ask him later.”

“fluent.deviant,” Bruce said with an over-the-top curtsey. “You can add us as your ‘chums’.”

“Wait… you can do that?” Natasha asked, momentarily distracted from tipping semi-skinned baby potatoes in the boiling water. Bruce wordlessly nodded, rearranging the chicken quarters sans rub on the tray so they’d get a uniform dusting of the mixed herbs, spices and seasoning.

“Yeah, so you’d get alerted when your friends—or ‘chums’ in Stem lingo—are logged in or whenever they updated or posted,” replied Bruce.

Bruce was still discussing some features of Stem that would’ve been known only to near-pioneer users of the site like him when the elevator dinged. None of them took any notice on the assumption that it was only Clint, since Stark was never known to be around the common floor at that hour.

“Don’t you people have anything better to do than talk about Stem?!”

Steve was jolted out of his wistful study of Bruce, Natasha and the finer points of Stem when who should stroll like a king into the kitchen but Tony Stark himself. Steve blinked away his lazy smile and schooled his face into a more neutral expression, silently thanking the powers-that-be that Stark chose not to walk in on them earlier while they were talking about him like fish wives. He went back to animatedly mincing white onions on a chopping board like he’d never seen anything more interesting.

Stark plucked a green apple from the steel tub in the counter nearest the elevator, rubbed its surface against his shirt featuring some rock band or element in the periodic table and took a hearty bite, noisily slurping apple juices into his chewing maw.

“Don’t tell me…” Stark faced Steve with a theatrical expression on his face. “You’re now part of the foliage?!” To which Steve’s only reply was a quizzical look on his face.

“It’s not called that, Tony!” Bruce chastised. “Being a part of Stem doesn’t mean you become foliage. It’s not a fern or a tree!”

“What’s it called then?” Stark challenged, taking another noisy bite of his apple.

“It’s not called anything! You’re just a member—a member of Stem,” Bruce countered, patiently powdering the underside of the chicken quarters on the stainless tray for an even coat.

Natasha ceremoniously placed a chopping board with clumps of parsley and a knife in front of Stark with an ominous pout. “Make yourself useful, Tony and roughly chop those,” she nodded towards the greens.

Stark looked at the chopping board like it had just insulted his goatee. Stark had never helped in the kitchen before. Unless pressing the ‘on’ button on the coffee machine counted as ‘helping in the kitchen’.

“So what’s for lunch?” Stark asked, still pointedly ignoring the clumps of parsley before him. He took another huge mouthful of apple.

“Dinner,” Bruce emphasized. “Chicken and potato salad.” He heaved the huge tray of the chicken and shoved it into the pre-heated oven. He straightened up and looked at Stark, then at Steve. Then, pregnant with unspoken meaning, returned his gaze to Stark as if expecting one to clobber the other on the nose without warning.

Steve’s eyes also meandered then from Bruce to Stark, trying and failing to get what those looks could possibly mean. First, Stark showed up in the common floor when there was still no food, no mandatory movie night that he had been coerced to go to, no coffee in the machine! And then, Bruce just started looking at them funny… What the devil was happening?!

“I don’t see you chopping,” Natasha observed, still sporting her resting face. If it were Steve she had directed that statement to, he would have hopped to. But Stark just looked at the greens again and bit the side of this bottom lip but otherwise remained motionless.

“What is so monumental about Stem that interests you people?” Stark said ‘you people’ like he had just described dog shit on the soles of his Testoni dress shoes.

“It caters to the human condition; it satisfies the mundane requirements of social acceptance and belongingness; and it’s cool,” said Bruce, finally giving Steve and Stark a reprieve from his energetic eyeballs.

Stark just glowered at the word ‘cool’ straight out of the lips of Dr. Bruce Banner, nuclear physicist and genius extraordinaire. “They got you hopping on the bandwagon, eh, Cap?” Stark turned to Steve again with what he hoped was not a haughty smirk.

“He’s a newbie but he’ll learn the ins and outs of the veins in no time, I’m sure. He’s curious and bold enough to try it out and not be a complete hypocrite about it—unlike some people,” Natasha spat, her expression gradually darkening as the greens before Stark remained untouched.

Steve wanted to erase his face with his palm. He didn’t want to be in the middle of this. At all. He quickly finished mincing the onions and pulled the chopping board of parsley closer to him. Those greens weren’t going to cut themselves and Stark sure as hell wouldn’t be cutting them himself even with the threat of death by Natasha’s thighs looming before him.

Stark made a show of looking around to see if the people that Natasha was referring to were hiding behind him. “I realized I couldn’t be part of a system where the username iron-man_supreme_being was already taken. Can you believe the gall of some people?!” Stark huffed. “I bet you couldn’t even take Captain America as your username. Right? I mean… ‘cause I’d sue if you were able to take Captain America and all that they could suggest to me was iron_man246 because there were 245 others with the same username!” Stark blabbed on, munching intermittently on his apple. “You give your life, your money, your company, your inventions—all for the greater good. Do they really have to take your name and your identity on Stem, too? Fan-fucking-tastic!”

“Can I put you as a chum, Steve?” Natasha asked, completely disregarding Stark’s monologue.

“Sure thing. I’ll add you, too. shield_storm, in case you’ve forgotten,” Steve replied with a bashful smile. He only realized belatedly that those were the first words he’d contributed to the conversation since Stark entered the kitchen.

“The Earth’s Mightiest Heroes, ladies and gentlemen,” Stark quipped, self-assuredly shooting the apple core to the trash bin with a flick of his loombanded wrist just as Bruce opened the cabinet to throw some paper towels.

###

Tony left the common room, whistling to himself. As far as he knew, no one noticed that he hadn’t meant to run into anyone when he decided to go to the common floor to grab something to eat. He hadn’t eaten since lunch the previous day—not that anyone was keeping tabs. Even JARVIS had stopped doing so, when it became clear to the AI that Tony wasn’t about to develop regular eating habits in the next twenty years even with all the reminders, notes-to-self, alerts, calendar entries or mandatory phone calls from Pepper in intervals of every eight microseconds.

At least, he was sleeping regularly. If you would call sleeping every three or four days or so, regular. Then he was sleeping regularly.

After his operation to take out the shrapnel in his body and the arc reactor, and the subsequent titanium plate implant on his sternum and the skin grafts on his chest, Tony actually was able to sleep well for the next week or so. And then there were the completion of the remodels in the Tower, the New York city-wide rehabilitation, the scandal involving SHIELD—exposing the flaws and loopholes in the world’s intelligence apparatus, and the re-organization of Stark Industries to make room for the mechanism to sponsor the Avengers Initiative when SHIELD got taken out of the picture. Suffice it to say that Tony was back to getting four-hour shut eyes every 72 hours in no time.

The elevator dinged on the level of Tony’s workshop and he exited with a noisy exhale. Before he left the common floor, Bruce promised to call him through JARVIS as soon as dinner was ready. The doctor didn’t even put up a fight to try to keep Tony in the common floor to socialize with them like a normal human being. He, after all, owned the whole place; he had no business being a recluse and an antisocial in his own turf.

But he felt… awkward. He could have cut the awkward back in that common floor with a blunt knife.

“Don’t be a snob—join them in meals, watch TV with them, rib them—hell—ask them to play Marco Polo in that big ass basketball court in Basement 3 for chrissakes! Make them feel welcome! You poured money into the Initiative to take it out of SHIELD or out of reach of any government body. You fought tooth and nail to get this thing established under the wings of SI. You remodeled an entire building to house anything and everything you might need to keep this going. Making your new roomies feel welcome is the easiest thing left to be accomplished,” Pepper had discussed with him, sitting him down like a child.

“You know I’ve never been good at sharing the sandbox, Pep. I get antsy. It’s one thing to charm donors at a benefit dinner, or to snag a girl for a one-night stand in a gala—which I haven’t done since we started dating, by the way, or to grab the attention of delegates in a science convention, or to sweet-talk graduates with a speech or a well-delivered quip during career fairs, but it’s a different animal entirely to develop long-term rapport with people I’m going to have to see and deal with… on an everyday basis! The only ones I’ve ever dealt with that often for the past ten years were you and JARVIS. And goodness knows you only tolerated me for that long because I used to pay you before I started dating you and of course, in the case of JARVIS—because I fucking made him! Not a very good track record, if I do say so myself,” Tony had explained, crossing his arms over his chest and his right leg over the other with a puff of breath that would’ve shamed a diva.

“What—you think they’ll hate you? You sponsor the Initiative, house them, buy groceries by the truckloads for them, arm them, clothe them… They’re not ungrateful assholes, Tony! They know what you’ve done and what you’re doing to keep this thing going. But you should not stop there because these are people, Tony. They’re not machines that can be programmed to love you. They’ll not hate you but you’ve got to give them more for them to like you—and trust you, and respect you,” Pepper had continued. “You will be fighting beside them, risking your life and limb with them—which I still absolutely abhor, you know that, but that’s a discussion for another day. That kind of trust-based relationship will take nothing short of epic to be able to achieve. And you can’t just throw money at them and expect friendship in return. Come on… you can do this. God knows you need them to work well with you because your very survival may be at stake. And just think about what’ll happen to me if something bad happens to you and all because you can’t be bothered to play well with people on your own team!”

When she’d put it that way, Tony was putty in her hands. Tony would do anything and everything for her.

Although admittedly, it was causing him a lot of discomfort to try to do what needed doing. Especially with some members of the team.

With Bruce, the connection was natural. It was spontaneous that it hardly needed any effort on both their parts. They got into talking about breaking the Coulomb barrier and the rest was history. Bruce occasionally doubling as Tony’s therapist was also a bonding point for the both of them.

With Clint, it took a bit more effort but at the end of the day, it was still easy-peasy. He and Clint were similar in a lot of ways: they were both playful, sarcastic, flirtatious and incorrigible in their antics. He knew he had Clint’s vote in movie choices, pizza toppings, favorite threads, music, supermodels to invite to bed. It was only a matter of time.   

With Natasha, it was tricky at best. The lady was fucking scary on a good day and downright murderous on days when Tony suspected she was suffering from PMS. But he got on Natasha’s good graces when he got on Bruce’s and Clint’s because Natasha was uncharacteristically protective of both men. And Tony thought upgrading the Widow’s Bite didn’t hurt his bid for a morsel of Natasha’s favor. He was reasonably assured that she wouldn’t kill him without fair warning, at the very least.

With Thor, the connection was at times spotty because the guy wasn’t around long enough to really establish something concrete. But during the times that Thor was home in the Tower, it was simple and unpretentious. The God of Thunder was difficult to not like, and it was equally difficult to offend him because he was an affable guy. Thor could be formal and overbearing at times but he was a big softie inside. Tony was only too glad to have to put things on hold whenever Thor returned to the Tower because both of them had developed a liking for TiVo, Rock Band and Just Dance, which Tony would sooner go to his grave than admit. He was hoping Clint would never find out or Tony would never hear the end of it.

It was a different story with Captain Steve fucking Rogers. Tony couldn’t put a finger on it but there was something about Cap that screamed self-righteous prick to Tony’s face in all possible languages known to man. Was it Cap’s voice? His military bearing? His All-American wholesomeness? His bashfulness when it came to innuendo or his authority when it came to strategy? His being battle tested in fucking World War II? His friendship with Tony’s asshole of a father? Tony couldn’t really tell. But there was something, alright. And Tony guessed there was also something about him that Cap detested. Was it Tony’s natural charm? His effortless magnetism? His smarts? His money? His arrogance?

Why fault a guy for something he couldn’t help but have, really? Was it Tony’s fault he was naturally charming especially to the press? Sure, the press loved Captain America but the guy was fucking stiff! He didn’t know how to smile during interviews—even those previously taped ones! He didn’t know how to humor the paparazzi or the ambush interviewers. He was easily rattled when in the wrong end of a camera. Cap may be the cute, boy-next-door type, but it was Tony’s devilish charisma that always got the Avengers trending in social media all the time! Cap could take all the fucking credit in the field but it was Tony who made them loved the world over.

It wasn’t Tony’s fault he was smart. It wasn’t like Cap was an idiot—the Super Soldier Serum gave him eidetic memory, for sobbing out loud. He could memorize street maps and fucking replace Google Maps or GPS! It was unreasonable to begrudge Tony for his prodigious intelligence. It wasn’t Tony’s fault he could disarm a remote-detonated explosive device with a paperclip, a barbecue stick and some band-aid in less than thirty-seven seconds while laboring beneath thirty tons of reinforced concrete with Nirvana blasting in his Mark XLIII’s speakers. It wasn’t arrogance and a clear disregard for protocol! Tony thought there was nothing to it, so he got in, got out, day saved!

It wasn’t Tony’s fault he had money either. If anything, that would be Howard’s fault. So what if he bought the entire seating capacity of the Dolby Theater just so the six of them—along with Happy and Pepper—could watch Swan Lake? He didn’t want the discomfort of having to sign autographs every three minutes, kiss babies or get stared at because people were waiting for him to do something awesome. It even proved advantageous when Thor started to bawl like a newborn halfway through the show or that even Natasha got teary-eyed… Now that was something Tony would bet his kidneys no one'd ever seen and lived to tell the tale.

It was true that Tony could be accused of being overzealous when it came to his wealth. He had never so much as batted an eyelash when he bought one day’s worth of gate receipts for the Wizarding World of Harry Potter so that Iron Man’s cancer-surviving fan and friends—there were about eleven of them—could have a run of the entire theme park and go crazy; or when he bought Desmond Merrion couture suits for the guys and a Swarovski-studded Dolce gown for Natasha for the Veterans Gala last month so they’d look awesome when they made their entrance—hello!

Rogers had glowered at him and insisted on coming to the affair in a brown, frayed ensemble that had definitely seen better days before the Vietnam War and called Tony an egotistical cad who liked to rub it in people’s faces that he was rolling in dough. Tony had hoped Rogers didn’t see him flinch because that almost offended him. And Tony didn’t take offense easily—he always took pride in having the composure to just let insults roll off his back.

It peeved him more knowing that Rogers was convinced of Tony’s self-importance especially with regard to being Iron Man.

Rogers had always been coy and self-effacing when it came to being the Captain America. Tony had always noticed that Steve liked to downplay his role in the last World War, or the sacrifice of his life, or his war-waging against HYDRA. He didn’t like to be told of his exploits, his achievements, his contribution to the present state of things—it always embarrassed him to no end. He once said in a magazine interview that he was always uncomfortable that people knew who he was or that people would celebrate what he’d done by putting him on a shining pedestal when in truth, he was just a flawed, damaged man like everyone else—it was just that he was given a remarkable opportunity that he decided to make the most of.

Tony thought the man was un-fucking-believable!

And Rogers obviously resented Tony’s pride at being Iron Man. Now, Tony didn’t like downplaying anything that Iron Man had done. He’d become a self-proclaimed nuclear deterrent, told Senators where to put theirs, exposed the custom-made terror threat that the Mandarin was, and he’d piggy-backed a nuke and unleashed hell on an alien army, saving thousands of New Yorkers in the process. To say that Tony basked in the public’s admiration was an understatement.

He fucking loved it! If he could date it, screw it, marry it and have babies with it, he’d have done it already.

Why wouldn’t he? People used to love to hate Tony Stark. He’d been in the public eye even before he built his first circuit board at age 4, initially because he was a child prodigy; he was a rich Versace-wearing kid who was going to be the Einstein of his generation or something. Then, the public watched him because they were envious of his wealth, his family name, his way of life. After which, they kept on watching him because of pity—that he’d just lost his parents and inherited this vast fortune that he wouldn’t really know what to do about. Later on, they kept watching still, just wanting to catch him screwing things up.

But Iron Man happened to him. And Iron Man was the best part of him. People kept him in their radar because Iron Man meant something to them more than Tony Stark ever did.  Iron Man was his cocoon; he became a new man because of it. He became something more than just the rich guy who whored around and threw benefits and made weapons to blow stuff up. There was nothing to be ashamed of with what Iron Man was or what Iron Man had done. If Tony could take pride in having been called ‘The Merchant of Death’ once, he could very well do so with equal aplomb, if not tons more, as Iron Man.

And Rogers could fucking suck it!

Pepper had once tried to make sense of the dysfunction between him and Rogers. And her professional assessment boiled down to: they just didn’t know each other well enough. Tony had been too tired that day to give a rat’s ass.

He was practically skipping as he made his way to the bullet-proof glass wall with a glowing embedded security panel that hid his workshop from the elevator. “Daddy’s back, J. Open sesame,” Tony enunciated and the pneumatic doors hissed open just as he crossed the threshold without having to break his stride.

“How’re we doing with the decryption of the files we pulled on the Ultron Program?” Tony’s hand closed into a fist and called into clearer focus a seemingly innocuous panel of blue holographic folders.

“We are at 4.8% on the available files, Sir. We are encountering some form of resistance on certain files you flagged yesterday from Dr. Pym’s secure servers. And based on the algorithm you coded, we are continuously finding hits with reference to the Ultron Program. I am decrypting said files as we find them,” JARVIS reported with his cool voice and comfortably familiar British accent.

“And how long will it take to get a general idea on a possible starting point to begin theoretical analysis?”

“With the current decryption rate, factored against the rate of finding additional hits based on your algorithm, 5.5 days would be a fair estimate. As soon as we hit 18% decryption, we may be able to see a skeletal landscape of the Program’s beginnings, Sir.”

“Keep at it, J,” Tony murmured, waving his hand as if swiping at curtains to scan the holographic files before him. “Say JARVIS… what’s the current membership count on Stem?”

The best thing about JARVIS was he didn’t judge or raise virtual eyebrows no matter how peculiar Tony’s question or request may be.

“It is at 567 million worldwide, Sir.”

Tony whistled. “That many, huh?” He made to ball his palm into a fist again like crumpling paper over a holographic image, stretched his arm as if to throw something and hit the virtual trash bin near the ceiling. A peal of slot machine jackpot sounds reverberated all over the place. “How’s the Stem system’s coding taking it?”

“The coding that Mr Kingman and Ms Stone developed with your assistance is holding up quite well, Sir, as the expansion was well anticipated and the code was developed under specific but reasonably fluid parameters that it can compensate for the membership demands.”

“And there’s no unnecessary stress on the infrastructure? Lag time? Glitches? Mass hackings?”

“Nothing that continuous code pushing cannot reasonably respond to.”

“Stem’s certainly leveled up from its humble beginnings as the rudimentary Stark Industries intranet, huh?” Tony smirked inwardly. The official founders and developers of Stem were Thomas Kingman and Leila Stone, former self-employed consulting analysts at Stark Industries, and no one—no one else knew the extent of Tony Stark’s involvement in the internet phenomenon that was Stem. As far as the consuming public was concerned, Tony Stark was no one other than the former CEO of a company that bought ads on Stem version 1.0. Today, it would take a considerable amount of digging for anyone to hit the gold deposit that Tony Stark actually and personally owned interest in the corporation behind Stem—not through Stark Industries—but in his own name!   

He was even given an administrator username, initially, but he converted it from administrator to regular about six months after Stem version 1.0 was launched. Eat your heart out, Bruce!

“JARVIS, log me in on Stem and give me a holo-keyboard,” Tony commanded. It had been a long time since his last log in, but Tony typed his password using the holo-keyboard, fingers flying on thin air, as if his last were only yesterday.

Welcome Back, heir2mecha.realm!, the log-in page greeted him.

“Remind me where I was last, J. Bring up my history trail complete with virtual breadcrumbs,” Tony requested, plopping down on a swivel chair, leaning back and putting his entwined hands behind his head. “And, on another window, pull up all activity for fluent.deviant. I think I’ll take a peek at what gets Bruce so hooked up on this thing.” Tony had the gall to giggle like a nosy, stalking school girl.

“And all the activity on shield_storm, too, JARVIS, if you don’t mind.”

It was about time to really see what made Steve Rogers tick.

Chapter Text

A red holographic flag jumped from out of the corner of Tony’s eye complete with a pachinko ball ding. Tony turned from his current review of possible improvements to his initial plan of a suit stealth mode and noticed that the flag was an alert to a post by shield_storm, the Captain’s alter-ego on Stem. “Ah—getting busy, aren’t we, Rogers?” Tony wheeled his swivel chair from his current project to the floating holo-screen and –keyboard devoted to his ‘Stem stalking’ as Tony was beginning to think of it like so.

Literature Branch_

Book Recommendations Stem_

General Interest Vein_

shield_storm wrote:

Hello everyone! I’m new in this community, but I’m very much interested in discovering new friends as well as getting my fix of good books. I’ve been busy these past couple of years and I feel like I have a lot to catch up on.

Please let me know if you have any good books to recommend. I’m not picky and would love to read just about anything, although I do also find art, history, mystery and spy stuff to be quite fascinating.

I will be waiting to hear from all of you, and thank you very much in advance!

Crossing an arm over his chest and biting a thumbnail between his teeth in contemplation, Tony tilted his head to the side and sniffed. The man sounded so formal—like he was asking some dowager countess for her hand in marriage! And Rogers said he’d been busy these past couple of years?! Try seventy! Having a lot to catch up on was such a gross understatement, too. Any responders to this request would be well within their rights to sue for false information. 

But as he watched, considering the overly courteous but still vaguely impersonal tone of the message, the page pinged several times and actual responses from other Stem members started to appear beneath the original request. “Whoa! I guess suckers really are born every minute and most of them are on Stem! Can’t believe people’d actually fall for this shit. Jesus—there’s nothing cute about it! It’s sickening!” Tony spat, actually reacting to a particular response, with a hand towards the offending message on the holo-screen as if pointing out to JARVIS to get the AI to agree with him. “This is a nonagenarian walking around as a 29-year-old, going for ridiculously polite in a social networking website where no one has any idea who the fuck he is, and they think it’s cute?! Note the username lily.of.the.flames, J. I’m hacking this bimbo’s account tomorrow! I will end her Stem existence,” Tony said, baring his teeth in a malicious sneer.

“Might I make a suggestion to reconsider the hacking, Sir, as it may jeopardize the entire infrastructure of the system which you, yourself, had a hand in building?”

Sometimes, Tony hated JARVIS’ level-headedness.

“Fine,” Tony conceded, slightly frowning. “It’s mind-boggling that Rogers goes on Stem to ask for books?! You would think a guy in the prime of his life is going to haunt the Mingling Veins in all established Branches 24/7, flirting his head off to rectify seventy years’ worth of celibacy—but no! He wants books,” he said out loud, engaging the omnipresent JARVIS in conversation. “He’s so clean and wholesome that I feel absolutely filthy by comparison—and no, JARVIS—don’t you dare reply to that.”

“I wasn’t going to waste my breath, Sir.”

Sometimes, Tony hated JARVIS’ cheek, too.

Tony raised both arms and signaled the holo-keyboard to come close to him. “Can I just say some of these recommendations are bullshit and all wrong for Rogers? These people are working on the assumption that Rogers needs to catch up on just a couple of years. These recs are too recent and too popcorn. They don’t know what I know, and I feel like I have a moral responsibility to reply because I know better.” He poised his fingers over the holo-keyboard, pursing his lips in thought.

“Of course you do, Sir. After all, you have known Captain Rogers for twenty-seven months, two weeks, four days, nineteen hours and eight minutes.”

Maybe not know like friends know each other, but Tony knew Rogers’ type, alright. It wasn’t like it was hard! “Yeah, he’s gonna hate some of these books, like Timeline? What?! Even if it’s history-related, it hits too close to home—I mean time travel, really? He’d be out for blood. But maybe… hmm…” And Tony began to type with nimble, elegant, and long fingers over the hovering holo-keyboard.

Literature Branch_

Book Recommendations Stem_

General Interest Vein_

heir2mecha.realm replied to storm_shield’s post:

‘Sup? Yeah, about that request for book recommendations, maybe you’ll like (1) Dan Brown books featuring the Robert Langdon character (i.e., Angels and Demons, The Da Vinci Code, The Lost Symbol, Inferno). They’re mystery novels with art and spy stuff thrown in; you’ll be racing through them. You should also look at (2) The Name of the Rose by Umberto Eco, which is a historical murder mystery set in an Italian monastery in the 1300s, but though the setting’s a heck of a long time ago, it’s really good—very intellectual; (3) The Diary of a Young Girl by Anne Frank, which is an actual diary kept by the author while she was in hiding for two years with her family during the Nazi occupation of the Netherlands; and (4) To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee, which is a Pulitzer Prize winning book that features themes like racial injustice and loss of innocence that while set during the Great Depression was only published in 1960. It’s also notably related to the Civil Rights Movement which is a fairly important historical era.  

For your mystery and/or espionage-related requirements, you can check out (5) John Le Carre books, notably Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy or The Spy Who Came in from the Cold; and (6) Robert Ludlum’s Bourne books.  

So, there you have it. Hope you’d enjoy poring through these. Cheers!

Tony skimmed what he’d typed with a critical eye. “It doesn’t sound cheesy or cloying, does it, J?”

“Quite neutral, Sir. And you’ve made some remarkable suggestions, too, if I may add. Very cerebral.”

“Aww, you’re just saying that,” Tony cooed, hitting Submit and watching his response join the throng, not thinking much of it. After all, if Rogers was pretty impervious to any suggestions from Tony in the past, what were the odds that these suggestions would even be given a second look, really? But irrespective of Rogers’ natural impudence, Tony thought he’d already achieved quota on his good deeds for the day. So he wheeled away his chair from the holo-screen again, intent on getting back to more fruitful endeavors.

###

With a pregnant sigh, Steve shut the tattered copy of The Diary of a Young Girl that he’d bought just that morning from a used books kiosk after his morning run. He clutched the book between his palms, basking in the weight and warmth in his heart that came with finishing the book. He loved it so much that he didn’t stop reading until he finished it, foregoing a trip to the gym as per his usual routine, eating lunch or any meal for that matter, watching the noontime news on CNN and hanging out in the dining area.

He just barricaded himself in his bedroom and read. And read. Until he was done.

It was beautiful and poignant, heart-breaking and honest, painful but at times amusing. And to think it was written by a 14-year-old! Steve thought that the author’s thoughts were quite powerful despite her youth. She seemed so enlightened in the way she saw her world of war and fear, pain and hiding.

It brought so many of Steve’s own memories—good and bad—to the fore. But surprisingly, the assault of memories didn’t make him sad or angry as he usually was, but just thoughtful… and thankful. That he lived through times of war and found himself in this time and place, still with the same strength of character to be a force for change here and now.

He didn’t know he could feel like this. Because of a book.

And he smiled wistfully, reminding himself to get back in that Stem vein and thank the member that suggested it. There wasn’t anything special on that message that suggested that book, but he remembered the book’s title when he saw the tattered copy in the bookseller’s. And thought—what the hell? So he bought it, read it and was damn glad that he did!

Steve rushed out of bed to go to the sitting room still on his personal floor where his open laptop was idled. He logged in on Stem and reviewed the page where he requested for book recommendations last night shortly before dinner.

There it was. Written by heir2mecha.realm. And there were other book suggestions, too!

Steve clicked the username and opted to send a Privy—or private note.

Privy to heir2mecha.realm_

shield_storm wrote:

Hi there! I just finished reading The Diary of a Young Girl and it was AMAZING! Thank you for suggesting it. It was very intuitive on your part. Because of it, I’m now also interested to see your other suggestions and hope that they’d be as great.

I cannot thank you enough, really!

He clicked Submit and went back to his original post, intent on listing down heir2mecha.realm’s book suggestions on paper when his laptop pinged.

There was a reply to the Privy. Steve wasn’t really expecting a reply so soon.

Privy to heir2mecha.realm_

            heir2mecha.realm replied to shield_storm’s Privy:

That was fast!!! Then again the book wasn’t that thick, but still… Do you speed-read or something? No worries. Glad you liked it. I read it a long time ago and I thought it was amazing, too. Get started on the others then. I have a feeling you’ll like them as well.

Let me know, OK? Maybe I can make this a career to fall back on or something. ;-)

Privy to heir2mecha.realm_

shield_storm wrote:

I wasn’t expecting a reply from you so soon. But hey, it’s great to hear from you again!

I just read really fast, I guess. And the book was so engaging that I couldn’t put it down. I think I’ll read To Kill a Mockingbird next. I’ve always been interested in the civil rights movement.

You’ll definitely hear from me again if your other recommendations are as good as this one.

Steve sent the reply and continued studiously copying the book titles and author’s names that heir2mecha.realm mentioned. Shortly though, he was interrupted by the shrill hooting of his mobile phone.

“Steve Rogers,” Steve mouthed. Natasha had teased him about being so formal when answering his phone, but it had already become a habit that was proving really hard to have to kick.

“Hi Steve! It’s Pepper. I’m calling about that request that you filed for the commitment of Sergeant Barnes,” Ms Potts’ characteristically bouncy voice sounded from the other end of the line. There were ambient sounds of whirring machines and what sounded like tapping heels in a brisk trot, competing with her voice.

“Oh thank you for your call, Ms Potts. I hope you have some good news for me,” Steve said, clutching the phone tighter against his ear. He hoped the sound of breathless expectation was not so evident on his voice, but he, hearing himself, thought it was.

“It’s been approved already. I got sent the email with all necessary signatures for full approval early this morning and I’m expecting the hard copies of the papers by the end of the week. We can begin the necessary processing, the Sergeant’s release from where he is right now and his transfer to a secure medical facility, and the engagement documents and non-disclosure agreements for his doctors and specialists. Let’s talk when I get back to New York, OK? So we can be on the same page as to where to go from here, you know, if there are restrictions, tests, any need for isolation for a given period of time or something,” Ms Potts trailed off.

“Thank God! Thank you very much! I know I gave you a lot of grief, pestering you for weeks about this, but… thank you! This means a lot to me and to Bucky, most especially. Just let me know when’s most convenient for you for that meeting. Thank you very, very much, Ms Potts!” Steve gushed, unable to contain his relief and happiness.

“Steve, please, please call me Pepper. I really hate this Ms Potts business. While I didn’t have anything to do with the approval, I’m glad to be the one to finally give you this news.”

“Thanks so much again, uh, Pepper,” Steve shyly intoned before their quick goodbyes were said and the call was disconnected.

Steve stood up, a new spring in his step, stuffed the paper of book recommendations in his front pocket and left his floor to go out to celebrate the news of the critical first step to Bucky’s recovery—maybe get some hotdogs or ice cream and look for a copy of To Kill a Mockingbird.

###

Two stale sandwiches, one burrito, one ‘nap’, seven coffee cups, two tumblers of that chlorophyll gobbledygook that Dummy liked making, three abandoned upgrades, one solder burn, two welts, four bathroom breaks, two showers, one forearm abrasion, three texts and one call from Pepper, five buzzes from Bruce, 6% additional snail’s pace of a decryption program and 96 hours later, Tony Stark was cranky, dead on his feet and sporting a hot/cold pack on the side of his head held in place by a purple stretchy headband.

“We’re never going to meet the 5.5 days as initially projected on that preliminary decryption, are we?” Tony muttered, craning his neck from side to side to try to fix the aching stiffness but he was starting to realize the futility of it.

“I’m sorry, Sir, but the volume of the file influx is disrupting a more or less uniform decryption rate. I’m trying to interpose a prioritization program on the incoming files to extract the more significant ones from the less so. But it seems we may have to add an additional 4 days to our initial projection to reach the necessary 18% for theoretical groundwork of the Program.”

“Great,” the engineer moaned, scratching at his ear with a sullen expression. “Suspend the file searching algorithm for the next 48 hours and let’s see if we can’t pick up the pace.” He made a decision.

“Done, Sir. Perhaps a nap will be helpful at this time?”

“I already slept 56 hours ago, JARVIS,” Tony said like his AI just knowingly gave him some wrong data. “Give me something to work with here, J. Come on.”

“shield_storm just wrote you another Privy, Sir. That makes two in the past 60 hours.”

Tony waved for the holo-screen and –keyboard again and with immense curiosity began to read.

Privy to heir2mecha.realm_

shield_storm wrote:

Hey, I got a second-hand copy of To Kill a Mockingbird and it was also awesome! Atticus Finch is probably one of my new favorite characters now! That’s 2-for-2 for you, Mecha!

I also got a copy of The Da Vinci Code and I will let you know what I think as soon as I finish it.

This is really tremendous.

So if it’s alright with you, may I know if you’re male or female? I’m just curious because I have another friend who gives me really good book recommendations and she’s a she. So I want to know if giving good suggestions for reading material is a woman thing.

Thanks again and talk to you soon.

Tony’s lips quirked in mild amusement. He decided to check out the other unread Privy from shield_storm.

Privy to heir2mecha.realm_

shield_storm wrote:

So The Da Vinci Code is action-packed, and it made me want to go to The Louvre again. I’ve only ever been there once, a long time ago. I don’t remember seeing the La Joconde but the book made me want to see it in person real bad. I can only imagine all the other art masterpieces mentioned there. It also made me want to research about all the historical references like the Priory of Sion.

It was really good, too. This got me reassessing what made me interested in art in the first place.

You must be busy. But I thought I’d drop a note to thank you for suggesting this one. I think I’d go scour other bookstores for the other Dan Brown books. Thanks again!

3/3

Tony’s eyebrows must have been steadily disappearing towards his hairline as he was reading the Privies, one after the other. It was unbelievable!

Tony actually thought he’d been Punk’d when he received the first Privy from Rogers. He had nearly choked on his precious cup of coffee. The Steve Rogers actually read his message and read one of his suggestions! So it was true what they say that there was always a first for everything because that was definitely a first. But this… Man, this was priceless—near mint! The Steve Rogers thanking him for getting something right?!

Whoa! He must have bashed his head harder than he thought on one of the robotic arms he was calibrating earlier because he got zapped in an alternate universe and he didn’t even notice it!

He must say, too. These Privies were about the longest things Rogers had ever said to him without the benefit of a scowl, a grimace, a forceful exhale, furrowed eyebrows or outdated curse words. They were also about the most civil words Tony’d ever heard Rogers say to him. They even sounded almost friendly…

Before Tony could overthink things as he was known to do, he pulled the holo-keyboard closer and began to type a response.

Privy to heir2mecha.realm_

            heir2mecha.realm replied to shield_storm’s Privy:

You are very welcome! So I have a perfect batting average so far, huh? Let’s see if I can keep up the winning streak. I think Atticus Finch is a BAMF (Bad-ass Motha-fucka!) and he’s a good, complex enough character as far as literary characters go.  

Regarding your gender question—I am male. I’m so sorry to disappoint. What about you? If I have to guess I think you’re male, too. Am I right?  

I don’t know if giving good suggestions is a female thing but I can definitely tell you that my girlfriend is really good at it. When she makes suggestions, I have two options: take them or else! Now that’s power!  

I have been to The Louvre fairly recently. And I must say, it never fails to amaze and humble me at the same time, to be in the presence of the works of great men and women, to be standing there listening to the echoes of the past… Wow… Makes me think about what I would be leaving behind for when it’s the future generations’ turn to look at what we’ve done…  

So if you don’t mind my asking, what is your interest in art? Do you just like looking at art, reading about them or are you also an artist yourself? 

I’m not as busy as you might think. I have many projects on my plate, but nothing I can’t handle. So yeah, thanks for the Privies. It’s nice to note that I make good suggestions, too, once in a while. It’s an ego-boost.  

‘See’ you around then!

“It doesn’t sound presumptuous, does it? I mean, it’s not like we’re friends based on a few virtual exchanges, right?” Tony asked for JARVIS’ opinion as casually as he could muster.

“Not presumptuous at all, Sir. Although you do seem to exhibit a fair curiosity about his interest in art.”

“That’s OK, hmm? He did exhibit some form of curiosity about my gender so this makes us even,” Tony tried to justify. And then he hit Submit absent-mindedly and logged out of Stem.

“Time, J?”

“It’s 2:06 in the morning, Sir. Perhaps a reconsideration of my suggestion for a nap?”

“Not yet. Hmm… log me back in and show me fluent.deviant’s activity.” JARVIS pulled up a transcript of Bruce’s Stem alter-ego on one side of the holo-screen. “The good doctor likes to Mingle! Have I ever tried Mingling before, J?”

“You have never attempted to Mingle on Stem before.”

“It’s like a chat room, right?”

“That’s correct.”

“Can’t believe Bruce gets off chatting with complete strangers about genetics when he can use this as a means to at least try to get laid!”

JARVIS didn’t bother gracing him with a response.

Tony’s eyes went back to the record of Bruce’s Stem activity on the holo-screen. “The man is a near-permanent fixture in a Mingling vein! I may have to consider an intervention and commit him to an institution for Stem addiction, JARVIS!”

The engineer-billionaire pursed his lips and brought his clasped palms to his lips. “Find me an interesting Mingling vein with a few nocturnal lurkers, J. Let’s see what Bruce sees in this shit.”

Movies Branch_

Movie Recommendations Stem_

Mingling Vein_

heir2mecha.realm is currently mingling.

“Interesting. Nothing’s happening,” Tony smartly observed. So much for all the hoopla!

He was two seconds away from logging back out when the holo-screen pinged.

Movies Branch_

Movie Recommendations Stem_

Mingling Vein_

heir2mecha.realm is currently mingling.

shield_storm is currently mingling.

“What is the good Captain doing up and Mingling at 2 in the fucking morning?” Tony asked, directed more at himself than at JARVIS. But he looked at the screen with bated breath.

shield_storm: Hey!

heir2mecha.realm: ‘sup?

shield_storm: So either you’re nocturnal or you’re in another time zone

heir2mecha.realm: What’s the time where you are?

shield_storm: around 2 am

heir2mecha.realm: same time zone then. It’s just that I seldom sleep.

shield_storm: So I Chummed you. I hope that’s ok

Tony looked up at the ceiling as if prompting JARVIS to tell him what the hell that meant.

shield_storm: I added you as a friend so I get alerts when you post something or when you’re online. I hope you don’t think that’s creepy. It’s a Stem feature.

heir2mecha.realm: course it is. No worries. Not feeling stalked at all. :-)

shield_storm: you’re right by the way

heir2mecha.realm: about what?

shield_storm: I’m male.

heir2mecha.realm: Ah-hah! My hunch was correct!

shield_storm: I really appreciate your book suggestions. I don’t think I’ve ever spent this much time doing nothing but read.

heir2mecha.realm: careful. You don’t wanna turn into a bookworm. Or a nerd

shield_storm: haha. Here I’ve always thought dorks are better…

Tony almost laughed at that but checked himself. When had he ever found Rogers funny before? That’s right. Never.

heir2mecha.realm: so we were talking about books but I find you here in the movie branch…

shield_storm: I kind of followed you here.

shield_storm: when you put someone as a Chum, you can see when they’re online and where they go in Stem. I am creeping you out, aren’t I

The engineer gave a surprised jolt at the idea. He’d had stalkers before but the idea of Captain America stalking him was more intriguing than disturbing really. He didn’t think Rogers had it in him.

heir2mecha.realm: I should hang around here more. Clearly, I don’t know enough about that feature.

heir2mecha.realm: don’t worry about it. I’m not getting that much stalker vibe from you.

shield_storm: well day’s still young

heir2mecha.realm: tell you what… the moment I get stalker vibe from you, imma run screaming in the opposite direction. Deal?

shield_storm: sounds good.

heir2mecha.realm: correct me if I’m wrong but I think I asked you a question about your interest in art…

shield_storm: I draw a bit. Sometimes I paint, but nothing remarkable. I didn’t get around to being a professional artist. It’s more of a hobby, really.

heir2mecha.realm: so if you’re not an artist by profession, what do you do?

Tony regretted asking almost as soon as he pressed Enter on his holo-keyboard. This was getting too presumptuous already. It was a pretty personal question. Flinching, Tony waited if shield_storm was going to answer at all.

shield_storm: I’m a soldier. I was in the army.

heir2mecha.realm: that’s a noble profession.

shield_storm: yeah. But I got discharged already

heir2mecha.realm: injury?

heir2mecha.realm: sorry. Hey, you can tell me to get lost if you don’t want to talk about it, man.

shield_storm: it’s alright. It wasn’t an injury. It’s kind of tough to explain. I wasn’t needed anymore. So I moved on.

heir2mecha.realm: what’s keeping you busy now?

shield_storm: reading

heir2mecha.realm: smart ass

shield_storm: :-)

shield_storm: I’m involved in peace-keeping of sorts

Tony shrugged. As far as candor went, Rogers wasn’t bad at revealing and, at the same time, not revealing anything.

shield_storm: what about you? What do you do that doesn’t require sleeping much?

heir2mecha.realm: I’m an engineer.

shield_storm: Really? I know someone who’s also an engineer.

Tony’s breath hitched. Could Rogers possibly be thinking about talking about him—Tony Stark—to a supposedly complete stranger?

shield_storm: He’s kind of a... housemate of mine

The engineer couldn’t help but snort at that. Oh the irony…

heir2mecha.realm: so you’d know about the hours that engineers keep then. You can completely understand the ‘not sleeping much’ bit.

shield_storm: I guess.

heir2mecha.realm: so does this mean that ex-army peace-keepers also don’t need much sleep?

shield_storm: I used to sleep a lot. It came to me how much time I wasted. So I don’t sleep as much anymore. Plus when I was still in the army, I could sleep on command or sleep only for 3 hours and still function ok. So yeah. It’s still early anyhow.

heir2mecha.realm: what did you decide to read next after The Da Vinci Code?

shield_storm: Tinker Tailor yada yada. The one by Le Carre.

heir2mecha.realm: oh yeah that’s good too

shield_storm: Listen, I was thinking about what you said in your last reply

heir2mecha.realm: which one?

shield_storm: I hope you don’t find this weird. It’s just something you said…

shield_storm: you said being in the Louvre never fails to amaze and humble you. About being able to listen to the echoes of the past.

heir2mecha.realm: yeah…

shield_storm: and you said something about legacy—what you’d be leaving behind for future generations to remember you by.

shield_storm: I think it’s a nice concept, like a time capsule that you’d leave behind. That was deep. It was very insightful.

What Tony had said in his reply was something he always thought about. And no one—not even Pepper knew how often he thought about it. What was he leaving behind for future generations to remember him by? He had once been known only as Howard Stark’s genius son. He hoped that by now, he’d already have made a name for himself, separate and detached from his father. He wanted nothing to do with Howard’s legacy. People had never really understood why. Sometimes, even Tony couldn’t understand it himself. But that was how he felt.

Legacy became a mild obsession on his part when he’d thought he was going to die of palladium poisoning. Then, the crisis passed and he didn’t think about legacy again until that day in the helicarrier before the Chitauri invaded. When he and Rogers were trading those insults like collectible baseball cards.

He wasn’t a hero. Sure. Tony knew and acknowledged that. He wasn’t altruistic; he had never been. He was more of a pragmatist, really. But Rogers’ slurs that day stung like he never expected they would. And he got into thinking about legacy again. Was he going to be remembered as the self-absorbed rich kid at the helm of a former smart-weapons manufacturer? Or was he going to be remembered as Iron Man—the Avenger who carried a nuke to outer space and saved Manhattan? Was he going to be remembered for his scandals posted all over the internet? Or was he going to be remembered as the philanthropist who donated entire wings to various hospitals and gave money for charity?

Tony didn’t know and he couldn’t tell. But he sure as hell hoped it could be for something inspiring.

heir2mecha.realm: I guess everyone comes to that age when you start thinking about that time after you’re gone. Who would be around to remember you and how would they remember you by?

shield_storm: well, that’s out of our control, isn’t it? We can’t really command others to think about us in a certain way just to satisfy our ego or give us peace of mind. They think what they want to think.

shield_storm: And all we can do is what good we can, while we can, and hope for the best…

heir2mecha.realm: I think I get what you mean.

Tony gave a thoughtful chuckle. Why couldn’t he and Rogers have had this conversation before? Just sit down like two mature individuals so they could talk about where they were coming from, what their motivations were. Instead of snarling at each other every chance they got and thinking the worst about the other guy.

He was still quite far from changing his opinion about Rogers. One 2 a.m. chat room exchange wasn’t going to cut it. But seeing a different side of Rogers, like this, helped Tony in trying to understand the man’s ideals. Rogers was no longer a one-dimensional cut-out figure. Rogers was still a self-righteous dick, but he was a dick driven by his own unique impetus. Tony could admit that much.

heir2mecha.realm: thank you. That was something to think about and keep me further awake. :-)

shield_storm: haha. this 2 am conversation just got too deep

heir2mecha.realm: yup. This is a conversation that is too deep until they start distributing the scotch and then it’s not too deep anymore.

A charged silence passed without any reply from shield_storm that Tony thought the other man had already logged out without any warning.

shield_storm: thank you too. Haven’t had this much to think about in a while. Didn’t realize how much I missed it.

heir2mecha.realm: what—having something to think about?

shield_storm: having someone to talk to about things I’m thinking about.

Tony paused, fingers motionless over the holo-keys. What was he doing? What was happening? What was he getting himself into? But he threw caution to the wind. How many times would he and Rogers ever talk like this again?

heir2mecha.realm: no worries. you’re welcome.

Chapter Text

Natasha shut the fridge door in her usual manner after taking out a chocolate milk carton with her name on it. Steve flinched because he thought the sound of the fridge door closing was too loud that morning.

“You look like shit,” Natasha observed, taking a swig of her chocolate milk. “So Captain America still gets headaches even with the Super Soldier Serum infusion? Hmm, I don’t remember the intel reports saying anything about that,” she said, flipping the cap back on the carton, closing it.

“Of course I still get headaches, Tasha. I wasn’t turned into a machine! It’s actually even worse for me because pain medication, or any anesthetic for that matter, doesn’t work on me. My blood processes the meds and passes them out of my system too quickly for the effects to be felt. So I get the full brunt of the pain… without any way to alleviate it but to ride it out,” Steve explained, kneading his temples with the fingers of one hand. “The joys of being me.”

“You didn’t get any sleep last night,” Natasha said. It wasn’t even a question; it was like she just knew what caused Steve’s splitting headache.

“I don’t need to sleep all that much. Serum made sure of that.”

“But you still need some sleep. And you didn’t get any last night.”

Actually, it wasn’t just last night. He had only been sleeping for about an hour for two nights before last because he’d been reading such awesome books. And last night, he didn’t sleep at all. He had stayed up wide awake all night long, talking and joking with heir2mecha.realm.

Steve had been on Stem less than a week and he was already pulling a sleepless night Mingling. This was what a lack of social life did to a person.

“You’re not having nightmares, are you?”

“No, not recently,” Steve vehemently denied. What was he going to tell Natasha? That he was up all night Mingling in Stem talking to a real nice, witty and smart guy who gave him awesome book recommendations? He hadn’t even said it yet and already it sounded pathetic!

“I was reading. So I didn’t get any sleep. What I was reading was really good,” Steve defended.

“You weren’t up all night lurking in Stem, were you?”

How was it that she knew everything?! “Nooo,” Steve denied hollowly. “I might have been on Stem till late last night, but it wasn’t the reason why I didn’t get any sleep.”

“God, you’re starting to become worse than Bruce,” Natasha said, knocking her milk carton against the side of Steve’s closed laptop that was in front of him on the dining table. “You weren’t on the Speed-dating vein were you?”

“Nope, I was talking about books to this guy and it got really interesting,” Steve finally owned up to a teeny, tiny part of the truth.

“A guy, huh?”

“He made some really good suggestions. We got into a bit of a debate about Atticus Finch.” Steve further let on, tweezing the words out of his mouth. He really didn’t want to have to tell Natasha anything. Not the topics they talked about, not the jokes, not heir2mecha.realm’s sense of humor and depth, not how he found himself chuckling at heir2mecha.realm’s quips and gibes. That he had completely lost track of time and before he knew it, daybreak was coming.

“To Kill a Mockingbird. It’s a good book. I was going to suggest it to you, but looks like someone already beat me to it,” Natasha joked, smirking. “If you’re going to be worse than Bruce on your devotion to Stem, you’re going to need something more portable than your laptop. Goodness knows you can’t keep toting that thing everywhere just to be able to access Stem.”

“What do I do?” Steve asked, considering the dimensions of his Starktech laptop on the tabletop.

“You need to download the app and install it to your phone,” Natasha instructed. But Steve looked at her as if she was talking in Russian.

“Where do I get the… ah… app?”

“There’s a dropdown window in the homepage that takes you to the download page for the app. Just scroll and look for the appropriate OS for your phone and—“ Natasha noted Steve’s expression that was becoming more and more confused, “—you know what? Just ask Tony. Go to his workshop, request for an upgrade on your phone and tell him to throw in the latest version of the Stem app and install it your phone since he’s already in there anyway, doing the upgrades. It’s not gonna take him more than 20 minutes to do it.”

“I don’t know. I don’t want to have to disturb Stark just to install Stem to my phone. He’s just going to make fun of me,” Steve complained, fervently shaking his blond head.

“You have the Starkphone XZ, right?”

“Yes.”

Natasha held out his hand and Steve hesitantly surrendered the gadget to her. Without so much as a flinch, Natasha cracked the back of the phone open and poured chocolate milk all over it. Steve didn’t even have the voice to complain anymore. “Tell him your phone’s busted because I accidentally poured milk all over it. And either he fixes it or you take it to some phone repair schmuck that will probably just make the shitty situation shittier. So now you have the perfect cover to have that app put in there!” That was Natasha’s way of saying ‘Voila! You can thank me later!’

So it was with heavy footsteps, an expression of dread, a pounding headache and a dripping phone, that Steve made his way to the floor where Stark’s workshop was housed. He lurked in the hall, facing the pneumatic doors, with obvious trepidation. He didn’t have access of course, save for the emergency override in case of—well—emergencies. So he just stood there like an idiot, unsure of what to do.

“Good morning Captain Rogers! How may I assist you today?”

Oh thank heavens for JARVIS! “Uh hi—JARVIS. Can you tell Stark that I need to talk to him, please?”

“One moment, Captain. I will inform Sir of your request.”

After several heartbeats, the doors slid open with a hiss, and Steve entered through the threshold with unsure steps. He had only been to Stark’s workshop just once before when Ms Potts—Pepper—gave him the tour when he had moved in to the Tower. And he almost busted a nut when he saw the ultra-modern robotic arms, machines the purpose and workings of which Steve couldn’t even begin to imagine, the dazzling blue holograms and the blue floating incorporeal lights, the red laser lights and orange welding sparks, the stainless steel structures and apparatuses, the shiny black floor dotted with sensors, and the robots… Oh he must have looked a right idiot when he first saw the robots—Dummy, You and Butterfingers as Stark had almost fondly introduced them.

Apparently, it didn’t matter that he’d seen the place in the past. It was still quite the site to behold now as it had been before.

“To what do I owe this honor, Cap?” Stark asked with what looked to Steve like forced cheerfulness. He was seated on a wheeled stool holding several torque wrenches and taking apart what resembled a mini-backhoe. He was dressed in a long-sleeved dark blue knit sweater the sleeves of which were pulled to his elbows, faded denim jeans and brown steel-toed, laced shoes. Steve noticed that he didn’t sport a watch today but the Iron Man-colored loom band was still on his right wrist.  

“Natasha accidentally poured milk all over my phone. I was wondering if you could—you know—fix it,” Steve said, steeling himself for the inevitable Stark tirade about Steve’s complete lack of respect for modern gadgets only because he didn’t know how to use them. Stark liked—hell—enjoyed rubbing it in Steve’s face that he was a complete technology moron.

“XZ, right? The phone’s waterproof. You can put it underneath a waterfall torrent and nothing’ll happen,” said Stark with a hint of finality to it. There was some kind of refusal somewhere in there to have anything to do with fixing Steve’s phone.

“Not even when the back panel was open?”

“What?! Why was the back panel open? What—you thought you’d experiment on the damn phone?” Stark asked, incredulous. “‘Ooh, let’s see what happens if we open the phone’s back panel and pour milk over it! Will its circuitry, motherboard and sensitive minuscule parts—the functions of which I have absolutely no idea about—still work?’” The engineer mockingly role-played, assuming a high-pitched voice and a daft expression.

Steve knew his expression was becoming more and more thunderous by the second. “It was an accident,” he glowered.

“You just accidentally opened the back panel and poured milk over it—you know what? I don’t wanna know. What you and Natasha get up to doesn’t interest me in the least. But I do have an interest over the intelligent and conscientious use of my tech. Give it here,” Stark said with an uncharacteristically humorless look on his face, holding out his hand for Steve to relinquish the damaged phone.

Steve actually felt ashamed at that. It was Stark who developed that phone, paid for it and gave it to them, free of charge, for their use. And Steve just let Natasha pour milk over it so he could manipulate Stark to unknowingly install the blasted Stem app to the blasted phone.

“I’m sorry about this.” Steve hoped he had infused the right amount of contrition in his voice and that Stark wouldn’t inject any condescension to it as he was wont to do with everything Steve said to him.

Steve watched as Stark set to work on the device, pulling some sort of cord from a toolbox underneath a metal table, plugging the phone in at one end and the other end of the cord to a complicated bank of ports of different shapes and sizes, pulling a holo-screen and –joystick close to him and navigating to a black window where characters that looked like gibberish to Steve were writing themselves into a crazy-looking pattern. Then Stark flipped the phone over, deftly removed the back panel and began to take apart the gadget into its component parts. He was right in that they were insanely minuscule!

How was Steve going to tell Stark to install the damn app? He inwardly braced himself to be mercilessly teased about it.

“I can recover everything—your apps, your messages, your contacts, your logs and I’m gonna make the necessary upgrades, too, while I’m in here. Shouldn’t take more than 15 minutes,” Stark mouthed, still studiously scrutinizing the codes on his holo-screen. “But any newer apps installed within 24 hours previously are, I’m afraid, consigned to the recesses of chocolate milk heaven.” The engineer’s eyebrows furrowed, Steve didn’t know if it was still irritation or industrious concentration to the task at hand.

“Oh, ah… That’s too bad. I just installed something this morning,” said Steve, seeing his chance. He hoped so bad that he wasn’t blushing lest he gave himself away.

“What vital app would that be and I’ll just re-install then?”

“Ah… hmm…the Stem app,” Steve muttered, his syllables garbling together. He grimaced at how weak his voice sounded.

“I didn’t get that—what?”

“The Stem app!” Steve nearly screamed now. Face. Slap. Palm. Repeat.

Stark looked like he was fighting to contain the amusement leaking through his golden brown eyes that looked more luminous, if that was possible, in the blue holo lights and what little white LED were in the workshop. There was also a slight quirk of the corners of his mouth—very brief that Steve thought he might have just imagined it on the engineer’s face.

“Okay,” Stark simply said. “You can take a seat, you know. Give me 20 minutes.”

Steve looked around and saw Butterfingers pushing a wheeled swivel chair towards him. He hummed his thanks and gingerly took a seat, extra wary of getting in the way of whatever it was that Stark was doing before he came in.

“You know you can breathe, right? You look about as comfortable as a Doom-bot about to be pummeled to the ground by the Hulk. Look around, swivel your chair, move. I don’t mind. Just… try not to throw something at anything,” Stark muttered, looking at Steve from out of the corner of his eye.

Steve cleared his throat, still uncomfortable. This was the longest he had ever been in here. And the longest that he and Stark were in the same place together, just the two of them, since Steve had moved in to live in the Tower. The blond could almost feel a bead of sweat slide down the groove on his back.

“So… what are you working on? If you don’t mind my asking?” Steve mustered his voice to ask.

“Eh a bunch of stuff—mostly upgrades. There’s some decryption sent from hell that I’m working on, too. I am also coding and continuously tweaking some triangulation program to track down HYDRA secret bases or safe houses. I’m also trying to do bank traces of money that were exchanged to fund HYDRA while they were festering in SHIELD;  I am sniffing after a lot of paper trails, money trails, entrails,” Stark trailed off with a roll of his eyes. “Plus there’s the SI R&D work on the clean energy redesign, the phones, the tablets, the laptops, the wristwatches, the motorized wheelchairs and pain management machines for the Healthcare division, intelli-crops… A bit of this and a bit of that, really,” he finished, still fiddling with the holo-joystick and working on Steve’s phone’s upgrade.

“Oh,” the blond said, simply, unsure of how to respond to the information revealed to him.

Steve tried and mostly failed to stop himself from fidgeting while he waited. After what felt like a lifetime of listening to the ambient sounds of hammering and welding and bleeping, Stark finally unplugged the phone from the port and returned the device to its owner. “Good as new. Try to keep away from milk cartons, alright? That’s…ah… so, I upgraded; it has a new—more user-friendly, I think—interface now. It’s faster, too. I took the liberty of changing your tones and putting in more personalized themes to choose from. So… yeah… all done! Your most expensive tech support service,” Stark joked.

Well, how many people could boast of having had the Tony Stark service and upgrade their phone, really?

“Thanks,” Steve said, putting his phone up in a wave with a tight smile.

“No worries.”

Steve felt a tug in his stomach, like his unconscious was trying to remind him of something, but he inwardly dismissed it as he pocketed his repaired phone and left Stark’s workshop.

###

Steve was having the best time for the past three days.

He was getting the hang of the Stem app on his smartphone, Mingling with other members of Stem but mostly it was just to talk to heir2mecha.realm especially on the wee hours of the morning. Mecha, as Steve started to fondly call his new friend, was awesome enough to patiently instruct him, through a steady stream of messages, on how to download and install an ebook reader on his phone. So that he’d no longer have to go out for physical books and just download ebooks for his reading pleasure. Mecha even generously sent ebook versions of his book suggestions to Steve for the latter to get a feel for it. And Steve was immensely enjoying his new technological discovery so much so that he, by himself, had already tried downloading some Classics from Project Gutenberg, as Mecha also suggested.

He was also apprised of Bucky’s transfer to a Stark Industries warehouse-cum-medical facility on the outskirts of Long Island. While Steve was a bit peeved when he was advised not to join the convoy to escort Bucky to the place to avoid some kind of relapse on his stable-ish mental condition, Steve remained posted on the status of his friend because interns kept calling him with regular reports until Bucky got settled. He was told to expect regular reports through calls or email for the next month until such time as Bucky’s attending specialists decided that the Sergeant was already ready to receive supervised visits.

Steve hardly even noticed Natasha when she reproached him for sporadically missing his usual gym routine for the past couple of days. Although he still went out for his 15-mile early morning runs, he’d been foregoing trips to the gym in exchange for reading while keeping an eye out for incoming messages in his Stem app.

He also refused to rise to Natasha and Clint’s ribbing that he was fast surpassing Bruce when it came to being addicted to Stem. He’d just shake his head and offer his typical lop-sided grin wordlessly. It wasn’t Stem he was becoming addicted to.

At the back of his mind, he was starting to wonder what it was about Mecha that made him so easy and fun to talk to. They had talked about architecture, current events, politics, religion, the finer points of cooking a good omelet, traveling, and music, books and movies, of course. Mecha was sharp, funny and perceptive, not only as to his recommendations but as a person.

Today, they were talking about romantic comedy movies that Steve couldn’t help but find amusing.

shield_storm: You know for a guy, you watch a lot of romantic-comedy movies…

heir2mecha.realm: my girlfriend enjoys them. She’d literally chain me to the couch just so I’d be forced to watch them

heir2mecha.realm: I guess she likes it when I’m there beside her to hold her hand when she starts to cry.

shield_storm: must be nice…

heir2mecha.realm: trust me, it’s NOT! X-S… these rom-coms can be really cheesy and sweet, your teeth’d just fall out of your mouth!!!

shield_storm: no, I meant having a girlfriend.

heir2mecha.realm: I’ve actually never been in a committed relationship for this long before. But yeah. It’s nice.

shield_storm: I can imagine. This is going to sound weird. But I’ve sort of never had one.

heir2mecha.realm: never had what?

heir2mecha.realm: no wait… don’t tell me you’ve never had a girlfriend?!

Steve couldn’t help it; he started blushing even if there was no one else on his personal floor to be bashful around.

shield_storm: I know- like I said it’s weird

heir2mecha.realm: seriously?!?!?!?! SERIOUSLY?!?!?!?! Do you look hideous or what?

heir2mecha.realm: Are you old and wrinkly? Are you a monk?? a hobo!?!?!

heir2mecha.realm: No… I take that back. I know a hobo who had three girlfriends in seven months…

heir2mecha.realm: No but seriously… have you never thought about maybe changing that and getting a girlfriend?!

shield_storm: I don’t think I look hideous. I think I look ok. I mean, I have all the requisite parts and features of a normal guy.

shield_storm: haha. I’m not a hobo and I’m 29 years old. So I’m not old and wrinkly—yet.

Well—that was technically accurate. Depending on how one would look at it.

shield_storm: I was busy before. So romance just kind of took a backseat. And then before I knew it, the chance for romance had come and gone and…

Steve’s thoughts turned to Peggy Carter again. To Steve, she was the closest that came to a romantic relationship. And last he heard, she was still bedridden and in the last legs of a long and fruitful life. Sometimes, he still wondered what his life would’ve been like if he hadn’t taken that plane down and came home to Peggy. If there was still a home and a Peggy to return to…

shield_storm: I lost the connection with someone. She’d moved on without me. And no one else came close enough after that.

heir2mecha.realm: So what you just gave up? After that chance at one true love that went bust, you just threw in the towel and swore off love for good?! You should’ve entered the priesthood! :-)

shield_storm:  :-P

shield_storm: No… I didn’t swear off love. It’s just that no one came along. And I’m still waiting but no one’s coming along. :-)

heir2mecha.realm: then stop waiting and go out there and actively look for her. There’s 7 billion people out there and there’s gotta be some pipin’ hot woman out there for you, man!

shield_storm: maybe.

shield_storm: tell me about your girl… Was it love at first sight? Do they still believe in that nowadays?

heir2mecha.realm: oh no, man! You can’t have my girl… You gotta find your own! :-P

shield_storm: haha. It’s been a while since I was on the dating scene. I don’t know what women these days go for anymore. I’m so out of touch. It’s not even funny…

heir2mecha.realm: I was just playing with you, storm… no—it wasn’t love at first sight. I think when we first met each other she actually loathed me… wanted to throw me in the way of a speeding bus… Hmm, come to think about it she still occasionally hates me and still wants to throw me in the way of a speeding bus…

heir2mecha.realm: Love at first sight is clichéd, but I think some suckers still think it exists…

heir2mecha.realm: that’s why you have to GO OUT THERE AND GO CRAZY, man!!! You need to know the present dating landscape! Girls nowadays are go-getters. If you’re desirable enough, THEY’LL EAT YOU UP, my friend. Trust me…

shield_storm: can I ask you a personal question, mecha?

heir2mecha.realm: more personal than what my girlfriend’s like? ;-)

shield_storm: haha. yeah.

heir2mecha.realm: ask away

shield_storm: how old are you?

heir2mecha.realm:  … I’m seriously thinking about lying to you about my age.

heir2mecha.realm: but lying means you’re ashamed of your age because you’re OLD. But I’m not ashamed of my age…

heir2mecha.realm: I’m 41.

Steve smiled at that, sucking his lips between his teeth in a tight grin. He couldn’t help but be curious about this man!

shield_storm: ripe age to get committed!

heir2mecha.realm: yeah I’m thinking about making it black tie-affair official and everything. But really we’re still ironing out the kinks. We’re mostly ok. Passion’s there and everything. And I love her to bits.

shield_storm: so what IS she like?

heir2mecha.realm: She’s gorgeous, resourceful, kind, smart, efficient, strong-willed—I mean she has to be since she’s dating me… She has the most beautiful eyes and her hair smells like lavender.

shield_storm: She sounds amazing…

heir2mecha.realm: she is. I really have been considering for a month now—to ask her to marry me…

shield_storm: so what’s stopping you then?

heir2mecha.realm: I don’t know. We haven’t seen each other in three weeks now. She’s on an extended business trip. The company she works for blows.

heir2mecha.realm: And then when we’re together, everything’s peachy until we have these arguments… And let’s just say I don’t like it when we argue.

shield_storm: don’t all relationships have that? Arguments, I mean.

heir2mecha.realm: Yeah. But ours are tougher to explain.

heir2mecha.realm:  She’s uncomfortable about my job.

shield_storm: being an engineer?

heir2mecha.realm: yeah

shield_storm: why?!

heir2mecha.realm: Believe it or not it involves some calculated risks and she gets antsy about those.

shield_storm: but she hasn’t asked you to give it up?

heir2mecha.realm: Not yet. But if I ask her to marry me, she will. And I don’t know what I’m going to do when that time comes.

shield_storm: she won’t if she loves you.

heir2mecha.realm: you sure about that?

shield_storm: No.

heir2mecha.realm: I think asking me to choose is inevitable BECAUSE she loves me. I mean… marriage, whew! That’s a big deal, right? You cease to be just you, and you and your partner become a unit.

heir2mecha.realm: decisions are supposed to be arrived at together. You have to consider the other person’s welfare at all times because you’re not just you anymore. And I owe it to her to think about what my decisions will do to us as a unit…

heir2mecha.realm: I’ve never been married before but I’ve always thought that’s what marriage’s like. Hell—it’s why I’ve tried to avoid it all this time!!!

shield_storm: but if you never try and ask her, you’ll never know. Maybe she’ll surprise you.

heir2mecha.realm: maybe

heir2mecha.realm: you should be out going on dates, storm, really… You can’t be spending your Friday night listening to the ramblings of a cowardly old man. It’s not right! You’re denying girls everywhere of the pleasure of your company!

Steve touched his bottom lip with the edge of his phone, aware of the tingles down his arms for no apparent reason. He couldn’t understand what this nameless, faceless man’s effect on him was. But he had felt like this only once—twice—before. With Peggy.

And with Bucky.

But Bucky had never known that Steve once had feelings for him. Because those feelings were inappropriate back then and they were as close as brothers. Steve had been afraid of what he was feeling, but then one day, the feeling just disappeared and was replaced by fondness, protectiveness and love of a completely different sort. He and Bucky were family.

But the awareness of that feeling never left Steve. He knew he was different. His idea of attraction and love was different. He never acted on his peculiar preferences, but he never indulged it either. It was just a latent buzz at the back of his mind, a weight behind his chest where his heart was. He had thought that Peggy was the one to quench that hidden thirst. And she did. To a certain extent, but there were those days when Steve had found his gaze straying to one of the guys he was training with. And the buzz was still there, soft but present.

Now, that buzz was back, accompanied by a powerful current traveling down his arms, crawling around his neck, spreading to his toes. And Steve was afraid and excited at the same time. Here he was, talking to a person he had never met who was telling him about asking for someone’s hand in marriage, and he was so charged that the vicious thundering of his heart was deafening him.

He had gone bat-shit crazy!

shield_storm: maybe next Friday I’ll get lucky! :-)

heir2mecha.realm: lol

shield_storm: what’s that? lol?

heir2mecha.realm: LOL=laughing out loud

shield_storm: ok keep laughing. Haha!

heir2mecha.realm: no but seriously. This is a good talk. It’s nice to get another guy’s insight about things like this… :-)

shield_storm: glad to be of service. So any recommendations for me today?

heir2mecha.realm: books or movies?

shield_storm: anything.

heir2mecha.realm: how far along are you with the books I recommended?

shield_storm: just finished Tinker Tailor and I’m starting with The Name of the Rose.

heir2mecha.realm: stick with those. For now. Movie recommendation- let’s do a rom-com today… Crazy Stupid Love. :-)

shield_storm: haven’t seen that one yet. Alright. Thanks!

heir2mecha.realm: man you can’t just spend your nights reading books and watching movies! There’s more to life, you know.

heir2mecha.realm: I think you, my friend, should really go to the Speed-dating vein. All in the name of getting yourself that date by next Friday!

shield_storm: I’ve never been there. And I don’t think I want to. Like I told you, I’ve been so out of the dating circle; I wouldn’t know what to do with myself!

heir2mecha.realm: ok how would you feel if I go with you?

shield_storm: to the Speed-dating vein?! But you have a girlfriend!

heir2mecha.realm: It’s not cheating if I only just talk and flirt. It’s not like I’d be feeling people up by chatting with them!!!

shield_storm: does your girlfriend even know that you’re on Stem?

heir2mecha.realm: this is a social networking site! You don’t need your girlfriend’s consent for approval of your membership! I still have my free will, you know, even with this couple-thing going on.

heir2mecha.realm: besides I’ve done worse and she KNOWS about those!

heir2mecha.realm: So what do you say?!?! Come on!!! Think of it as research…

heir2mecha.realm: or some kind of immersion!

Steve looked around his room as if searching for anything to help him make a decision.

shield_storm: fine fine… but you’re going with me?

heir2mecha.realm: scout’s honor!

shield_storm: this is going to be a catastrophe! I don’t even know how it works.

heir2mecha.realm: how hard can it be? So when do we do this?

shield_storm: not today!!!!!!!!!!! Maybe tomorrow?

heir2mecha.realm: alrighty. Take my hand and fear not, young padawan… Tomorrow we shall take on the stars! :-)))))))))

Chapter Text

As it turned out, Mecha had to ask for a rain check on their planned incursion, all guns blazing, to the Speed-dating vein, for reasons that Steve decided not to ask him about as they may be too personal. Steve breathed easy at that because he was really very anxious to have to see the Speed-dating vein that half of his housemates seemed to always want to talk about—even Bruce!

The rain check further proved to be all for the best when he got a call from Ms P—Pepper just as he was finishing his late breakfast, saying that she was just out of La Guardia Airport and into a car on the way to the Avengers Tower and asking if he was available for that informal meeting about Bucky’s rehabilitation after lunch.

Steve looked at the Tower’s elevator counter, counting down to the Stark Industries offices and noted the calming piano piece that was playing. “JARVIS, I’m not yet late for the meeting with Ms Potts, am I?” Steve asked, craning his neck to look at the elevator’s ceiling out of habit.

“You have three minutes to spare, Captain. In any case, Ms Potts is still indisposed as she is conferring with Sir in her office after having had lunch out.”

“Thank you, JARVIS. I can just wait until Stark leaves. They might be talking about something important,” said Steve; the last statement was spoken more to himself than to the AI.

When Steve arrived at the Stark Industries executive offices, the anteroom to Pepper’s office was empty but the copier was on and whirring softy, churning out papers on the multi-level tray. The door to Pepper’s office was standing ajar by about an inch, and indistinct voices could be heard emanating from it. Steve sat down on the dark blue settee across from Pepper’s assistant’s desk, back rigid and eyes alert. He assumed that the assistant just stepped into Pepper’s office for a bit to take some instructions from the boss, so he just settled in to wait. He was expected after all.

Before Steve could be aware of what he was doing, he had reached into his trouser’s front pocket for his phone as if by instinct. He looked at the screen that was free of Stem alerts for the first time in the past couple of days, and his face fell because of the disappointment that he wasn’t meaning to feel. He didn’t return his phone to his pocket, however, and just clutched it within his fist to keep his hands busy while he waited in the anteroom alone.

It was then that louder voices began to seep from the inner office to the anteroom. Steve’s Serum-infused hearing couldn’t help but pick up Pepper’s angry shrieks mixed with Stark’s strong baritone.

“There’s a reason that decryption is not coming along as fast as you want, Tony. There are certain kinds of information that’s not meant to be found! And trust me, this is one of them! What do you want with the Ultron Program anyway?! Are you really that egotistical that nothing is off-limits for you?! The use of private secure servers and password protection is not a challenge or an invitation, Tony. There are limits to these kinds of things. But it’s like you don’t care or you don’t give a crap! You bypass these things with impunity as if the whole world is your playground and people are your toys! Nobody is allowed to keep secrets from you!” Pepper shrieked. Steve had never heard her scream before, even if she was exasperated or irritated with Stark, she always kept her cool. But she sounded mighty distressed now.

“I just want to know why the Program was abandoned—“

“The problem with you, Tony, is you don’t seem to know when to stop—“

“—I want to know what they found out and maybe I can improve on it! You know me best, Pep—“

“—poking into other people’s business! Just let this go, Tony!—“

“—of all people, you should know that that’s what I do—“

“—Why do you insist on doing this to me?! You just love getting into these skirmishes, don’t you?—“ 

“—I fix things! It’s not because of my disregard for boundaries or limits!—“

“—and you expect me to clean up after you. That information you’re after is so classified—“

“—I may have just poked a bit into it, but it was completely harmless!—“

“—that they’d bury you under seventeen stories of reinforced concrete slabs for decades to get rid of you!”

“—Fine! It was my fault. I made a wrong call,” Stark admitted but his voice didn’t sound regretful at all. It just sounded to Steve like he wanted the argument over and done with that he’d say anything to get Pepper off his case. “Satisfied? I’m gonna stop. JARVIS—do me a big one and stop the decryption. Erase the algorithm and get back to our trail and wipe it. Wipe our footprints everywhere else we were that’s related to the Ultron Program and send Pym a barrel of mead with a card from me.”

JARVIS didn’t say anything so Steve assumed that Stark was talking to his AI through a comm.

“And the bank traces through Timor?”

“I can’t stop that one. That’s not related—that’s not Ultron, Pep. That’s HYDRA-related. And I can’t stop that,” Stark said evenly. He didn’t sound like he would cave his position on this issue.

“You’re not a spy, Tony! You’re not a one-man intelligence apparatus. Let Natasha or Clint take this one,” Pepper pleaded. “You’re not a low-profile person. When you ruffle feathers, there’s gonna be a huge target slapped on your ass and a Tony-seeking device launched at you. What’s gonna happen to the company when this all flies south, huh? What’s gonna happen to you? Are you going to go to the marshals to apply for witness protection? Change your identity? Fake your death? Do you even think about these things?!”

There was a pregnant pause from the occupants of the inner office. Steve didn’t want to have to intrude on what was obviously a conversation meant to be private, but he couldn’t deny that he was glued to the settee, waiting with bated breath.

“I can’t stop it. I don’t want to,” Stark said with a calm but resolute voice. “We’ll talk about this again, Pep. I don’t know how to convince you right now to just let me do this. But I will explain everything when you’ve calmed down some. I’ll—I’ll see you later, OK?”

Steve was off the settee and by the door like lightning. When Stark entered the anteroom, Steve, for all intents and purposes, looked like he was just stepping in from the hallway.

“Oh hey, Stark. I’m late for a meeting with Ms Potts. Is she here?”

“Yeah,” Stark just gestured with his thumb to the inner office and walked past Steve, strangely quiet.

Steve craned his neck to track his leaving teammate with what he hoped was a gaze, tinged with just the right amount of puzzlement. But his thoughts were in turmoil. He didn’t know that Stark and Pepper argued about Avengers business. Before that day, Steve had always thought that Pepper was 100% supportive of any and all of Stark’s endeavors. He was suddenly curious if Pepper had also tried dissuading Stark from putting the Avengers Initiative under the Stark Industries’ mantle.

“Ms Potts? Hi! I’m sorry I’m late,” Steve poked his head through the open door with a sheepish look and a soft-spoken apology.

“It’s alright, Steve. Come in, come in! And make yourself comfortable. I shouldn’t even have asked you for this meeting on a Saturday because I’m sure you have other things that demand your attention.” Pepper waved him in with a slight smile. The traces of the previous argument with her boyfriend were dissipating slowly.

“Your convenience is paramount, Ms P—Pepper,” recovered Steve, entering the room and shutting the door behind him.

“I am really sorry to have to ask you for this meeting today. But things are really crazy—things are always crazy—around here. My assistant always threatens to resign every week,” she joked.

“So…about Sergeant Barnes…have you been receiving the reports about his condition? I left specific instructions with the med-facility to regularly inform you of the Sergeant’s treatments’ progress. I hope you don’t mind me leaving your number and email address with them,” Pepper said, moving behind her huge pale wood table to take a seat. The light broken by the looming skyscrapers of the city, coming in from the windows behind her desk, brought out the honey-gold streaks of Pepper’s pale auburn hair.

She briefly rifled through several plastic folders on her desk, picked out a couple and handed them over to Steve. “These are copies of the doctors’ CVs as well as the layout and general information about the facility, the non-disclosure agreements that everyone had to sign—from the doctors to the cleaning staff, and initial assessments, physicals and blood work of Sergeant Barnes. Oh and the contact numbers are also there in case you need to call them and ask for more information,” Pepper said, her eyes betraying the tiredness she must be feeling. She gingerly took a seat on her huge office chair.

“Thank you very much for all of this, Pepper! This really means a lot to me. I know you’re busy with running SI and you barely get to spend time with Stark, but for you to still go this far and do this for… Bucky, it’s… thank you very much,” Steve profusely expressed his gratitude.

“Don’t mention it, Steve. In behalf of SI, we’re happy to help you and the Sergeant in any way,” Pepper said.

Leaning forward and clasping her hands together, Pepper went on to ask, “so how are you settling here? Is your personal floor comfortable?”

“Yes—very, thank you for asking. I’m doing well. Everyone is just very welcoming,” he replied, unpretentiously.

“Including Tony?” Pepper asked, amusement tingeing her tired eyes. “He can be very bossy and sarcastic, but I hope you don’t find him too…” She struggled for the word. “… infuriating.”

“No, he’s… surprisingly civil and he keeps mostly to himself. It’s Bruce he’s really close to, though,” replied Steve, toying with the orderliness of the papers in the folders on his lap.

“He means well. He’s just high-strung sometimes. I’m sorry I’m not around enough to keep him from driving you guys crazy. I wish I can be here, I really do. I worry about him. A lot,” Pepper articulated, wistful. “Sometimes, he finds it hard to understand where people are coming from. He does that with me, too. But he’s a good man; it doesn’t always show—but he is. I don’t think I’ve ever told you this, but he saved my life—Tony… I was infused with this…drug and I was in a bad way, but he moved mountains to help me. He’s a great guy, and I hate that I have to travel a lot and leave him, but at least here, he has you guys.”

Steve felt a bit awkward to have to hear this from Pepper. He was the one who knew and understood Stark the least. And yet Pepper told him this—her misgivings, her worry for Stark, her plea for understanding in Stark’s behalf. Steve could hear the love ringing loud and clear in every word. “Don’t worry about him, Pepper. He’s well looked after, trust me,” Steve assured.

Stark was complicated and unpredictable, at best. But Steve decided that he was going to start, in earnest, to peel all the layers to get to the heart—the core, the center—of the man. Because if a woman as remarkable as Pepper could love Stark this strongly, then there must be something more to the man than what Steve initially thought.

###

Tony never got that serious heart-to-heart with Pepper as he promised that night. Because at about 2245 hours later that day, the triangulation program working in tandem with several satellite-based trackers to pinpoint a possible HYDRA base within a 2.5-mile radius alerted the Avengers to a location in west Austria. Captain America called for them to Assemble on the Tower landing pad where an Avengers quinjet was fueled and ready.

Iron Man decided to ride with the quinjet to conserve power due to the considerable distance of their destination. Thor was sent a message before they left, but they really weren’t expecting him to just drop everything in Tulsa to fly to west Austria.

So the Captain America-spearheaded briefing was attended by one still uncharacteristically silent Iron Man, a typically calm Black Widow, an antsy Hawkeye, and a for-now Zen Bruce Banner with Maria Hill back in the Tower Command Center and on comm.

Tony was nervous. He didn’t know why exactly. Maybe it was because he knew Pepper was still pissed at him and the fact that he was on a trip across the pond on the night that Pepper had just come back from her own three week-long business trip. If only he’d been able to explain to Pepper so that the argument they’d had over lunch could be forgotten and they could focus on something more important: some sizzling make-up sex. But alas…

The flight took about 7 hours on the quinjet, shorter by around an hour and half compared to if they’d flown commercial. It was around the witching hour—Austria time—when they landed in a remote, mountainous and forested area less than 15 miles southeast of Salzburg.

The job was supposed to be easy—in and out. Shoot any stragglers. Get any tech. Wipe all the intel. Burn all the hard drives. Because the triangulation made it pretty sure that the major heads of HYDRA had already scrammed by now, the Avengers weren’t really expecting major league resistance.

Tony should have known by now that nothing ever really fell according to plan. But, to his utmost shame, he was still caught unawares when gunfire pandemonium erupted just as they were merrily skipping off the quinjet!

Sure, he got shot at. But that was a constant by now. He went crazy with his repulsors because he wanted this to be over with so he could fly back to Pepper. He hated, hated it when they argued, and he hated it worse when they argued without a subsequent reconciliation.

His head wasn’t in the fight at all because he was thinking about Pepper’s expression—her face when she was screaming at him, and her eyes when he was telling her that the Avengers had to leave for Austria when they were supposed to sit down and talk about their latent issues.

He missed her. He didn’t know it was possible to miss your girlfriend when she lived in the same bloody house as you did. When he was sure they weren’t pulling a long-distance relationship, but it sure as hell felt like they were.

Tony thought about Storm’s advice that he should just screw all and ask Pepper to marry him. And hope that she didn’t ask him, in turn, to hang his—well—titanium alloy suit and give up being Iron Man and all this bad-ass tomfoolery with spies, infiltrating secret organizations, superheroes and gods. But he thought that to do so now was going to be in poor taste. Pepper was sure to think that Tony was only asking her to marry him as a distraction from what was, and always would be, her opinion about Tony’s recent superhero team gig: that he was crazy and he should stop.

After the non-climactic fight where the bad guys were all pulverized—and the Hulk didn’t even have to make an appearance—they were all back in the quinjet on a flight States-side. They were all quiet, cranky, sleepy and beat. Tony wanted to call Pepper but thought better of it. He didn’t want to have to fight over the phone within eavesdropping distance of the rest of the team. He thought of sending a text, but what could he say?

Tony had instructed JARVIS through the comm to remove the suit as soon as they set foot back in the quinjet, and now buckled to a quinjet seat in his Kevlar and bio-weave fiber body suit and dark blue sweatpants that he’d worn underneath the armor, he logged in on Stem on his Starkphone. The Stem app was masked and actually labeled as some obscure app on his phone, but he’d had it there since he’d had this phone model.

He knew this was risky considering that the man he wanted to talk to on Stem was only actually a few feet away and might put two and two together, but he threw caution to the wind. He needed a distraction. Badly.

heir2mecha.realm: hey storm! What’s up? I’m really sorry again for asking for a rain check on our foray into the Speed-dating vein. My girlfriend just arrived and I thought we can catch up and do something special. But I’ll make it up to you, I promise. I’ll help you get that date this coming Friday if it kills me. :-)

A soft ding sounded in the silence of the quinjet and Tony saw Rogers scramble to peel off a part of his suit to get at his phone. Tony, with immense satisfaction, noted the Captain’s near eagerness when his phone alerted him to a Stem message. Interesting.

After a while, Tony’s phone vibrated silently in his enclosed fist.

shield_storm: oh hey! Give her my regards… if you can… considering she doesn’t know you’re on Stem. ;-) Have you thought about finally popping the question then? This is as good a time as any, you know. You missed each other. You’re catching up and being all romantic… Have you thought about how you’re going to say it? :-) Excited for you...

Tony kissed the side of his phone in contemplation. He noted the shortness of his breath, the pounding of his heart while he was thinking about how to ask Pepper to marry him. He couldn’t believe it but he was PTSD-ing while chatting on mobile Stem and thinking about tying the knot! He needed to stop thinking about everything! He needed to be calm so he wouldn’t do anything rash—the last thing he needed was a hasty-sounding marriage proposal blurted out in between Pepper’s shrieks of anger.

heir2mecha.realm: I think I fucked up real bad actually because we had another argument. And if I ask her to marry me now, she’d just think I’m trying to distract her from what we were arguing about. I may have to shelve the proposal for now. But enough about me and my issues—what about you? Where are you right now, what are you doing? You’re not trying to lurk in the Speed-dating vein without me, are you?

It was a pathetic call for intervention but he gritted his teeth and decided to keep to the program. There was disquiet that refused to up and leave from deep in his gut, but he was going to force it out no matter what it took.

The engineer turned his head to look at the very narrow window that depicted nothing but the blue Atlantic Ocean in the late morning.

He knew that the risks and pressures of him being Iron Man and being an Avenger and Pepper being the CEO of Stark Industries, who was almost always pulling all-nighters, long work weeks and extended business trips, were affecting their relationship. He had known that from day one. He did say once that everything was never going to be alright because she was in a relationship with him. And while they did their collective best to prove Tony wrong—there were great days and good days, there were also days that were bad, terrible and downright ugly.

God, he hated those kinds of days.

And lately—like these past two months—they’ve been having nothing but those kinds of days.

Tony knew Pepper didn’t like him being Iron Man, joining the Avengers Initiative, making and tinkering with those suits, taking the slack from SHIELD, re-organizing Stark Industries to fund and sustain the Avengers, putting in inhuman man-hours into upgrading Avengers stuff, making weapons, providing intel, risking his life, jeopardizing his name and that of the company’s. Sure, she supported him by mostly going along with his plans and occasionally being proud of what he’d done—she moved in with him to the Tower penthouse, stayed on as the company’s CEO, invited all the Avengers to live in the Tower, convinced the company’s Board to approve the ‘acquisition’ of the Avengers, defended his more harebrained schemes against scathing press commentaries, signed off for the team’s expenses, did everything that a supportive girlfriend should. But it didn’t change the fact that she still didn’t like—hated—this.

Marriage to Pepper would change everything. Either it would save them from whatever it was they were undeniably headed towards or it would spur them to that destination thrice as fast. And it would, without a doubt, be the end of Iron Man.

Goddamn it!

Tony’s phone vibrated in his clutch again.

shield_storm: I’m so sorry to hear that, but don’t worry. If two people love each other, they can overcome anything. And everything will fall into place for them in the right time. I am somewhere high up right now, looking out over the ocean as far as the eye can see. It’s both beautiful and terrifying. I have this fear of crashing in the ocean, you see—it’s pathetic and humiliating—but I’m trying my best to overcome it. Oh and for the record, I don’t lurk in places I know nothing about… :-) What about you? What are you up to? I sure hope you’re presently groveling at your girlfriend’s feet for her forgiveness.

The engineer stole a glance at the Captain, two rows down and across from him, riding shotgun to Clint. But all that Tony could see was Rogers’ profile against the blue sky the quinjet was whizzing past.

God, he really was so desperate for someone to talk to right now—he needed Rhodey or Happy—but both were, unfortunately, indisposed.

Rhodey was on a recon assignment to Punjab for the armed forces because he still was part of the armed forces; while Happy was currently on extended detail to the Stark Industries offices in China to beef up the security there and whip the security department into shape.

And it wasn’t like he could talk to Pepper about Pepper…

So Storm it was.

heir2mecha.realm: I hope you’re right. I’m not groveling at her feet right now because I’m giving her some space. Plus I think she’d really go so far as hit me if I force my company on her at the moment. :’-( I have a slight issue with huge bodies of water, too. Don’t be embarrassed. Everyone’s afraid of something. Seems like a nice view—what you have there. Me? I’m not doing anything right now. I’m just thinking about going back to this place I used to go to when I was young, whenever I feel like my thoughts are too crazy and too noisy. With everything that’s going down right now between me and my girlfriend, I need to clear my head and I need all my doubts about everything to go away.

He surreptitiously changed the settings of the Stem app from messaging to chatting after he sent the last message. He was so bored and so anxious about what was waiting for him in New York.

shield_storm: hey… what are you doing chatting? You should be buying roses and chocolates and rehearsing your apology!

heir2mecha.realm: It’s ok. She’s used to my stammered apologies anyway. I really want to go to that favorite place of mine. I need some Zen right now.

shield_storm: where’s that anyway?

heir2mecha.realm: Have you ever been to the Hayden building in New York?

shield_storm: I live in New York but no I’ve never been there.

heir2mecha.realm: No shit- I live in New York, too!!!! We might be neighbors for all we know! :-)

shield_storm: really? I have a right mind to ask you right now where you live in New York but I don’t want to be sending you stalker vibes. :-)

heir2mecha.realm: roflmao

Tony fought to swallow the chuckle that threatened to escape from his lips. And bit the insides of his cheeks and clenched his jaws to get a handle on his facial expression. Natasha shifted in her quinjet seat across from Tony, her face scrunched in a curious scowl. Tony just shrugged and kept his phone away from her view.

shield_storm: now what’s that supposed to mean?

heir2mecha.realm: ROFLMAO=rolling on floor laughing my ass off

shield_storm: you like saying these acronyms…

heir2mecha.realm: stick with me and you’ll master them all in no time. I’m surprised you don’t know them. They’ve been around since social networking became a thing.

shield_storm: I don’t get out much. I’ve never chatted before prior to joining Stem.

heir2mecha.realm: well as they say, better late than never right?

shield_storm: right. so what’s on Hayden Building?

heir2mecha.realm: The entire roof deck of that building is nothing but a gazebo with crystal walls and granite columns all around and the most amazing landscape design ever made by the hands of man. Very Zen…

heir2mecha.realm: if you’re into that meditating shiznit, you’ll like it there…

shield_storm: I have a housemate who likes that sort of thing.

heir2mecha.realm: are we talking about your engineer housemate?

shield_storm: no a different one

heir2mecha.realm: god how many people do you live with?!?!

shield_storm: I have five housemates.

heir2mecha.realm: And you haven’t had a girlfriend before—what the hell are THEY doing?!?!? Mooching off you? Between five housemates who can get you dates, you should be out with a different girl every school night! :-)

shield_storm: :-D

heir2mecha.realm: you like them smileys. I like my acronyms and you like your smileys…

shield_storm: my housemates have far more important things to do than get me dates.

heir2mecha.realm: one of these days you’ll have to tell me what these housemates of yours are like.

heir2mecha.realm: so I can find them and tell them that they’re being terrible housemates if they can’t even be bothered to help you get laid…

Rogers suddenly broke into a fit of violent coughing that reverberated all over the silent-as-the-grave quinjet. Tony wrestled with the urge to guffaw again. He didn’t want to clue Natasha in on anything. And it was damn hard to get anything past her, as it was.

shield_storm: yeah one day I’ll tell you all about them. What about you? Do you live with anyone? I’m assuming that you live with your girlfriend…

heir2mecha.realm: yeah, but seeing as she’s almost always on travel, she spends more time in hotels and company apartments than at home, really. I do have neighbors. But I don’t hang out with them that often.

shield_storm: maybe you should so you won’t miss your girl very much when she’s away.

heir2mecha.realm: maybe

shield_storm: I think I’ll go to Hayden Building one of these days. I think I’d like to see that Zen space too

heir2mecha.realm: maybe we’ll run into each other there… :-)

shield_storm: that’d be cool

shield_storm: hey. If you need to clear your head, do it. But don’t overthink things by yourself. You can only fix what’s wrong between you and your girl if you hash it out with her and find a point of compromise.

shield_storm: don’t forget the profound message of that one song…

heir2mecha.realm: what’s that?

shield_storm: All You Need is Love. ;-)

heir2mecha.realm: right on!!! :-))))))) so you never did tell me how you found Crazy Stupid Love.

shield_storm: funny. Hopeful. :-)

heir2mecha.realm: need recommendations today?

shield_storm: shoot.

heir2mecha.realm: The Shawshank Redemption. That there is oozing with hope by the barrel. How’s the reading going?

shield_storm: it’s going. I’m starting with Angels and Demons.

heir2mecha.realm: you’ll like the art and the merry chase through the Vatican in that one.

shield_storm: HEY! No spoilers!!!

The brunette engineer spent the rest of the flight back to New York in animated conversation with Storm as covertly as he could. They talked about more adventure books, horticulture, old cars, Central Park activities, Storm’s childhood in Brooklyn and Tony’s in his parents’ mansion in Lower Manhattan—glossing over the ‘mansion’ bit, Gray’s Papaya hotdogs, and their favorite toys growing up.

It was a fun and distracting conversation, alright.

“People, kindly report to Boardroom 5 for debriefing,” Maria Hill intoned through the quinjet comms. It was unfair how she didn’t sound sleepy all, considering that they’ve all been in contact since they left New York last night.

“Aww, do we have to?” Tony bellyached with an over-the-top pout. “I’m tired; I’m hungry; I got shot at. Do we not get a break?”

As always, Clint took Tony’s side. “Maybe you can let us get some shut-eye first before you subject us to the torture that is debriefing, please!” Clint echoed, giving Tony a tired wink.

“Fury’s just come in from South Africa, and he’s doing the debrief. There’s a need to discuss the weapons and blueprints you’re bringing in from Austria. If you have any concerns, like a postponement of the meeting—take it up with him. Fair warning though—he’d got his commercial flight delayed by a day. Good luck,” Hill said, tonelessly.

Tony looked at Rogers, expecting him to staunchly support doing the debrief now rather than later with a spirited air, but the Captain surprised him by giving a resigned sigh instead.

Tired, cranky and edgy, Tony suffered through the god-awful debrief, sitting low and hunched on the boardroom seat and clutching his phone beneath the table. It was a good thing that the rest of the team was used to seeing him thumbing his phone all the time or else he would have a hell of a time concocting an excuse for using it now. Not that anyone would notice with the way his hands were shoved underneath the table, and he was doing the no-look texting he had already mastered to a T.

heir2mecha.realm: can I ask you something?

shield_storm: yup what?

heir2mecha.realm: what’s the best part of your day?

heir2mecha.realm: You know what’s the best part of “A Day in the Life of shield_storm”

shield_storm: oh that’s hard…

shield_storm: I guess… my morning run or that time when I’ve absolutely nothing to do after dinner. Because then I can read or watch a movie or go to Stem.

shield_storm: you?

heir2mecha.realm: sitting in my room, taking apart some contraption… doesn’t matter what it is. Just finding out how it works and then putting it back together. Only I’ve made it better. :-)

shield_storm: profound. ;-)

heir2mecha.realm: okay I’ve got another one…

shield_storm: hit me

heir2mecha.realm: If you could be an Avenger for a day, which one would you be?

Without moving his head but just a blink of his eyelids and a shift of his brown irises, Tony chanced a glimpse at Rogers’ face. The latter was sitting—fidgeting—beside Natasha who was the one seated directly across from Tony on the huge boardroom table. Rogers looked deep in thought, head bowed and atypically unmindful of the person presiding over their debrief.

The Captain’s arms, taut with solid muscle, still clad in Captain America blue, were motionless, but Tony knew better.

shield_storm: I think… Iron Man.

Tony shuddered in shock, and he almost dropped his phone. He wasn’t expecting that. He briefly looked up to see if anyone noticed his momentary reaction, but nobody was looking his way. He schooled his expression back to sheer, rip-my-teeth-out boredom.

heir2mecha.realm: really?!?! why?!?!

shield_storm: I’ve always wanted to fly and make things explode with stuff shooting out of my hands. :-)

heir2mecha.realm: but Thor can do that, too… with lightning!!!

shield_storm: Thor’s not of this world. He’s not really human. He’s a what… an alien from another dimension?

shield_storm: Iron Man is human—he’s one of us. He knows the plight of ‘earthlings’

shield_storm: plus I think it’s really cool that he’s the one who made those suits he flies in and fights with.

The engineer couldn’t help but notice the serene set of Rogers’ mouth. The latter’s eyes were still downcast, but Tony thought he saw amusement and a knowing sparkle in them when Rogers briefly looked up to stare at the profile of Natasha who was seated to his right.

###

Steve barely heard the meat of the debrief. He just knew that they pulled something vital from Austria that was related to something else that Fury, with someone else, found somewhere in South Africa, sometime in the last 48 hours. For the most part, he tried nodding and looking perplexed in all the right junctures of the meeting. Bruce and Natasha asked all the right questions he was too out of it to ask himself. He made sure to keep his elbows close to his torso and his hands well beneath the solid wood table so no one would notice that he was actually chatting on Stem throughout the entire thing.

He was almost remorseful for his lack of attention, too, if Mecha had not been asking him such interesting questions and giving his own telling replies.

shield_storm: so what about you?

heir2mecha.realm: I think I’d like to be Iron Man too

heir2mecha.realm: because he’s bad ass and he’s complex like Atticus Finch :-)

heir2mecha.realm: he doesn’t gloss over his flaws at all. He embraces them and that makes him interesting.

shield_storm: he’s an engineer too. Tony Stark. Did you know?

heir2mecha.realm: yeah. I actually met him once.

shield_storm: so what’s he like?

heir2mecha.realm: remember that kid who gave him a loom band on good morning america? That wasn’t where Tony Stark first met that kid. I saw when they first met.

heir2mecha.realm: it was in the parking lot of a science summit. Stark had this THRONG of people following him to his car. And he saw this kid being pushed on a wheelchair by his dad and Stark asked him what his name was. The kid told him his name and also said he was a fan of Iron Man. Then the dad told him the kid was recovering from cancer.

heir2mecha.realm: Stark took the kid’s chair, wheeled him to his car and showed him what all the cool buttons do. They chatted for a really long time that the press and the other nosy people just went away, lost interest.

heir2mecha.realm: you should’ve seen the kid’s face. It was epic. It was unforgettable the look that kid gave him.

shield_storm: That’s something you don’t hear about Tony Stark in the tabloids or the gossip columns. That would’ve been nice to witness…

heir2mecha.realm: yeah

He looked up just as everyone else was getting out of their seats. He slipped his phone in his right boot and gingerly got up, too. Stark was off his seat and out the door as soon as Fury took a long enough breath that indicated that the meeting was concluded, but Steve hung around and tried to mooch some more information from the hushed conversations the rest of the team were having. He was finding it hard to believe that he had sat through an entire debrief without a single clue what they were talking about.

Steve exited Boardroom 5 on Natasha and Clint’s heels. But Clint had to excuse himself before they even made it to the hallway leading to the mains. So Steve sidled up to a silent and tense Natasha.

Bracing himself for a telling off that he felt was on the way, Steve closed his hands into fists. But before Natasha could say anything, she froze, catching sight of Stark standing around on the threshold to the mains, clutching the hand of a young woman—brunette, amiable, chic, professional-looking and obviously charmed to her gills by The Tony Stark.

“If I don’t know that Tony is stupidly in love with Pepper, I would knee him in the balls for the attention he’s giving that woman,” Natasha muttered. “She looks like she’s about ready to climb him like a tree; it’s pathetic,” she spat.

Steve saw the attentive and absolutely feral look on Stark’s face, the confident stance that emphasized the perfect fit of his clothes that clung like a second skin on his sinewy frame, the twinkle of his warm brown eyes that looked like liquid gold made more stunning by thick, dark eyelashes and the humanizing but appealing crow’s feet on the corners every time he smiled, the naughty closed-mouthed smile framed by his impeccably-trimmed goatee and his tinkling laugh at what the woman stammered through her teeth.

“Oh she’s doomed. When Tony turns it on, you have about as much chance of resisting him as a snowstorm in hell,” Natasha mumbled with a slight shake of her head, assuming a murderous expression and walking briskly, past Stark and the woman, as if daring them to say a word to her so they’d know what it felt like to sweep their teeth off the granite floor.

“This is Ashley. She’s from Men’s Health, and she wants to do a spread on the Avengers’ diet and exercise routines,” Stark said to Steve, without preamble, then turned back to the girl, Ashley. “Unfortunately, I am so indisposed today and for the next two weeks for that matter—I’ve absolutely no free slot that I can possibly slide you in, but I know for a fact that the good Cap’n here is free, so how about you and him go talk about what information you need over dinner? Don’t worry, Ash—honey bunny—dinner and interview with Cap’s on me. We’re done here?”

Stark gave the girl a thousand-watt smile, not giving her an opportunity to say a word in edgewise. Confused, Steve looked at the woman, who also looked like she didn’t know what just happened. Did Stark just arrange a dinner date for them?!

“Oh and Cap, ‘I Know What You Did Last Debrief,’” Stark teased, eyes twinkling again. He mimicked typing with two thumbs on an imaginary smartphone.

Steve felt the blood drain from his face.

“You should be more careful next time, but don’t worry ‘cause this is our little secret,” Stark said with a ‘tsk’ sound and a gesture of shooting a makeshift gun with his forefinger and thumb. He gave Steve a surprisingly engaging and magnetic half-grin before turning around and walking away.

Chapter Text

Tony suspected that Rogers was probably getting wise to the engineer’s underhanded schemes of setting unsuspecting women on spur-of-the-moment dinner dates with the oblivious Captain. Tony wasn’t exactly discreet about it either. The dinner-slash-interview with Ashley from Men’s Health on Sunday night was only the beginning.

There was a quick succession of scheduled dinners for Rogers care of Tony with various women: the intern in Marketing that only wanted a simple survey filled out regarding Starkphone XZ on Monday evening; a lady reporter for the New York Journal who wanted to do a piece for the new cancer wing at St. Mary’s Hospital on Tuesday; the Stark Industries lunch lady’s cousin’s niece that only wanted Rogers’ autograph for Wednesday evening (but they did coffee-and-muffins in the Starbucks across the street instead because the girl had a class in the evening at the community college); that cute assistant to whatshis-face—that anchor in the early morning news program of the local channel—on Thursday night (but Rogers had to take a rain check due to Avengers business, promising to make it up to the girl by walking with her to work the following morning).

Let it not be said that Tony was a lousy housemate who didn’t have the Captain’s back in the getting-dates department.

On the Pepper front, however, things were still a bit tense. For the first time since Tony met Pepper, including those years she had worked as his personal assistant, the engineer found himself censoring his words as they were coming out of his mouth and watching what he said to Pepper to keep her from exploding into a rage and screaming her head off. Since he was born without that innate brain-to-mouth filter, the past couple of days were nothing short of excruciating.

They still kept the routine that they’d established since moving in together in Malibu. But this time, Pepper insisted on semi-regular communion with the rest of the residents of the Tower. And she would drag Tony with her to the common floor and keep him there until she was satisfied that he’d reached his quota of ‘meaningful social interaction’, by which time, Tony was just about ready to bolt back to the workshop and whine his head off at JARVIS.

Also, Avengers concerns and R&D stuff still needed his attention, and they came in in droves. He really didn’t have any problems keeping up with them, releasing and signing-off on new or upgraded tech—after all, he was a stone-cold workaholic whose coffee-to-blood ratio was just about equal if not more partial to coffee on most days, and he could go four days at most without a wink of sleep. But with the increased hours of Pepper-mandated ‘meaningful social interaction’, he’d had to shave off so many hours from his day that should’ve been dedicated to more productive activities. So now he actually had a bit of a backlog in his work! He—Tony Stark—workaholic extraordinaire, was falling behind in his work output. That had never happened to him since that week-long binge drinking thing with Happy in Vegas where they had a bit of a run-in with the Mob that he was actually thrown in jail for 72 hours; and he was so hung-over he actually puked his innards in the jail cell… thrice.

The only upside to his life this past week, surprisingly, was his interaction with Storm. They usually chatted in the dead of night when Pepper was already asleep. And they talked about the Food Network, the Beatles, the civil rights movement, their nastiest habits, who their first kiss was and what it was like.

It was weird because as far as the interaction with Rogers was concerned, there was no significant change…unless Tony’s strange matchmaking schemes counted for something. But judging by Rogers’ air of suspicion and his near-constant looks of exasperation directed at Tony, they really didn’t. Tony was probably better off just ignoring the Captain. Or mocking him—mocking him always was a good fallback.

When Pepper got an emergency call to fly immediately to Dallas to attend to some problems on the construction of another Stark Industries clean energy building, Tony was only too thankful that he’d finally be able to return to his regular work routine that he, himself, volunteered to drive Pepper to the airport.

Tony got into thinking again that something was definitely wrong when he was happier taking Pepper to the airport than he was when Pepper was at home, haranguing him for ‘meaningful social interaction’. He thought that he may have to take a trademark out for that one, considering all the references he’d been making to it that past week alone!

He was nearly buzzing with pent-up energy and anxiety at all the work he had been missing out on when he strode into his workshop, rattling out all sorts of commands, prompts and requests for updates from JARVIS. Even You, Dummy and Butterfingers chirped in attention. But five minutes into dealing with his backlog, the Avengers Assemble siren started blasting out of his workshop’s speakers.

“Oh come on!!!” Tony yelled, incensed. Really?! Now?!

He seriously considered asking for a ‘Pass!’ from Rogers on this one because he really, really wanted to get some work done, but JARVIS decided for him by telling him that the Mark XLIII was already en route to the penthouse landing pad from the armor vault.

Sometimes, Tony hated JARVIS’ vigilance.

Muttering all sorts of invectives, Tony went to the landing pad without changing into his usual under-armor body suit, stepped into the Mark XLIII and into the waiting quinjet for the usual en-route briefing for unplanned Assembly calls such as this. The Avengers were off to the outskirts of El Paso to an abandoned SHIELD underground facility that was covertly taken over by HYDRA and has since been used for their ploy to take over the world.

According to the intel lifted from Tulsa, South Africa and Austria, they were looking to recover reactor-grade plutonium, manipulatable adamantium, weapon prototypes, remote-detonated explosives of all shapes and sizes, hard drives, databases, possible hostages and volunteers undergoing DNA experimentation—in other words, the mother-lode—of HYDRA assets. Tony thought they could have done better than stash it in El Paso, of all places!

They were briefed to expect resistance in the form of gunfire—as always, possible biochemical warfare, and EMPs.

All eyes turned to Tony in his Iron Man suit with the face plate turned up. “What?”

“Can you handle an EMP blast with the suit, Tony?” Natasha asked. The other men in the team looked like they were all thinking it; it was just that the woman was the bravest one to actually ask him. “Maybe you should sit this one out?”

“Now you’re telling me?!” Tony roared, affronted. “I practically dropped everything in my workshop and hauled ass and now you’re telling me that I should sit on the sidelines and watch?! Oh no!”

Before anyone else could open their mouths to argue with him, he informed them with a tone of voice as calm as he could manage, “The Mark XLIII is shielded. No EMP made by man can damage it. Now can we move on?”

“Are you sure?” Rogers asked again, his face a mask of challenge.

“I made this suit, Spangles. I think I know what it can do and what it can take,” Tony said, staring Rogers down. He always hated it when people assumed he couldn’t handle getting banged up a bit because he was just a man in a can.

“Fine,” Rogers conceded, but his eyes narrowed as if he still didn’t trust Tony.

They picked up Thor and Jane’s team—Jane herself, Darcy Lewis, Dr. Eric Selvig and Ian Boothby—in Tulsa, and only then did they begin earnest talks of strategy.

The Captain directed that they should not touch down where the thickest of the action was and instead approach in groups of twos with Clint staying in a vantage point where he can point out patterns in the offensive or the weakest points in the defensive, and Bruce safely tucked away in the quinjet, with the rest of their guests, on standby—for deployment as soon as things got really ugly.

Thankfully, Tony was partnered with Thor and they were supposed to approach from the exhaust vent hidden by a craggy outcropping in the surrounding mountains about a hundred feet above level ground and could only be taken from the sky.

It was bedlam when they got to their respective positions. There were SHIELD loyalists already on site and enthusiastic gunfire was already being exchanged.

They got into the vent without incident and flew straight down. It was when they got to the heart of the facility that Iron Man and Thor were engaged in all manner of attacks. They got shot at—as always and were nearly overwhelmed by the sheer number of HYDRA operatives and the creativity of their weaponry; the opponents had decided to break-in their prototype weapons apparently without any sort of prior testing in a controlled environment. So some of them were roasted and electrocuted by their own weapons and did as much damage to their own ranks as Thor’s lightning and hammer swings and Iron Man’s repulsors blasts. Tony didn’t bother grieving for them.

Naturally, the bad-asses Iron Man and Thor got to the main atrium of the underground facility before Captain America and Black Widow, since there were presumably more adversaries on ground level and through the duct they were supposed to go through.

There was a lot to see in that atrium. Someone in there went bat-shit crazy and made all manner of world-dominating arsenal, ammunitions and tools. And the banks and banks of computers and processing units of various vintage were sure to be a treasure trove. But it was Tony who found the staff.

“Shit, Thor. Look,” Tony murmured, walked as fast to the glass-enclosed chamber as his armor would permit. There on a couple of metal holders atop a stainless steel table was Loki’s scepter from the time of the Chitauri invasion. It was glowing an iridescently fluid blue.

Tony felt the skin at the back of his head crawl. “Cap’n… Widow… you’re not gonna like this. But Loki’s scepter’s here. HYDRA’d stolen it from the SHIELD base where it was taken after the invasion of New York and they brought it here to study,” Tony spoke over the comms.

He thought the comms might have malfunctioned for a moment because there was only stunned silence. Then Rogers spoke, voice small and crackly in the comms’ signal. “Do we know how long they’ve had it under study?”

“Might be in the computers. You guys should get here because there’s a literal mountain of data to get through,” Tony replied.

“Anything else we need to know about?” Widow finally spoke, nearly breathless.

“Thor found some rooms—cages with cots and leftover food but no hostages or people being experimented on. The cages are all empty,” Tony reported again, following Thor’s trail through the atrium with his gaze.

The encounter was pronounced under control after four hours. Thor, Iron Man, the Captain and Widow were shortly joined by Hawkeye and Bruce—as himself, to sift through the HYDRA stash in the atrium, appropriate what they came there for and destroy the rest. Hill and Fury were in the Tower Command Center, conferring with them through the comms.

At first, they had another one of those rows where everyone started blaming everyone else for the fuck-up of letting HYDRA have their wicked way with Loki’s scepter and goodness-knows-what-else in that atrium of theirs. So it was another three hours when they decided to call it a day and leave the surplus shit for the SHEILD loyalists to clean up.

They were already outside waiting for the quinjet to prep when JARVIS alerted Tony on their private channel.

“Sir, I am detecting signs of life from the exhaust vent on the northeast corner. They might be the former prisoners housed in the cages that Mr Odinson earlier discovered as they are intent on getting as far away from the facility as possible.”

“Or they might be stragglers, escaping from the fight to preserve their lives and fight another day,” Tony told his AI.

“Should I alert the rest of the team of their presence as well?”

“No need, J. I got this,” Tony shifted his legs together, with arms close against his sides, and took off to deal with the problem.

“Tony, where are you going?” Natasha asked through the comm just as Tony reached a height of one hundred feet to prepare to blast the vermin from above on the approach.

But Tony never got to his goal. One moment JARVIS was alerting him of his closing distance to the signs of life detected; lights and visual wire frames of the terrain were happily blinking on his HUD, and the next moment, everything was dark and he was falling. And falling fast.

“J! JARVIS! Wake up! What’s happened? J?”

The last thing he was aware of was a strange red vapor that he saw through the eye slits before hitting the rocky ground with mach velocity. And then darkness.

###

“Oh wow, did anyone get the license plates on whoever plowed through me? Why is everything spinning? Am I on morphine? Am I dead?” Tony was even more talkative when under the influence of painkillers.

The first one he saw on his bedside was a red-eyed, puffy-faced Pepper. The red baggy splotches under her eyes were very unbecoming of a redhead, if truth be told. “You asshole,” Pepper said quietly, and she started sobbing softly again. In her hands was a shredded wad of tissue paper.

“He knows he is,” Natasha interjected from the foot of Tony’s bed. “Are you even conscious enough to want to hear the verdict?”

“Hit me—wait…someone already did—haha!” Tony guffawed in spite of himself. The laughter sent aches and pains in parts of his body he didn’t know could feel aches and pains.

“Concussion, dislocated shoulder, four bruised ribs, lesions and lacerations everywhere in the body where it’s possible to get them—oh—and you should see your right butt cheek. It’s three shades short of a rainbow,” Natasha reported with an obviously relieved smile.

“How long was I out?” Tony asked, gingerly touching the bandages on his head.

“Three days. Everyone’s practically tearing down the med-floor’s walls with worry, waiting for you to wake up,” Natasha replied, tilting her head to look at him from another angle.

“When did you get here?” Tony turned to Pepper who was still sniffling and hiccupping through her tears. She was crying like he’d died.

“She was here as soon as we landed. We called her on the quinjet on the flight back,” answered Natasha in Pepper’s behalf. “Hey Pep?” Natasha turned to the other redhead.”Try not to scream at him until we’re absolutely sure he’s out of the woods, OK?”

Pepper just nodded solemnly.

Natasha touched Tony’s blanketed foot and left the room with a slight smile.

“You’re an asshole,” Pepper repeated. She looked like she was steeling herself for a fresh bout of crying.

“So tell me something I don’t know,” Tony murmured.

“What were you thinking, Tony?”

“Natasha said you’re not allowed to scream at me yet,” Tony warned.

“Why did you fly off alone without informing your team? What’s the purpose of working in a team if you can’t work with the rest of the team? You wanted in on this Avengers business, Tony, and you can’t even be bothered to tell them what the hell you were flying off alone for?” Pepper squeaked breathily, obviously fighting the urge to screech her tonsils out.

“What did they tell you happened, Pepper?”

“They said it was an EMP,” Pepper mumbled. “What were you thinking flying towards an EMP?”

“It wasn’t an EMP. The Mark XLIII is shielded from EMPs. That wasn’t an EMP,” Tony said with conviction.

“Well—you were wrong about the Mark XLIII then. Because what the hell was it if not an EMP?”

“I know EMPs, Pep. I know what they do. I can make one with the spare parts of a toaster, a radio, some electrical tape and a whisk. That wasn’t an EMP,” Tony said again, wanting to pound the concept into Pepper. “I don’t know what that was, but I sure as hell am gonna find out.”

“No! Absolutely not, Tony,” Pepper screamed, beside herself with pent-up fury and frustration.

“Why not? Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?”

“Killing my buzz,” Tony groaned. “You’re killing me, Pepper. Because you know I would want to know what hit me. I need to know what hit me so I can protect myself against it in the future.”

“I’m killing you? I’m killing you?” Pepper asked, hurt pouring out of every pore on her face.

Tony didn’t want to say it like that. But the words were already out there. “Why can’t you understand why I have to do this?”

Heavy silence reigned in the room.

“They call you the Invincible Iron Man out there, do you know?” Pepper asked.

Well—as far as bad-ass names went—that wasn’t bad at all!

Before Tony could reply with something asinine, Pepper was talking again. “But you’re not, are you? You’re not invincible… One of these days, your luck will run out. You’re going to go off to glorious battle and come back in pieces. And then where will I be? What do you think I’d feel?”

Tony just stared at her, eyes taking in the tears pooling in Pepper’s blue eyes.

“Do you even know what I felt when I got that call from Natasha saying you’d fallen a hundred feet and that you were unconscious in your wreck of a suit? Do you have any idea what I felt that time you called out a terrorist, got bombed out of your own home and nearly died? Do you have any, any at all, idea how I feel every time you come home with your armor riddled with bullet holes? You don’t know how I dread getting calls from Natasha, or Clint or anyone from the team—saying you’d suffered some injury or you were unconscious or—or bleeding out! I get these tremors… I get these chills and my heart jumps in my chest… and a piece of me dies—Tony—dies every time,” Pepper murmured, breath hitching. “Oh but I can heal. Thanks to you I heal really fast. I can heal from this pain you’re causing me, Tony. Over and over. I can forgive you for causing me this grief. Over and over. But it doesn’t change the fact that it hurts every time. I heal…but I ache first, and the ache never goes away. And I don’t get any more used to it today than I did yesterday or the day before that. The pain increases. Every. Time.”

Tony felt his breath hitch. He knew where this was going. He felt like he should say something now to stop this—whatever this was—in its tracks.

“I love you so much. So much. But I can’t keep living like this,” Pepper sobbed. She wiped a tear that had fallen from one of her eyes, and she stood up. She left the room soundlessly, without any door banging or chair hurling—or even screaming.

And to Tony, it was even more painful than if she did.

###

Steeling himself, the genius-billionaire-former playboy-philanthropist made a decision. He was going to hang his suit and retire as Iron Man, and he was going to ask Pepper to marry him. Happy had it right before. Pepper was the best thing that ever happened to him.

He said he would always be Iron Man, but Pepper… Pepper was his future. Pepper was his one true love. The only one who never gave up on him. The one he couldn’t live without.

Storm had it right, too. All you need is love, really. And he had that with Pepper. He didn’t need Iron Man anymore. Really.

The rest of his stay in the hospital was devoted to answering Storm’s worried Privies to him. The man was in a near panic when Tony was a no show in Stem for two whole days. So he just said that he was ironing out his relationship with his girlfriend and was planning a vacation for them where he was planning to pop the question to her. Storm said he was happy for them. Tony didn’t know where it was coming from but he could swear he ‘felt’ the man’s wistfulness and regret. Maybe it was because he was thinking of his own lost love.

Tony’s next consideration was telling the rest of the team about his decision. He was hoping he could convince them to stay in the Tower and that he could stay on as a consultant. He was one before, after all. So it was just a matter of reverting back to his old role. Maybe they could recruit Sam Wilson to replace him as an Avenger because for one thing, he could fly, too, and for another, Tony could so make a better set of wings for Falcon while blindfolded, hung-over and with one arm tied behind his back.

So decision made and barely a day after he was released from the med-floor with a clean-ish bill of health, he sent Pepper a text to meet him in the penthouse landing pad where he had a delivery guy from Gianni’s—his favorite restaurant, in the outskirts of Central Park—help him, for five hundred bucks, to arrange a picnic mat complete with chilling champagne, fruit and cheeses, Gianni’s superb food and his mother—Maria Stark’s—old engagement ring. He wanted this to be as special as it was supposed to be. He convinced himself that he wasn’t doing this to try to save a sinking ship or some such similar shit.

Pepper was silent but sufficiently surprised at what Tony had done. She smiled her usual soft Pepper smile, ate the grapes and pieces of cheese that Tony hand-fed her, drank the champagne after she toasted with Tony. The engineer didn’t quite catch what they were toasting for, but he drank heartily anyway, thinking that he was on his way to charming Pepper again. The only thing left to do was ask the question…

“I know why you’re doing this, Tony,” Pepper teased him with a melancholy grin. “I know that you think you have to do this because you don’t want to lose me.” 

“Pep…. My Pep… My beautiful Virginia Potts… the one I can’t live without…” Tony began, trying to think on his feet as to how to say what he wanted to say.

“I want to ask you something. And I want you to be honest with me,” Pepper interjected, breaking Tony’s groove.

“I didn’t do it with that leggy Playboy pin-up girl. I know everyone and their cousin would swear that I did and some of them even have some sort of evidence, I’m telling you—lies and slander, all of them, because I didn’t—“

“No, that wasn’t it,” Pepper interrupted, touching Tony’s hand softly, almost playfully. Her eyes were crinkling into an amused but tired smile.

“Why did you really decide to be Iron Man?” She asked, her voice strong and unmistakably clear, even with the howling wind and the sounds of the city below them.

It was something they’d never really discussed in depth before. Tony guessed that Pepper assumed he owned up to being Iron Man because—well—he’s Tony Stark, and he can. Before it was because he wanted the attention; he wanted the prestige of being thought of as a hero of sorts; he wanted the whole world to know how bad-ass he was; then he wanted vindication; he wanted to protect those he’d initially put in harm’s way; then it became because he wanted to leave behind a legacy for the ages. So what was it, really? Why was he Iron Man and why did he still want to be Iron Man?

“Because I’m not a hero. Rogers had it right. I’m not Iron Man nor do I want to continue being Iron Man because of that hobo in the corner, or that old lady in the 2^nd floor of the brownstone across the street, or that poser of a stock broker with his office in Wall Street,” Tony scoffed, still pensive. “I didn’t become Iron Man for people I don’t know or people I have no desire of knowing. I became Iron Man to protect the people who matter to me the most—you, Happy… Rhodey can fucking take care of himself—that kid, Elijah, who gave me the loom band, but mostly, just you. For you. I want to protect this world because the people I love are in it—you’re in it,” Tony said, and he knew, knew that every word was the fucking truth.

“But I can stop being Iron Man, Pep. Because I can lose Iron Man, but I cannot lose you.” Tony enclosed Pepper’s soft hand in his calloused one and grasped it like a lifeline.

“You can never lose me. Never, Tony. I love you. Very Much,” Pepper assured.

“So if I asked you to marry me, what would your answer be?” Tony tentatively asked, fingering his mother’s ring through the fabric of his jeans pocket. Then with his free hand, he took it out and offered it to Pepper.

Pepper tilted her head, looking at him. Then at the ring. Somehow, Tony imagined a proposal to be more joyous than this. Was he missing something?

“My answer?” Pepper asked, attempting to be coy. “It would be a no, Tony.”

Tony’s eyes narrowed. Did he hear that right? Was Pepper kidding?

“No. You don’t want to marry me.” Tony felt his heart drop to the pit of his stomach. He was still stupidly holding the ring out to Pepper.

“I can’t marry you.”

“You’re gonna give me that ‘it’s not you; it’s me’ speech. Right?” Tony stuffed the ring back in his pocket and let go of Pepper’s hand. He was beginning to feel anger and humiliation now. He couldn’t believe he actually hoped that Pepper would say yes!

“It is me… I’m the one with the problem. Because if I really love you enough to be your life partner, I shouldn’t have to make you feel like you need to choose between two things I know you love.”

“You’re more important than the suits, Pepper. You’ve always been. I can give it up. In fact, I have decided to give it all up. You said you can’t live like this, worrying about me all the time, so fine by me! I’ve decided to retire as Iron Man…for you! Because that’s what you want,” Tony said. He forcefully raked a hand through his hair. He wanted to yell out loud in frustration. He couldn’t understand what Pepper was trying to tell him. So much for his genius-level intellect.

“That’s not what I want, Tony. I don’t want you to think that you have to give up being Iron Man for me. It doesn’t have to be one or the other. You deserve better than that,” Pepper explained. This time, she was the one who reached out for Tony’s hand. “I have a problem with you being Iron Man, but Tony—I shouldn’t have to want to change you. And you shouldn’t feel like you have to give up a part of yourself just to make me happy! You deserve someone who can accept you as you are—all of who you are, one who won’t begrudge you for the heroic things that you do, one who is prepared and even proud to stand in vigil by your bed if you got hurt saving millions, one who will not resent having to put you back together when you’re broken,” Pepper murmured, gently stroking Tony’s hand

“I love you. But I can’t keep worrying about you and dreading that you’d come home in pieces. But at the same time, I can’t make you give up something you are absolutely impassioned about. Maybe… maybe we’re just not made to be in this relationship that we are in right now,” the redhead continued, fighting back more tears and trying to keep her voice steady. “We were friends—best friends—before we tried this romance thing. And at the end of the day, after everything we’ve been through, that’s what we’ll always be to each other. You’re my family. And I love you. And you will never, ever lose me,” Pepper assured again, a sad smile on her lips to try to make light what was otherwise a heartbreaking speech.   

“So you think we can make it through this and still come out the other end as friends?” Tony asked, feeling heaviness in the place where his arc reactor used to be.

“I hope so. I hope you can find it your heart to forgive me for hurting you like this, Tony,” Pepper replied, hugging her arms close to her chest.

“Well you’re the only person who knows I even have one; you’re the only person I’ve ever given my heart to,” said the engineer, sighing deeply. He really didn’t know what to feel. He had hoped. Hoped so fervently that Pepper was going to share in his life.

And now there was just this void.

Everyone had said Tony Stark was not a ‘relationship’ kind of guy. Maybe they had it right after all. Because here was a person he thought he could make a lifetime with, but she wouldn’t have him.

After Pepper left, he ordered JARVIS to put the penthouse in total security lockdown—no one in, no phone calls, nothing. And he broke open his sealed crates of whiskey—the ones he had sworn to Pepper not to touch when they moved from Malibu to New York.

He thought he’d celebrate his rejection the best way he knew how.

Chapter Text

Steve looked up from his Starkphone XZ where he was in the middle of reading the ebook version of The Lost Symbol, to stare at Natasha who had taken a seat beside him on the couch in the recreation room on the common floor of the Tower. Clint and Thor were busy going crazy, playing tennis on the Wii in front of their big-ass TV and the best home entertainment system that Stark’s money could buy. Bruce, meanwhile, was puttering around in the kitchen.

“You haven’t received any emails about Tony being on travel, have you?” Natasha asked, opening the huge bag of chips she was armed with. Her expression was both quizzical and annoyed.

“No. Did you ask Bruce if Stark was on travel?”

“Not that I know of,” Bruce himself answered, taking a seat in the arm chair by the windows, perpendicular to the couch; a mug of what smelled like lavender-infused chamomile tea was in his hands. “And besides he was only released from the med-floor four days ago. To my knowledge, he hasn’t even been by there again for a routine check since. I don’t think his attending physician’s cleared him for any air travel because she’d tell me if she’d given Tony clearance.”

“And Pepper hasn’t called or emailed to inform any of you if Tony’d had to hop on a plane at the last minute for an emergency trip?” She asked, raising her voice to direct her question even to the unruly Wii players, hashing it out on the virtual tennis court.

They all answered, one after another, in the negative.

“I don’t like it. I haven’t seen him at all these past four days, not even for coffee. And I’ve never not seen him for this long unless he was out of state,” the redheaded master assassin contemplated, hand buried in her bag of chips forgotten.

“Or unconscious and confined to the med-floor,” Bruce added, taking a sip of his tea. Even he had started to look contemplative. “He hasn’t been by the lab either. Have you tried going to the penthouse floor or the workshop?”

“Both are on total security lockdown—nothing comes in; he doesn’t take any messages or phone calls. JARVIS says he’s noting all messages and passing them along to Tony, but I don’t know… this is weird. If he’s not on travel and he’s not in the med-floor, why do his areas have to be on lockdown anyway?”

“Perhaps Anthony is ill with something aggressively communicable?” Thor contributed, turning to them after a match ended with him walloping Clint, 5 sets to none.

“If he’s that alarmingly sick, JARVIS would have told us,” Steve reasoned, putting his phone on standby. Now, he, too, was beginning to channel Natasha’s concern.

“Unless JARVIS has a direct command that even he cannot bypass, from Tony, to tell us nothing,” said Bruce, putting his mug down on the side table beside his arm chair.

“We should just call Pepper. Tony tells her everything. If he’s sick and he’s told JARVIS not to tell us, the only other person to ask who would know something and not be compelled to not say anything is Pepper,” Clint suggested, putting the Wii remote on the center table that he and Thor had pushed towards the far corner to make room for their game.

Bruce was already pulling out his phone just as Clint dropped Pepper’s name. “No good. Call gets taken to voicemail. Maybe she’s in the middle of a meeting,” he reported, pursing his lips.

“I don’t like this,” Natasha said again. “Something’s wrong. Why doesn’t he just talk to us and tell us if there’s something wrong? I mean, what are we—furniture?” Natasha asked, directing her question to Bruce, who was undeniably the one who knew Stark best, of all of them in the room.

“Maybe he’s caught up with work. He did take a lot of breaks during that week that Pepper was here and then he lost some more time by being stuck in the med-floor. He’s probably just locked himself in to get some work done and keep us, fools, out of his hair while he does it,” Clint said, dismissively. And to Steve it made sense, loathe as he was to admit it.

But Natasha didn’t drop her look of annoyance. She was convinced that something wasn’t right with Stark.

They stayed in a relatively tame mood after that unofficial conference. Natasha decided to leave and neatly resealed her bag of chips for later consumption, shortly after Thor had beaten Clint for a third time, saying she was going to hit the gym. Bruce returned to the kitchen to hand wash his mug before mumbling that he was going to go back to the lab. Clint and Thor decided to switch to a game of Grand Theft Auto. And Steve thought the new game was too noisy, so he also left for his floor after a mumbled ‘see you later’ to the game console players.

He was comfortably reclining in his bed when he opened his phone again to log in to Stem.

He’d sent a Privy to Mecha, asking the latter if he was enjoying his vacation with his girlfriend and wishing him luck in popping the question or in helping to plan the wedding, whichever was applicable. He really wasn’t expecting a reply because the man was probably having the time of his life with his arms curled around his fiancée.

Steve wanted to blame force of habit for his instinctive connection to his phone and near involuntary log-in to Stem almost every time he had the damn phone in his hand. Maybe he was getting addicted to it as Natasha had said.

He suddenly straightened up in bed when he saw a reply to one of his Privies to Mecha. The reply was sent very early that morning.

Privy to heir2mecha.realm_

heir2mecha.realm replied to shield_storm’s Privy:

I didn’ttell you butthe vacation’s off. There won’t b a wedding. She doesn’t want to hav anything to do with me. Shebroke up with me and I feelike shit! She was theonly rihgt thing that ever happenedto me and I couldn’t keep her. I don’t evn know what I did wrong! I jstwanna die. I just want to drinkmyself to oblivion,storm. I don’t knowwhattodonow.

I’m sorry about thisbut I didn’t reallyknow who totalk to. She was the only person I coud talk to about anything and now she’sleftme. Ima patetic losr…

That song lied. Love is notenough. ItsnotFCUKINGENOUGH!!!!!!!!Maybe it was me.

Shit m sorry aboutthis.

By the looks of it, it was sent by a very depressed and very drunk Mecha. Steve bit his lower lip and re-read the message. He wondered what could have happened. Just a couple of days ago, Mecha was very excited, outlining every detail, every moment of what he wanted to do for his girlfriend and now this! Steve switched to chatting mode and waited patiently, eyes glued to the screen, willing Mecha to log in and talk to him. The man sounded like he could do with a listening ear and a person to rant to.

The blonde ex-army clutched his phone with two hands, held it close to his face and stared it down like it was being uncooperative.

He didn’t know how long he sat like that, but he forgot about it all when his phone pinged, alerting that Mecha was logged in.

shield_storm: Mecha!!!!! Thank god you logged in. I got your message. I’m so sorry…

shield_storm: do you want to talk about it?

heir2mecha.realm: I dont wanna bother u wit my shit,man

heir2mecha.realm: im fucking dpressing totalk to rihgt nw.

Steve noticed the mistakes and the misspellings and couldn’t help but think that his friend was pissed drunk at that moment. Could Steve blame him really?

shield_storm: you need to stop drinking. This isn’t the way to deal with your pain, man.

heir2mecha.realm: thre isnt anyothrway to dealwith ths pain!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

shield_storm: there is. Talk to me. I’m here. I’ll listen to you.

heir2mecha.realm: whatdo i say? Theres nothuin to say. Sheleft me imnot good enough foher.

shield_storm: what was her reason? Was it because of a third party? Just talk to me, man.

heir2mecha.realm: no3rd party. Wudv bn bettr if therwas a 3party. Sh jstleft bcus shes fukcing sck of me nd my shit…

shield_storm: did she say she was leaving you because she doesn’t love you anymore?

heir2mecha.realm: no

shield_storm: so you think she still loves you?

heir2mecha.realm: idunno

heir2mecha.realm: iwanna hurl mythrot out rhgt now. i m sck ofdrkng bt the fkcing pains not goin way!!!!!!!!!!!!!

shield_storm: do you want to go after her and try to win her back?

There was no answer for some time that Steve thought Mecha might have passed out cold due to drunkenness. He should really try to convince his Stem friend to disclose his address in case Steve needed to call 911. But if Mecha’d already passed out, it was a bit late for that for the time being.

heir2mecha.realm: no id mch rthr set herfree…. if imnot right 4 hr,she shod befree tofnd 1 whois.

shield_storm: you should tell me your address in case I need to call 911 to help you…

heir2mecha.realm: am ok. donworry.

heir2mecha.realm: I hv some1 wthin screamin dtance.

heir2mecha.realm: I needu to tell me that imgona be alright- tel me ill bealryt nd ill bleive u

shield_storm: you’ll be alright. The pain will pass. One day, you’ll even be friends with her again.

heir2mecha.realm: were freinds b4 we hookdup. I ope so………….

heir2mecha.realm: imma go2 the toilt ndhurl……….. w8

Steve typed what remedies to drunkenness he knew about from his mom and some of their neighbors in Brooklyn while waiting for Mecha who was presumably vomiting something vile. He didn’t want to think about how rotten Mecha was probably feeling right now. He knew only too well what it felt like to have to lose someone. While Steve’s loss was considerably less conventional, it wasn’t any less painful. Finding out that people had moved on after he was lost at sea and waking up to a world where everyone he knew was either dead or dying of old age, Steve’s pain was unique. But how different was it really from Mecha’s—being dumped and watching the one you love move on without you?

heir2mecha.realm: u actually stayed to chat?

shield_storm: what you thought I’d just log off while you puked?

heir2mecha.realm: yeah if our places are reversed, I would…

shield_storm: thanks a lot. :-)

heir2mecha.realm: are ppl actually ths nice or isit jst u?

shield_storm: just me. :-) are you sure you don’t need me to call 911 for you?

heir2mecha.realm: am good

heir2mecha.realm: am so w8std rite now.

shield_storm: yeah noticed… you need to come down from the alcohol high, man.

heir2mecha.realm: im only drnking h20 now dude chil

heir2mecha.realm: readng myown msgs s makin my head fukcin hurt AND typiong s makn it worse

shield_storm: you want to do voice chat?

heir2mecha.realm: trus me u dont wanna hear my voic ryt nw.

shield_storm: how about if you don’t type and you just ‘listen’ to me?

heir2mecha.realm: hwa?

shield_storm: I’ll tell you a story. I’ll make it good. And before you know it, you’re no longer drunk… game?

heir2mecha.realm: hey my gf jus left me- im willing totry any fukcin thing right now!!! hit it!

And Steve just typed, long sentence after long sentence, telling Mecha about the misadventures of a group called the Howling Commandos who waded into war. Steve told him the stories that no history books ever would. The conversations and jokes he and his men had shared, the days when they all just hung out with each other and smoked—or in Steve’s case, chewed gum. He told Mecha about the girls they met, the firsts they did, the sweet words they wooed with, the white lies they told. He bent the facts a little—like what war the boys actually fought in—but the rest, the rest was honest-to-god truth.

Steve, who was a quiet bloke in the company of loud and raucous men of the Howling Commandos, had never talked or shared this much about his life with anyone before. Except for Bucky, of course. And the blonde owed his newfound chattiness to the appeal of spilling your guts out to a stranger who didn’t know you enough to judge you or gossip about you with other people.

He guessed that Mecha had already fallen asleep or passed out sometime during his monologue that he fully intended to just log out without trying to wait for an acknowledgment or a goodbye. But before he could hit the right button, there was the unexpected response.

heir2mecha.realm: thank you. thank you for this. ur a good person, Sterm. ill be better when we talk again next time. i promis g’nyt

###

Steve didn’t have the ‘I don’t like it that I’ve never seen Tony in forever’ conversation with Natasha again until Bruce brought it up over dinner after a particularly grueling Avengers mission to regain control and possession of another former SHIELD facility that HYDRA had infiltrated located way up in the Rockies.

A week and a half had passed since they’d had this conversation last.

But when Stark was anything but his usual self during the mission in the Rockies—he barely said a word, didn’t chatter in the comms as he was wont to do before, actually followed Steve’s orders without a breath of a complaint, didn’t tease, heckle or rib any of them on the flight back and then disappeared back to crevices unknown as soon as they touched down on the landing pad—everyone knew there was definitely something wrong.

As was the usual, everyone else was accounted for to partake of a well-deserved meal except for Stark.

“We have a problem,” Bruce initiated just as everyone was cracking open their Chinese takeaway boxes around the dining table.

“Don’t tell me they forgot the sauce for the egg rolls again?” Clint asked, dismayed.

“No—it’s…uh…about Tony,” Bruce redirected, fiddling with his chopsticks as if wrestling with himself about how best to phrase what he wanted to say.

“Yeah—what was that all about?! I don’t think I’ve ever been on a mission where Tony Stark actually kept his trap shut for more than a couple of minutes. And he didn’t speak at all today! At all! I thought he might have been replaced by a mute life model decoy or something,” Clint observed, enunciating out loud what they were all thinking.

“And he looked like he was slightly hung-over, too,” Natasha added, fishing for a plump siomai in the box in the middle of the table.

“Has Anthony already conversed with you then, Bruce? Has he disclosed to you what his predicament is?” Thor asked, impatient for news. Thor was the one most concerned about Stark’s absence and aloofness as Stark had always made it a point in the past to hang out with him especially if Thor had been away from the Tower for a long period of time.

“No and no, Thor. But I think I can guess what might be wrong,” said Bruce his mouth tightened into a thin line.

Eating, chewing, fidgeting and all motion from the five occupants of the room actually ceased, waiting for what Bruce was going to say. “I think it has something to do with Pepper. I think they might have broken up.”

“What?” Natasha spat, dropping the siomai she was going to bite off from. “How did you know?”

“Pepper called me just as we landed back here. I told her that we’re all worried because we haven’t seen Tony around and that when Tony was with us earlier, he was out of it and looked like he’d taken a vow of silence. Pepper just begged me to keep an eye on him and to try to coax him to talk. She didn’t say why I should do that, and she didn’t say that she’d phone him herself to scream his ear off—which was odd…so I made my conclusions and I’ve concluded that they might have broken things off between them,” Bruce explained. Everyone else just sort of forgot to keep eating.

“Unbelievable! Guy breaks it off with his girl and the people who live in the same fucking house with him are clueless about it! He is a dick!” said a clearly pissed-off Clint. “A break-up is a game-changer. It’s off-putting; it’s distressing—sometimes it’s even demeaning. Something like that affects a person’s focus, confidence and decision-making. A person is not in his 100% when he carries baggage like that. If I’m in the field getting shot at, I think I’d like to know if the one watching my back is really watching my back or thinking about 1,001 ways to get revenge on their ex or—or suffering from bouts of self-pity or self-doubt. And Tony is self-destructive enough as it is without putting a break-up in the goddamn mix! Listen—any indecision or failure to act on the field brought about by anything, any number of things or factors, could mean your fucking life or the life of the sucker stupid enough to fight alongside you!” Clint crumpled a paper napkin and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Am I the only one who thinks it’s unfair of him to keep that from us?” Clint asked, looking at each of them in turn to gauge their reaction to Bruce’s hypothesis. “I mean, at this point, I’d like to think of us as teammates, if not friends. And teammates at least trust each other, don’t they?”

The rest of them were nodding their heads softly, understanding where Clint was coming from.

“You’re right, Clint, it’s unfair of Tony. Because teammates are supposed to trust each other,” Natasha agreed with Clint. “But we’re also supposed to try to empathize with one another. And we can’t force Tony to confide in us if he doesn’t want to.”

“A band of warriors indeed works well with trust, Clinton, but I’ve always believed it works best with compassion first, and the trust part will follow,” Thor intoned in his commanding and formal baritone, clapping Clint’s upper arm fondly. “Anthony must really be suffering a most excruciating pain presently. What do you advocate to alleviate his anguish, Bruce? Perhaps after the agony has passed, Anthony will confide in us his ails as comrades do,” said Thor, deferring to Bruce for any advice.

“We certainly can’t force ourselves on him. And we can’t just break down the walls of his workshop and demand that he tell us what his problem is,” Bruce said, thinking out loud. “Maybe at this point, we can’t do anything but wait, really. Tony’s the type who will reach out on his own when he’s ready.”

“Yeah? Well—we could be waiting forever,” Natasha muttered, furiously taking a bite from a spring roll.

Steve was still thinking about Stark and what to do to get him to trust them enough to tell them if he had indeed broken things off with Pepper when he plopped into bed later that night.

As always, he reached out for his phone and logged in on Stem automatically. He and Mecha didn’t have a good long talk again since the night that Mecha ‘drunk chatted’ with Steve. They sent short greetings and casual questions of ‘how are you today?’ to each other instead. Steve thought that Mecha’s messages were starting to read like his usual quirky self again of late, and it was reassuring that little by little, Steve thought that Mecha was already recovering.  

shield_storm: hey, you’re logged in!

heir2mecha.realm: you sound surprised…

shield_storm: I just thought it was too early for you to be lurking around here.

heir2mecha.realm: I am stone-cold sober for the first time in days. DAYS!

shield_storm: congratulations!

heir2mecha.realm: There’s really nowhere else to go from here but up. Am I right?

shield_storm: damn straight! ;-)

heir2mecha.realm: so what are you up to tonight? It’s Friday—shouldn’t you be out or something?

shield_storm: I like spending Friday nights indoors.

heir2mecha.realm: my ass!

heir2mecha.realm: your housemates are still not doing their job of getting you a thriving social life…

shield_storm: I’ll have you know that my social life is the envy of guys my age.

Steve actually laughed out loud at the idea. Yes, 97-year-olds would maim and kill to have his social life, alright!

heir2mecha.realm: I doubt that. Very much.

shield_storm: what about you? What’re you doing tonight?

heir2mecha.realm: oh you know… wallowing in self-pity, asking deaf ears what I did wrong to deserve this beautiful life destined to be spent alone—the usual stuff that newly-single people like to torture themselves with…

heir2mecha.realm: seriously though, I think I’ll take a page from your book and do some reading. How about if you recommend something to me this time?

shield_storm: how do you like classics?

heir2mecha.realm: not a fan but I’ll choke down anything at this point.

shield_storm: Try some Charles Dickens. Any movies for me tonight?

heir2mecha.realm: what- the pleasure of my company’s not enough for you? :-)

shield_storm: I’m not gonna watch tonight… I’ll just file it away for later. So… anything?

heir2mecha.realm: Kiss Kiss Bang Bang. It’s a dark comedy, mystery type. I like that movie and I think you will, too. Done with the first batch of books yet?

shield_storm: Filed. Nope not yet. I have about a couple more. Aren’t the Bourne books like a lot?

heir2mecha.realm: just read the first three…

shield_storm: ok

shield_storm: I’m guessing now is the worst time to remind you that you promised to go with me to the Speed-dating vein…

heir2mecha.realm: I DID, DIDN’T I?!?!?!?!

shield_storm: my turn to take a rain check…

heir2mecha.realm: kill-joy!

shield_storm: At least this time I don’t feel as guilty asking you to go with me as I was before when you were still attached.

heir2mecha.realm: Yeah that’s a game-changer… Before I was just planning on talking and flirting a bit but now, I intend to be really nasty and filthy—those girls won’t know what hit them…

shield_storm: I’m glad that we can joke about this now. This means you’re well on your way to a full recovery! :-D

heir2mecha.realm: like I said… nowhere else to go but up… ;-)

shield_storm: I wish my housemate could be as positive about this as you…

heir2mecha.realm: ok which of the 5 housemates are we talking about now?

shield_storm: the engineer.

heir2mecha.realm: what’s up with him? It is a HIM right? I think I remember you talking about him being a guy…

shield_storm: yes he’s male. He’s kind of in a rut right now. We don’t exactly know why but we have a hunch that he’s also just broken up with his girlfriend.

heir2mecha.realm: breaking-up sucks ass I’m telling you… how exactly is he holding up?

shield_storm: we don’t really know, he just ignores us. It’s weird. Is that an engineer thing? Or a smart people thing? You think other people are beneath you that you don’t bother telling them if something’s the matter with you and you just close yourself off completely?

heir2mecha.realm: OUCH! Isn’t that a bit discriminatory against engineers and smart people as a species?

heir2mecha.realm: You can’t generalize all of us to be like that!!!! :-)

shield_storm: ok if you’re in my place and you have a stubborn housemate like that, what would do? How would you reach out to him?

heir2mecha.realm: easy. I won’t do anything! He’ll reach out when he’s ready!

shield_storm: so even if I’m worried about him, I’ll just let things slide and not do a damn thing?!

heir2mecha.realm: wait… YOU are worried about him? Like personally? Not you and your other housemates collectively? You means you… just you?

shield_storm: yeah me. I worry about him. The others do too. But yeah, I worry about him, alright.

heir2mecha.realm: is he suicidal?

shield_storm: I don’t know! He doesn’t talk to me!

heir2mecha.realm: what kind of people live in the same house and NOT talk?

shield_storm: I know right? EXACTLY!

heir2mecha.realm: IKR=I know right?

shield_storm: I don’t think he’s suicidal. But I’m just guessing here. He’s too smart and narcissistic to just kill himself.

heir2mecha.realm: hmmm, interesting fellow…

shield_storm: so any advice? Aside from ignoring him and waiting for a time that might never come?

heir2mecha.realm: you know, Storm, people can be complicated sometimes. And I think this engineer housemate of yours is one of them complicated people. It’s not an engineer thing or a smart people thing. But people of this type probably won’t appreciate you ramming yourself against their walls like a fucking wrecking ball.

heir2mecha.realm: you have to trust me when I say that you just have to wait. And see. He’ll do the reaching out when he’s ready.

shield_storm: I hope you’re right.

heir2mecha.realm: I’m always right. ;-)

shield_storm: so is that person within screaming distance from you still there?

heir2mecha.realm: huh?

shield_storm: you didn’t want to give me your address to call 911 with when you were drunk out of your mind. You said there was someone within screaming distance… so are they still there?

heir2mecha.realm: oh yeah they are!

shield_storm: family? Brothers and sisters?

shield_storm: I guess it’s too personal huh? Well, it’s ok—forget I asked.

heir2mecha.realm: No it’s ok…. Not family, but more like neighbors… I have five other neighbors in the apartment building where I live…

shield_storm: I imagine it gets kind of noisy with so many neighbors around!

heir2mecha.realm: it’s ok. They’re tolerable. They pretty much keep to themselves. Though they sometimes poke their noses in their other neighbors’ business, I’m sure they mean well.

heir2mecha.realm: I don’t know them all that much. I can be a recluse of sorts.

shield_storm: I found my housemates a bit overwhelming at first, too. But they’re really good people and they’re occasionally fun to hang out with. :-)

heir2mecha.realm: except for that stubborn engineer housemate of yours, right? :-)

shield_storm: well he mostly gets along well with the others… so maybe it’s just me he has a problem with…

heir2mecha.realm: nice guy like you? I can’t imagine why he’d have a problem with you.

shield_storm: I can be a bit… stiff…

heir2mecha.realm: ???

heir2mecha.realm: !!!!!!!!!!!!

Steve’s forehead crinkled in thought, trying to imagine what Mecha was probably thinking about. He snickered and felt his neck get warm when he reconsidered the word he had typed.

shield_storm: I meant with my manner! I am a former soldier after all. So I’m kind of rigid- a stickler for the rules. I’m guessing he doesn’t like that about me…

heir2mecha.realm: have you ever tried you know just letting your hair down especially around him?

shield_storm: I don’t know how… He always mocks me… He teases me when I fail to get pop culture references. And to be honest, he kind of intimidates me…

heir2mecha.realm: why??

shield_storm: because he’s really smart and comfortable in his own skin. He’s this good-looking and rich and smart guy and he knows it and he likes to rub it in people’s faces. It’s disconcerting.

heir2mecha.realm: you think he’s good looking?

Oh hell! Steve couldn’t believe he just typed that! What was he thinking? Now Mecha was going to be uncomfortable about him being appreciative of both men and women.

shield_storm: I am an artist; I do know how to appreciate beautiful things. It doesn’t matter that he’s good looking; it’s his self-awareness of it that makes me uncomfortable around him.

heir2mecha.realm: you think he’s arrogant.

shield_storm: well he is!

heir2mecha.realm: have you never thought about the possibility that you maybe think he’s arrogant because you’re unsure of yourself—you’re insecure in your own skin—and you resent him for being secure in his?

Steve brought his face closer to the phone’s screen to look at what Mecha had written. He admittedly had never thought of it that way. But it wasn’t a far-off assessment. Steve, after all, had started out as a sickly, 90-pound runt and lived most of the years he was awake as such runt. He had been looked at by dames with distaste for so long he had never really grown accustomed to his new skin. He knew he looked good now, but those runt years must have made more impact on his self-confidence than he was willing to come to terms with.

shield_storm: I hate it when you’re right.

heir2mecha.realm: I’m always right. :-) it’s a gift.

shield_storm: I may have to clear the air with him, with my engineer housemate, I mean…

heir2mecha.realm: we gotta stop calling him that! You wanna maybe give him a name we can use whenever we gossip about him?

shield_storm: Leo

heir2mecha.realm: ok explain. :-)

shield_storm: Well he reminds me of Leonardo da Vinci. Da Vinci was also ahead of his time, very brilliant. So yeah let’s call him Leo!

heir2mecha.realm: At least the reference is to the scientist and not the big-ass katana-wielding turtle…

shield_storm: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Right?

heir2mecha.realm: correct. ;-)

shield_storm: So yeah like I said I may have to clear the air with Leo, apologize for any offense I might have caused.

heir2mecha.realm: well if I have to guess, he probably also has misapprehensions about you. So why apologize at all, right?

heir2mecha.realm: we’ve been talking about Leo for a while now. You have 4 other housemates to rat out. You wanna get off the subject?

shield_storm: Why should I not apologize to him again?

heir2mecha.realm: You’re so concerned about this guy, Storm! Do you maybe have secret feelings for him or something?

Steve dropped the phone on the bed like it had burned him. Where did Mecha infer that from exactly? He didn’t think about Stark like that! At all! He may have thought the man was easy on the eyes a fair number of times, but he had always thought that he didn’t know Stark enough to have any kind of feelings towards him. It was preposterous!

heir2mecha.realm: hey! I’m only kidding; you know that, right? I’m just trying to keep you on your toes, man! :-)

shield_storm: yeah I get that. :-)

shield_storm: so getting off the subject…

heir2mecha.realm: alright. So tell me about your other housemates! It seems interesting that you live in one house with five other people! That must be a hair-raising riot at times, am I right?

shield_storm: yeah, but they’re mostly well-behaved

heir2mecha.realm: who’s your favorite?

shield_storm: the only girl. Arachne

heir2mecha.realm: Arachne huh? Care to explain that reference?

shield_storm: she’s good at what she does like in the Greek myths. She’s silent like the spider. She likes creeping up on the rest of us. And sometimes I think she has eight eyes because she knows everything that happens around the house.

heir2mecha.realm: So you have a housemate who’s a woman—why not date her?

shield_storm: nuh-uh. It’d be like dating a sister I never had. She’s off-limits.

heir2mecha.realm: So you’re ex-army; what about her?

heir2mecha.realm: You do know that you can opt NOT to answer any of these prying questions of mine if they make you uncomfortable, right?

shield_storm: course I know that… I’m not uncomfortable. My housemates are like family. It was tricky when we were starting out, but they’re growing on me… I like talking about them to you.

shield_storm: she used to work for a government agency that has something to do with intelligence.

heir2mecha.realm: not CIA!!!!!

heir2mecha.realm: Wait, don’t tell me! They make you sign non-disclosure agreements for that shit and then they sue you up to your eyeballs if you violate them! Don’t confirm or deny anything to me…

shield_storm: :-))))))))))))

shield_storm: she doesn’t work for them anymore. She’s freelance now

heir2mecha.realm: like a PI? Private Eye—investigator?

shield_storm: something like that…

heir2mecha.realm: 2 down. 3 to go… how about if we do it like this… tell me one trait or trivia that you know about them.

shield_storm: ok. Let’s see… There’s Jekyll.

heir2mecha.realm: Like from Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde?

shield_storm: exactly. He’s a physicist. He’s really smart, too. He’s the one who’s closest to Leo. He’s a good cook and a very unassuming and soft-spoken guy. One trivia about him is that if you make him angry, you’re not gonna like it.

heir2mecha.realm: vicious temper huh?

shield_storm: yes. But sometimes, it’s good when he’s angry. Keeps everybody else in line.

heir2mecha.realm: Has he ever considered anger management therapy, you think?

shield_storm: I don’t know. I don’t think so. :-)

heir2mecha.realm: Who’s next?

shield_storm: There’s Robin.

heir2mecha.realm: From Batman and Robin, the comic book?

shield_storm: Robin Hood. :-)

heir2mecha.realm: oh! Why- does this one like wearing tights?

shield_storm: hahaha! No. He’s good at archery. He can hit anything! Trait/trivia- I think he grew up in the circus. :-) But now he works closely with Arachne in the Private Investigator thing.

heir2mecha.realm: but they aren’t a couple?

shield_storm: not that I know of.

heir2mecha.realm: And the last housemate?

shield_storm: Zeus.

heir2mecha.realm: like the Greek myth Zeus—wields thunderbolts?

shield_storm: yup. Zeus is larger than life but not intimidating like Leo. He’s from abroad. So the way he talks is a bit archaic. Trivia/trait- he LOVES eating Pop tarts and playing game consoles. He beats the hell out of everyone in Wii. He has a girlfriend who is an astrophysicist, really smart and funny.

heir2mecha.realm: then there’s you…

shield_storm: then there’s me… :-)

shield_storm: Now you know all of my housemates

heir2mecha.realm: interesting group of people living together under one roof. It’s amazing what you have with them.

shield_storm: next time you have to tell me about your neighbors too! And you better dish out something good about them. It’s only fair.

heir2mecha.realm: alright, alright. I may have to dig in their trash to find out something particularly juicy though! ;-)

heir2mecha.realm: Can I ask you something? But as always, you don’t need to answer if it’s too personal…

shield_storm: go for it

heir2mecha.realm: what is one thing that absolutely no one else knows about shield_storm?

Steve bit his lower lip, turned his head to the side to touch his shoulder with his chin. Mecha was asking for a secret of his—deep and dark, that absolutely no one else knew about. A secret was pretty personal that he could opt not to answer. However, there really was something magnetic about this man asking for his secret, of all things, that Steve couldn’t help but want to tell him.

But what was that one thing that absolutely no one knew about him. Bucky knew everything about him, so that meant that the secrets Bucky knew didn’t count. He leaned back on his head board and crossed his arms over his chest, thinking and also hesitating. Was he ready to give this stranger power over him by being in possession of his secret? But if Mecha didn’t really know who he was, what kind of power was Steve really giving him?

shield_storm: Let me think about that… Man, that’s difficult…

shield_storm: How about if you go first? It’s only fair if I ask you the same thing, right?

heir2mecha.realm: fair enough…

heir2mecha.realm: alright, me first.

heir2mecha.realm: I play the piano. And I used to be really good at it, but for lack of practice, I don’t know how good I still am at it. It was my mom who got me into playing the piano. She said it would make me even better at using my hands…

heir2mecha.realm: No one but my dead mother and my equally dead piano instructor knows about this.

heir2mecha.realm: not even my ex-girlfriend. And the fact that even SHE doesn’t know about this says something about how closely I guard this unknown factoid about me.

Closing his eyes, one corner of Steve’s lips curved into a half-smile. He couldn’t know for sure, but he wanted to believe that what Mecha had just told him was true.

He took a deep breath. He didn’t know why but telling this person a secret felt eerily similar to meeting Peggy’s lips in that kiss a lifetime ago. Steve felt like, by telling Mecha what he was about to, he was crossing an unknown, unseen line he had been slowly but surely walking towards ever since he had sent Mecha that first Privy.

shield_storm: ok my turn

shield_storm: here goes nothing…

shield_storm: I’m bisexual.

Chapter Text

“Shit! Holy shit!” Tony gasped and stared at his holo-screen in utter shock. And stared still. And stared some more. But the last two words from shield_storm were still there and they were seemingly searing themselves in Tony’s retinas and his brain’s occipital lobe.

Granted, he was still a bit winded after almost two fucking weeks of drinking all alcoholic beverages he could find in the penthouse—no cupboard or crevice was spared, listening to teeth-grinding brutal death metal in full volume that almost cracked his workshop windows—not to mention his skull, crying his eyeballs out while in a fetal position over Pepper’s clothes in their shared walk-in closet, missing freshly-brewed coffee—he almost suffered withdrawal symptoms, ‘drunk chatting’ with Storm on Stem and sounding absolutely fucking pathetic, nearly thrashing the prototype for Mark XLIV, re-aligning and nearly crashing Stark Industries satellites to the ground to try to get a video feed of what exactly had happened to him in El Paso, nearly re-writing JARVIS’ code, re-wiring and then re-re-wiring Dummy—8 times, but nothing did him in like finding out that the Captain Steven G. Rogers—the Captain America, defender of the weak, assister of tiny old ladies crossing the street and rescuer of kittens in trees everywhere, was bisexual!!!

“Fucking shit!” Tony wheezed again. He didn’t really mind the bisexual bit; everybody was bisexual nowadays anyway. Even Tony—who’s done everything and everyone—was only 76.7% straight, so he wasn’t in a position to judge. But Steve Rogers… bisexual? He covered his mouth with his palm and gave a half-squeak, half-scream sound. He looked around his as-always messy workshop and then started to bite the nail on his forefinger, trying to get a handle on what he had just discovered about his commanding, bossy, supposedly ram-rod straight teammate.

How did Rogers even know the concept? Was there bisexuality in the 30s already? What books has Natasha been telling him to read anyway? Or was it maybe part of that operatives’ orientation he had gone through with SHIELD? Had he been given brochures or pamphlets off the street before—‘Are You Sexually or Romantically Attracted to Both Sexes? Congratulations, You’re Bisexual!’?

Tony wasn’t even expecting to be told that. He expected that Rogers was going to say that he was a fucking virgin! But come to think of it, he didn’t know now what would have caused a bigger shock to his system: Steve Rogers, the Virgin or Steve Rogers, the Bisexual.

Tony opened and closed his mouth like a fish, still at a loss for coherent words. “Wha—?”

shield_storm: here goes nothing…

shield_storm: I’m bisexual.

How was Tony supposed to reply to that now? Was he supposed to say congratulations? Or maybe wish Rogers luck? Shit! Oh shit… Tony realized that of course Rogers was only telling him this because the blonde former soldier didn’t know who Mecha really was. Rogers was going to skin him alive and use his pelt to make boots and belts once he found out who Mecha really was.

shield_storm: I… just came to terms with it very recently. I didn’t know what I was feeling before. It didn’t use to have a name for me. I only just discovered this about myself a little over three months ago, right about the time I moved in with the rest of my housemates. So no one knows about this—not even my oldest friend…

Not even Sergeant Barnes knew this about Rogers! “Oh my God!” Tony murmured to himself. And Rogers only came to terms with it at about the same time he moved into the Tower, too! Did moving in with them turn Captain America part-queer?!

He must have been staring at the holo-screen for a long time, unsure of what to say to Storm because the next message from his friend was one of awkward uncertainty.

shield_storm: hey… you still there?

Tony braced himself against his holo-keyboard and took a resolute breath before typing.

heir2mecha.realm: yeah I’m still here.

shield_storm: I thought for a bit there that I might have just made things so awkward that you’re just about ready to bolt.

heir2mecha.realm: course not. There’s nothing awkward or shameful about being bisexual, you know.

shield_storm: I get that. But I really don’t want you to feel awkward around me and have to censor anything you want to say just because you think it might offend me or something. I sort of thought that with you being straight and all, it’ll be all weird and uncomfortable for you to talk to me.

Tony raised an eyebrow and smiled naughtily to himself. Maybe it was time to do Storm the courtesy of setting some things straight—no pun intended—once and for all. He also really wanted to maybe put Storm at ease about the secret he had just divulged to a supposedly complete stranger.

heir2mecha.realm: I wouldn’t assume that, if I were you.

shield_storm: assume what?

heir2mecha.realm: That I’m straight.

shield_storm: you’re not?

heir2mecha.realm: Let’s just say that you shouldn’t feel awkward and uncomfortable with being bisexual and talking to me about it.

heir2mecha.realm: Because I’m kind of bisexual, too.

shield_storm: oh

heir2mecha.realm: that one’s not a secret that absolutely no one knows about me though… For one thing, my ex knew about it.

shield_storm: she did huh?

heir2mecha.realm: well I did tell you that we were friends before we started dating. And she knew what I used to get up to before I committed. I used to have a reputation for being a player. And I bat for both teams. :-)

shield_storm: well, whew! That’s a relief. I thought for a while there, you were going to start to make excuses to avoid talking to me until you just disappear completely or something.

heir2mecha.realm: NOO! I wouldn’t do that! What do you take me for?!?! :-)

shield_storm: :-) I’m just really glad that I don’t have to lose a friend over this.

heir2mecha.realm: they aren’t really your friends if you lose them for something as trivial as your sexual preference you know.

Tony could only imagine how difficult it must have been for Rogers to come to terms with his sexuality and to tell someone else about it, with him growing up in the 30s where any breath of sexual deviance was regarded with extreme prejudice. The engineer literally felt the fear and hesitation in Storm’s words. The latter was actually bracing himself to be spurned by someone he had begun to consider a friend simply because of his sexual orientation. 

heir2mecha.realm: do you have plans to tell your housemates about you?

shield_storm: I don’t know. I don’t know if I trust them enough. I don’t know if I’m brave enough to tell them. How can I expect them to accept this about me when I, myself, do not know if I’ve already accepted myself?

shield_storm: I sort of grew up in an environment where something like this is—well—taboo.

heir2mecha.realm: conservative parents huh?

shield_storm: something like that.

heir2mecha.realm: religiously devout, too, I’ll bet?

shield_storm: you can say that…

heir2mecha.realm: well you’re not under their roof anymore, are you? it’s different now.

heir2mecha.realm: but hey, don’t be pressured into telling. Your acceptance of yourself comes first. It’s a gradual thing. But always remember that there’s nothing shameful about it. Never be ashamed of who you are.

heir2mecha.realm: I hope you didn’t feel like I was forcing you to tell me…

shield_storm: no no no!!! Of course not. You always give me that caveat that I don’t have to tell you anything I’m not comfortable with.

shield_storm: I wanted to tell you.

heir2mecha.realm: I’m glad you told me. :-)

heir2mecha.realm: Don’t worry. I know where you’re coming from and I know what it’s like, being bisexual myself, so… I’ll help you. I’ll walk you through it. You can ask me anything and I promise not to judge…

heir2mecha.realm: not often and not that much anyway… ;-)

shield_storm: hahaha! :-D

heir2mecha.realm: I do owe you and I need to pay you back.

shield_storm: for what?

heir2mecha.realm: for helping me get out of a dark place.

Tony paused and read the holo-screen for what he had just typed. It was true. He was in a dark place. He was so angry at himself. At Pepper. At Iron Man. But this person—Storm, Rogers… Steve—told him stories and listened to him ramble on and offered to call 911 to help him and just fucking stayed online while he drunk-chatted and hurled his innards out.

And not very many people were amazing like that. Pepper was amazing like that. But Pepper was no longer his.

heir2mecha.realm: So just let me do this for you. Let me help you, ok?

shield_storm: it was nothing, you know. :-) but yeah sure… ok

###

Steve was on the last legs of his phone conversation with an intern of the Long Island med-facility where Bucky was recuperating, when Bruce stepped off the elevator on the common floor. Steve, who was seated on Bruce’s usual arm chair in the recreation room with his laptop open and idling on the armrest, followed Bruce with his eyes as the latter rambled about in the kitchen to put together his usual late morning mug of chamomile tea.

“Thank you for this information, Lynette. Please let me know if Bucky needs anything or if Dr. Mathers has finally cleared him for a visit because I’m really looking forward to checking in on him soon… Yes… thank you again. Bye.” Steve disconnected the call and pocketed his phone again.

“Getting updates on Sergeant Barnes’ condition, huh?” Bruce casually asked, joining Steve in the rec room, hand wrapped around a steaming mug of tea. The doctor remained standing, however, with his knee propped on one of the long couches’ arm rest to support his weight.

“Yeah—I get calls from the facility’s interns every other day or so. He’s doing well—Bucky. They still haven’t given me the go-signal to visit but I’m expecting that one any day now,” Steve informed his teammate.

“How long has it been since he was transferred there?”

“Almost a month now, I think?” Steve replied, flipping his laptop closed and transferring it to the center table to give Bruce his undivided attention. “Thank you, by the way.”

Bruce looked at him, quizzically. “For what?”

“The papers that Pepper’d given to me included a copy of my approved written request along with the counter- and approving signatures. Thank you for countersigning it, Bruce. I know Stark would not have approved it otherwise and it would’ve still been languishing in process if you hadn’t signed it. So thanks,” Steve said with a solemn nod of acknowledgment.

Bruce smiled tightly and shifted his mug from one hand to the other. “There was really no need to thank me, Steve. I… wouldn’t even have known about your request if Tony hadn’t shown it to me and badgered me to sign it,” he admitted, his expression modest but attentive.

“So… so Stark asked you to countersign my request? It was Stark who showed you I had a request for Bucky’s rehabilitation and told you to sign it?”

“Yeah. He only needed my signature because he couldn’t sign it himself since he was also the approving authority. He needed someone else’s help to get the ball rolling, so to speak. He really wanted to help Sergeant Barnes get better,” said Bruce, taking a deep gulp of his favorite drink. His eyes were still on Steve, watching for the nuances of the blonde’s reaction to having found out that Tony, contrary to what Steve once believed, was not trying to impede any efforts on Steve’s part to help Bucky. The billionaire was actually trying to move things along—getting a countersignature on the request himself!

“Huh,” was Steve’s stunned reply. “Have you talked to him yet—Stark?” Steve changed the topic.

“Not yet. He still hasn’t been by the lab. But it doesn’t look like he’s hanged himself in his workshop or JARVIS would’ve definitely told us,” Bruce replied, taking a couple more sips of his drink. “I’m still a bit worried about him, but even with his self-destructive nature, I don’t think he’s the type to do anything drastic—“

“—like commit suicide?” Steve finished the thought.

“Yeah,” Bruce said with a soft laugh.

It was then that the elevator doors opened with a ding, revealing Tony Stark. The man, who was non-responsive and indifferent to the rest of the occupants of the Tower for a little over two weeks, looked surprisingly relaxed and unchanged with his arms crossed over his chest, his lower back against the hand rails of the rear wall of the elevator, and his left lower leg crossed in front of his right.

Both Steve and Bruce turned to stare at the man, thinking it was an apparition.

“There you are, Dr. Banner. I’d like to have a word with you in private,” Stark said without any preamble. His tone was one devoid of humor, but it resonated with authority. It was not Stark’s usual countenance, but it, nevertheless, looked right on him because he was a person accustomed to commanding the attention of millions.

“Ah yes, sure. Where do—?” Bruce stammered, not used to Stark’s CEO-mode current setting.

Stark, without regarding Steve’s presence at all, motioned for Bruce to head to the reading room at the end of the hallway on the same floor with him.

The next time that Steve saw Bruce again, the others had already heard about Stark making contact. The blonde didn’t bother to ask how the others had heard—maybe it was because of Natasha. As always.

So another unofficial house meeting was called over ten boxes of deep-dish pizzas to talk about Stark’s re-appearance from the depths of Heartbreak Hovel.

“It’s confirmed. Pepper and Tony have called it quits. They broke up right before Pepper flew for Malibu,” Bruce reported to his captive audience.

“Did he tell you why he and Pepper decided to break up?” Clint asked, mildly interested.

“When I asked, all he said was that it was a mutual decision,” Bruce communicated to them what answer he, himself, had been given.

“So where’s he been since then?” Natasha asked, nitpicking at her pizza as she never did like salami.

“In the penthouse or the workshop, being depressed, hating the world, and drinking any kind of booze he could get his hands on. To think if he’d have wanted to risk it, he could’ve gotten hold of some embalming fluid in the lab,” Bruce said, thinking out loud.

“Eurgh!” Clint gagged. “We’re eating, Bruce!”

Bruce tried to look mildly apologetic.

“’Tis a cause for a resounding celebration, my friends, that Anthony has finally come to a decision to release himself from the shackles of despair! But pray tell, Bruce, why is he not among us presently to partake of our meal and exult his liberty?” Thor asked with his usual enthusiasm. There were about six different slices of pizza on his plate and there was a tankard—a tankard—of soda by his right arm.

“He said he wanted to be here but that he really needed to catch up on some work because he barely got anything done while he was wasted,” Bruce relayed, taking a hearty bite of his pizza slice.

“Or he might be off getting wasted by himself again,” Clint interjected, stealing the pizza slice with a hefty amount of shrimps from Thor’s plate. Thor, who was busy listening to Bruce, didn’t see the archer making off with his pizza.

“Nah, he’ll be fine. He’s out of the woods and on his way to becoming a productive citizen again,” Bruce assured them, convinced.

“You sure about that? Tony’s always been unpredictable and he loves Pepper to pieces. Do you think he’s passed the worst of his depression?” Natasha challenged.

“He already told us what happened, didn’t he? He’ll be fine,” Bruce re-assured them.

“He told you,” corrected Clint.

“He told me to tell you guys to quit worrying about him. He also said he’s sorry for leaving us in the dark about what happened. He told me to ask you guys for your understanding for his eccentricities. And he also said thank you for respecting his space,” Bruce said, trying to repeat Tony’s exact words without embellishment.

“He said that?!” Natasha asked, disbelieving. “That’s not like Tony at all,” she observed.

“His exact words,” Bruce swore. “He told me he’d repulsor my ass if I exaggerate.”

“I have always been a believer that while Anthony’s armor is forged of iron, his heart is not. We must remain bold of heart and faith, my friends, that before long, Anthony will truly consider himself a constituent of our esteemed brotherhood,” Thor said, self-satisfied. “What say you, Steven?” Thor turned to him, noticing that Steve had been silent throughout the exchange.

“I agree, Thor. I agree,” Steve said with a soft smile. “So anything else from Stark, Bruce?” Steve didn’t want to admit to the group how he had noted the sheer length of that reading room conversation between Bruce and Stark, and how he had wanted to try to eavesdrop. But to keep away from the temptation, Steve saw it fit to just hightail out of there and just pump Bruce for information later. He had always prided himself for having a moral compass that pointed due north most of the time.

The corners of Bruce’s lips curved into a knowing grin. “There is more. We also talked about Loki’s scepter that’s currently festering in the otherwise empty inoculation chamber in the lab as well as what could have happened in El Paso. For the record, he adamantly maintains that it wasn’t an EMP that knocked him clear out of the sky,” the doctor reported further, stretching his arm to get more pizza.

“So what does he think it was?” Clint asked, pausing just as he was about to take a bite.

“He’s trying to match the energy signature he’d lifted from a government satellite feed. So far all he’s been able to rule out is that it is not electrical, magnetic, conducted electrical current, nuclear, or even solar. He’s now trying to see if the signal he’d picked up could actually be transferrable through electromagnetic radiation but since the armor’s shielding held in tests Tony had conducted afterwards, it couldn’t have been radiated energy. Additionally, the photon energy of what he’d picked up is very high, the wave frequency is not directly proportional to it as it should be. So he’s not sure what it actually is. He’s a bit stumped,” Bruce explained in between mouthfuls of pizza as if he was merely describing the weather.

Clint looked for all the world like he was having an aneurysm, and Steve mirrored his expression. “He’s not the only one, man. I didn’t even get what you just said right then!”

“English, English,” Steve muttered and then kneaded the pressure point between his eyes.

“It’s not EMP. It’s not anything that present science can explain because its pattern doesn’t follow that of any presently known energy type,” Bruce tried again using ‘little words’ for Clint and Steve’s benefit.

“So what is it? Magic?” Natasha asked, saying the word none of them wanted to say or even think about.

“If it is, comrades, then I can swear to you on my father’s life that my brother, Loki, had nothing to do with this attack on Anthony for the reason of his passing in the recent conflict between Asgard and the Dark Elves of Svartalfheim,” Thor said, momentarily feeling melancholy at the mention of his brother’s death.

“Does Loki’s stick have anything to do with it then? It was in the area when Tony’s suit failed and he just started to freefall,” Clint contributed.

“Based on the readings of the scepter that we made when we were trying to look for it before, it emits small amounts of gamma radiation. That’s still incompatible to the energy signature that Tony picked up and pinpointed to have caused the momentary failure of the armor,” came Bruce’s response. “But I’m relinquishing the scepter to Tony tomorrow so he can conduct his own tests on it.”

“Does he have a secure chamber to place it in? We don’t want him to have a relapse into depression again, and we know what kind of chaos that scepter causes,” Steve interjected, pouring some soda into his glass, but his eyes remained focused on Bruce.

“He has a place in his workshop, but if you doubt me, you can check in on him now and then to see if he’s getting depressed because of the scepter,” said Bruce.

He suddenly remembered Mecha’s gibe at him about Stark, and Steve’s own admission that he actually found Stark good-looking. That even though that wasn’t the best time to blush, to Steve’s utter shame, he started to.

“Your face is becoming a very distressing shade of puce, Steven! Are you perhaps choking on your victual?” Thor observed, getting mildly alarmed.

“N—no, no. I’m alright. I just—,” Steve stammered and then recovered by taking a huge gulp of his soda. He absolutely hated it when he did that blushing thing at very inappropriate times. He thought he really needed to do something about it. He was beginning to get tired of having to wear his heart on his sleeve.

###

shield_storm: Can I ask you something?

heir2mecha.realm: yep sure. Hit me…

shield_storm: how do I stop blushing all the time?

heir2mecha.realm: ???

heir2mecha.realm: is that a serious question?

shield_storm: YES!

heir2mecha.realm: ok I’m completely stumped here… I really don’t know how to answer that…

shield_storm: do you blush?

heir2mecha.realm: not since the 90s

shield_storm: how do I stop doing it? Like when someone says something embarrassing, I can’t help but dwell on it and then the warmth creeps up my neck to my face and before I can stop myself, I’m red as a tomato and people all look at me and they know exactly what I’m thinking! And it sucks!

shield_storm: I hate wearing my heart on my sleeve all the time…

heir2mecha.realm: ok let me tell you what I do when someone says something embarrassing…

heir2mecha.realm: I say something sarcastic back…

shield_storm: that’s not going to work for me. I’m not sarcastic!

heir2mecha.realm: well granted… sarcasm is a gift given only to but a few, but maybe you can try to practice?

shield_storm: anything else? Any other technique?

heir2mecha.realm: how about- don’t think about how embarrassing the statement is so you don’t blush?

shield_storm: what do I think about instead?

heir2mecha.realm: the weather

shield_storm: you’re laughing at me right now. I can almost see you laughing.:-S

heir2mecha.realm: what do you want me to do? It’s really funny. Shit… I can’t stop laughing now…

Steve couldn’t help it; he started laughing, too. Like loud, booming laughs, complete with choking sounds. He felt the corners of his eyes tearing up. It was completely stupid, but he gave in to it; he didn’t even attempt to contain the glee.

shield_storm: stop it… now I’m laughing too!!! :-D :-D

heir2mecha.realm: but seriously… wait… I forgot what I was gonna say… shit…

shield_storm: :-D

shield_storm: I’m still waiting for sage advice you know…

heir2mecha.realm: man, you’ve come to the wrong place…

heir2mecha.realm: wait… I’ll try to remember what I was gonna say. Hang on.

heir2mecha.realm: AHA! You can’t just stop the natural responses of your body!

shield_storm: so when I’m embarrassed, I can’t school my face to not reflect what I’m feeling?

heir2mecha.realm: you just have to immunize yourself from it…

heir2mecha.realm: keep exposing yourself to what makes you blush and sooner or later, it will stop because you’ve gotten used to it.

shield_storm: that actually makes sense.

heir2mecha.realm: like I said, I’m always right. ;-)

shield_storm: oh which reminds me… Leo’s finally made contact. Jekyll’s confirmed that he’s broken up with his girlfriend.

heir2mecha.realm: see?!?! I told you he’d be the one to reach out when he’s ready!

shield_storm: yeah you have to forgive me for doubting you. ;-)

heir2mecha.realm: LIGHTBULB!!!! I have an idea to help you with the blushing thing…

shield_storm: I’m going to hate this, aren’t I?

heir2mecha.realm: We’ve both used up our one rain check. So we’re fresh out. I say we go to the Speed-dating vein today—like right now!

shield_storm: *facepalm*

heir2mecha.realm: Aha!!!! You know how to do that already!!! I’m impressed :-D

shield_storm: Do we really have to? Can we not do something about my blushing without going there?

heir2mecha.realm: Aren’t you just the least bit curious?

shield_storm: do you really want me to answer that?

heir2mecha.realm: It’s not like they do chat-sex or sex-chat or whatever there! If we feel harassed, we can always report their sorry asses and their membership will be revoked. Come on! COME ON!!!! :-DDD

shield_storm: FINE!!!! Lead the way…

Steve chuckled to himself and offered a silent prayer that they weren’t going to make epic fools of themselves in the Speed-dating vein. He shifted on his bed, adjusting his laptop on his crossed legs and leaning back against his headboard, to make himself as comfortable as he could. He then followed where he was being led by Mecha’s digital trail.

Social Branch_

Dating Stem_

Speed-dating Vein_

bo_peep.83 is currently mingling.

geisha_eyes.1986 is currently mingling.

Rihanna.Walk is currently mingling.

Eternal_Lumia14 is currently mingling.

CaptainAmerica_BAMF is currently mingling.

Slytherin.Scales143 is currently mingling.

addicted2<3 is currently mingling.

OedipusStaff is currently mingling.

heir2mecha.realm is currently mingling.

shield_storm is currently mingling.

___this session is closed as it has reached maximum minglers___

“Oh my God, what are the rules to this thing?” Steve asked, throwing his hands up a bit in cluelessness. Maybe he should have really tried harder to dissuade Mecha about this.

bo_peep.83: hey there!

shield_storm: um hi!

shield_storm: it’s my first time here. I don’t really know what I’m doing…

bo_peep.83: we get 5 minutes to talk exclusively to each of the other nine current minglers in this vein. You with me so far?

shield_storm: regardless of their gender?

bo_peep.83: that’s right. If you like any of them—us—you can Chum us and then invite us to, or meet-up with us in, an Exclusive hang-out vein in any branch.

It seemed no different than what he’s been doing these past weeks with Mecha.

shield_storm: oh ok… well thanks for that info. Hi! I’m Storm!

bo_peep.83: Peep. I’m a girl. You?

shield_storm: Guy. So…

bo_peep.83: So…

shield_storm: what are your interests?

Steve thought this was going to be the longest, most awkward 45 minutes of his life. And he had fought with doom-bots while his clothes were on fire and he was getting shot at with corrosive green goo. And he’d been in a host of other wearisome tussles with everyone imaginable.

bo_peep.83: I like to go mountain-climbing, spelunking, cliff-diving and white water rafting. ^_^ you?

shield_storm: I like to read novels, watch movies, listen to jazz, help in the kitchen… that sort of thing…

###

geisha_eyes.1986: And he just left! He accused me of two-timing him without any proof to speak of. To think I was the one who saw him come out from a restaurant in SoHo with a girl hanging off his arm—and I actually have video evidence of that!!!

shield_storm: wait are we talking about your second boyfriend or your third?

###

shield_storm: I used to be a soldier but I got discharged.

Rihanna.Walk: honorable or dishonorable?

shield_storm: honorable.

Rihanna.Walk: did you kill anyone?

shield_storm: there might have been a fair few.

Rihanna.Walk: I just wanna say that I’m a pacifist.

shield_storm: a what?

Rihanna.Walk: I oppose war and violence.

shield_storm: me too. But some wars cannot be avoided.

Rihanna.Walk: the US should not have involved itself in Afghanistan. Like what had happened in Vietnam!

###

Eternal_Lumia14: Have you ever been to Bali?

shield_storm: no. is it nice there?

Eternal_Lumia14: Yes the beaches are very nice there. I would want to come back. The beaches are also nice in Boracay. Have you ever been to Boracay?

shield_storm: no. where is that exactly?

Eternal_Lumia14: It’s in the Philippines. It’s very exotic there. It has nice destinations, but the weather is very hot during summer and uber-rainy during monsoon season. I like the weather better in Acapulco. Have you ever been?

shield_storm: Mexico right?

shield_storm: no, I’m afraid not.

###

shield_storm: so…

CaptainAmerica_BAMF: so you male or female?

shield_storm: male

CaptainAmerica_BAMF: damn.

CaptainAmerica_BAMF: me too.

CaptainAmerica_BAMF: this feature of Stem is a bit odd. Why are we forced to speed-date with people of the same gender?

shield_storm: I don’t know.

CaptainAmerica_BAMF: so what do you do, dude?

shield_storm: I’m a peace-keeper.

CaptainAmerica_BAMF: police huh?

shield_storm: of sorts. You?

CaptainAmerica_BAMF: If I tell you amma have to whoop your ass.

shield_storm: nice username.

CaptainAmerica_BAMF: yeah. The guy’s awesome. My grandpa used to have all the comics.

###

Slytherin.Scales143: so what do you look like?

shield_storm: I’m ok. I look normal. Blonde hair, blue eyes, bit tall.

Slytherin.Scales143: I have black hair and olive green eyes.

shield_storm: When exactly did you find out you were gay again?

Slytherin.Scales143: I knew since middle school.

shield_storm: was it difficult to accept?

Slytherin.Scales143: no. it’s other people’s acceptance that’s the problem.

Slytherin.Scales143: you’re not a homophobe, are you?

Slytherin.Scales143: they’re the worst.

shield_storm: no. Were you discriminated against growing up?

Slytherin.Scales143: oh yeah! Kids from my school were vultures. If I tell you half of what they did to me, we’d be here until next week!

###

shield_storm: I f you’re married- what are you doing in the speed-dating vein?

addicted2<3: I’m in the middle of an ugly divorce. So I thought, what the hell—might as well check out what I’ve been missing while married to that creep.

###

shield_storm: I’m not really a police officer you know.

OedipusStaff: So what kind of peace-keeper are you if not from the PD? Are you one of the feds? Cos I hate them more!

shield_storm: relax sir. I’m not here to arrest you for anything.

OedipusStaff: are you a CIA agent? Cos lurking in social networking sites is just about part of their M.O.

###

heir2mecha.realm: Oh hey stranger! How’s the mingling been?

shield_storm: terrible! I’m never coming back here! The people here are CRAZY!!!

heir2mecha.realm: not all of them.

heir2mecha.realm: I’m here. :-)

Steve wanted out 15 minutes into the famed Speed-dating vein. He swore to himself that he was never coming back here or even touching it with a five foot-long stylus! Some of them had made him blush, alright. But most of them just infuriated, incensed and annoyed him.

shield_storm: how was it for you?

heir2mecha.realm: Storm! A man never kisses and tells. But just to satiate your curiosity, it was marvelous for me. I take it things didn’t go so well for you?

shield_storm: some of them were ok. Interesting enough but most of them were just…

heir2mecha.realm: let’s not be too hasty in personality profiling. We have approximately 4.5 minutes left. Whatever will we do to kill the time?

shield_storm: You didn’t find them weird at all?

heir2mecha.realm: they’re ok. I won’t be jumping at the chance to chat with some of them again but I can maybe do it for a handsome fee or a promise of a mind-numbing blowjob.

Steve couldn’t believe it but he knew he was blushing again. He shook his head in frustration when he felt the heat in his cheeks.

heir2mecha.realm: Let me guess… you’re blushing, aren’t you?

shield_storm: I really hate you right now.

heir2mecha.realm: well then I have 3.5 more minutes to change that. Allow me to awesome the crap out of you!

Steve smiled and crossed his arm over his chest and with the other, touched his bottom lip in consideration. He was amazed at how talking to this witty person was always a fresh and exciting experience every time.

shield_storm: you can do that in 3.5 minutes?

heir2mecha.realm: don’t believe me? Ask the others here who’d had their five minutes in heaven with me. :-) what like it’s hard?

shield_storm: go for it!

heir2mecha.realm: we should meet up.

Steve lost the smile on his face and his eyes widened like saucers. What was Mecha saying? What was Mecha expecting him to say in return? How did he exactly feel about maybe seeing this person in the flesh and actually hearing this person’s voice? What was going to happen if they did meet up? What if it turned out that they didn’t like each other’s personality at all? What would happen once the veil of mystery was lifted? What would happen if the actual people that they were fell short of how they’d always imagined each other to be like? Steve had always imagined Mecha to be self-assured, smart, witty and charming. What if the actual person that Mecha really was was dull, nerdy and cranky? It was, after all, quite easy to make a persona that was the complete opposite of the person.

shield_storm: are you serious?

heir2mecha.realm: yeah I’m serious. But not today. I look horrible today. :-)

shield_storm: I always wonder what you’re like, you know, in the real world.

heir2mecha.realm: what if you won’t like me in the real world? ;-)

shield_storm: how is that possible?

heir2mecha.realm: you don’t even know if what I tell you is true. For all you know I could be lying through my teeth every time.

shield_storm: what purpose would lying to me serve?

heir2mecha.realm: For you to like me?

Steve’s breath hitched. All he could hear in the room was the sound of his breathing.

heir2mecha.realm: I have this image of you, too. And I’m afraid this image of yours that I have wouldn’t like me in the real world at all.

shield_storm: I very much doubt that. We won’t know unless we give it a try, right?

heir2mecha.realm: right. Then let’s meet up in person.

shield_storm: when?

heir2mecha.realm: oops, looks like our time’s up…

  ___this session is terminated. The vein is open for minglers___

Steve left the Speed-dating vein and tried to look for Mecha in an exclusive hang-out vein, in another branch. But when he turned to the list of his Chums, Mecha’s name indicated that he had logged-off.

Chapter Text

Traffic was unusually light for a Tuesday morning as Steve drove his motorcycle to the outskirts of Long Island to pay Bucky a visit. He had finally gotten the call he’d been waiting for for weeks yesterday, around late afternoon, that Bucky was already stable enough to accept supervised visits. He’d have immediately gone to the facility right after getting that call if it weren’t for their strict visiting hours of 10 a.m. to 4 p.m. So Steve saw it fit to postpone his visit for the next day and start early so he could spend the rest of his day with Bucky.

Steve thought this excursion came at a most opportune time because he didn’t want to have to spend another day reading and moping in his personal floor. To say that he was still pissed at Mecha’s abrupt abandonment of him after a terrible, never-to-be-repeated-again stint in the Speed-dating vein was an understatement of epic proportions. He was so upset he couldn’t finish his breakfast the day following that Speed-dating vein debacle; and he had never not polished off his food before. He had never wasted food in his life! Growing up as he did in poverty, scarcity and war, Steve learned to be thankful for having little in the way of food and comforts. He could still remember how everyone at the breakfast table had looked at him that morning while he absent-mindedly played with the eggs, bacon and toast on his plate.

What was Mecha playing at, disconcerting him like that by proposing that they should meet one moment and then bolting like death was after him the next? Steve had lingered on Stem all night to see if Mecha would return, thinking that maybe the latter just got a spotty internet connection or something. But the son of a—… never did come back that night or the night after that. Or the night after that.

He didn’t know if it was something he said. Maybe Steve had been a tad snooty when he described the people he had chatted with in the Speed-dating vein. Or maybe Steve had seemed a little too eager to meet Mecha in person that the latter might have felt some stalker vibe from the soldier and decided to run screaming in the other direction as promised. The blonde just wanted to stop thinking about it. Thinking about Mecha.

Steve swore to himself that today was going to be about Bucky. He even turned his phone to silent because he didn’t want to have to wait with bated breath for it to beep, or mope like an abandoned dog when it wouldn’t, or hope for Mecha’s witty explanation and profuse apologies for his desertion.

Steve arrived at the gates of a sophisticated-looking compound without any incident. He checked in with security at the outer gates and waited patiently while the guard on duty called ahead to the front desk. Upon clearance, Steve went through the gate with a nod and a smile to the guard, parked his motorcycle on the graveled lot in front of a squat gray building with a tinted glass façade, climbed up the steps to the building’s reception area, introduced himself to the cheery woman on the front desk and secured himself an identification badge.

Not bothering to hide his awe at the ultra-modern feel of the entire building, Steve walked the passageways he was directed to take. The soles of his leather shoes tapped against the shiny granite flooring and his leather jacket swished in the silence of the high-ceilinged corridors.

He was directed to the attending physicians’ office which turned out to be a wide room, sparsely decorated, the far wall of which was floor-to-ceiling glass overlooking an auditorium-sized hall. The current occupant of the room, Dr Mathers, warmly received him and apprised him of his friend’s current condition, how much he’s improved since he was institutionalized in the facility and for how long he was still expected to stay in the facility for a full recovery. Dr Mathers also made mention of the other doctors and specialists working with Bucky, the interns and attendants that Bucky’s taken a liking to and the activities that usually take up Bucky’s day.

Steve was told that at this juncture in Bucky’s treatment, he could visit his friend as often as he wanted provided that he did so within the prescribed visiting hours. He was also told that with the exception of the internet, Bucky was already cleared to explore various media to orient him, little by little, to the 21^st century, so if Steve wished, he could bring books, movies, or music to help introduce Bucky to the things he might have missed during his episodes of cryostasis.

Dr Mathers led Steve to a set of metal double doors on the wall perpendicular to the broad expanse of glass that led to wide, winding stainless steel stairs to the auditorium-sized hall that was actually Bucky’s living space.

Pneumatic glass doors hissed open and he set foot in the living space that would have shamed his personal floor in the Avengers Tower. It was a one-room number with high ceilings, a huge bed with thick covers and fluffy pillows, a dining area with a table for four with a fruit bowl on top, a decent-sized TV and multimedia console in front of comfortable-looking couches, several short bookcases with a few books, several recliners, several gym equipment, a table tennis table, a basketball half-court complete with ring and backboard with racks of basketballs against the wall, a pool table, a fridge with a glass door stocked with bottles of soda, tubs of ice cream, and snack items, and a pantry shelf with more snack items. The bathroom, Steve guessed, was the nondescript door nearest to the sleeping area.

It was rehabilitation in style! The hospital where Bucky first stayed was even more of a dump compared to this one.

Bucky was getting something from the fridge just as Steve entered. But the former’s eyes shone with immense happiness when he recognized who had just come in. “Steve? Stevie!”

“Bucky,” Steve gave his friend a fierce hug. It was good to see that his oldest friend was already a lot like his former self. “Oh it’s good to see you, man!” Steve heartily patted his friend’s back and shoulders. Though the metal arm was still a bit discomfiting, knowing what had transpired that led to its attachment and what it had been previously used for, Steve was still thankful to have Bucky back in any form.

“They didn’t tell me you’d be visiting me today,” said Buck, energetically thumping Steve’s shoulders and biceps as if disbelieving that they could have another chance to see each other again. “How are you? What have you been up to, Stevie?”

“Well, this and that, Buck. I will tell you all the stories in good time because you’ll be seeing a lot of me from now on!” Talking to Buck again brought out his Brooklyn-born and -raised brogue. “What about you? They’re telling me you’ve taken a liking to a few interns—now what’s that all about huh? Care to tell me which ones have caught your eye?”

“I’m here to get well, man, not to cozy up to the dames,” retorted Bucky; his smile was exactly as Steve remembered it.

“This is a nice place to get well though,” said Steve, whistling and gesturing to the rest of the huge room. “Please tell me you’re putting that basketball court to good use.”

“It’s not nearly as exciting, playing alone. Sometimes, some guys from the intern pool or the cleaning staff would join me. But I always beat them without breaking a sweat,” Bucky boasted, eyes twinkling.

“Man, you don’t know how good it feels to have you back, Buck,” said Steve, feeling wistful all of a sudden.

“I still have a long way to go to full recovery, but I do feel more like the old me and hey—that may be a small victory, but I’ll take it,” said Bucky, swiping at the messy, long brown locks falling over his eyes.

“Are you keeping that?” Steve asked, nodding towards his friend’s long hair.

“I think it’s starting to grow on me, but what do you think should I keep it?” Bucky asked, swiping at it again.

They playfully bantered about Bucky’s hair, recalled memories of their childhood, talked about the Howling Commandos as if only a few months had been lost between friends and not seventy-odd years. They decided to settle on the dining table with a game of checkers between them after they went and explored all nooks and crannies of Bucky’s awesome living space.

“So your food is just brought in here but prepared elsewhere?” Steve asked, propping both his elbows on top of the table and considering his next move in the game they were having.

“Yeah, they have a mess hall here for the employees and I’ve been told my food also comes from there.”

“Probably better, too because I do remember that you can’t cook worth a damn,” teased Steve. “You might end up unwittingly poisoning yourself.”

“Oh think you’re being funny, don’t you?” Bucky asked with mock exasperation on his familiar face. It was a familiar expression. An expression that, in Steve’s opinion, looked right nowhere else but on Bucky’s face.

They played the game as per their usual—with veiled threats, heckling and taunts to pull crazy moves. The two friends laughed, hooted and clapped, prevented and distracted each other from moving their checker pieces. They were catcalling and hooting outdated curse words when the pneumatic doors hissed open.

Out of the chamber with the stairs came Tony Stark accompanied by an intern toting a biggish cardboard box.

“Rogers! Of course you’d be here,” Stark said, gesturing for the intern to place the box on top of the footlocker by the bed. The intern left just as Steve stood up and exchanged rudimentary pleasantries with Stark in the form of a terse handshake.

“Stark,” said Steve without any embellishments.

“Sergeant Barnes,” Tony said more cheerily towards the other brunette, offering his own hand and shaking Bucky’s with both.

Steve narrowed his eyes at that. He couldn’t tell which annoyed him more: that Stark’s own acknowledgment of him was notably flippant; or that it was Bucky that Stark was seemingly happier to associate with.

“Please don’t call me that. I’m not part of the army anymore. Just… Bucky is better,” Bucky said with a tight-lipped smile.

“I thought the pet name was reserved for your more intimate friends?”

Bucky looked at Steve. Steve just looked back from out of the corner of his eye.

“How about if I just call you James then? Would that be alright?” Stark asked with this… characteristic smile of his. If Bucky had certain expressions that were naturally Bucky’s, Stark, too, had these facial nuances that belonged nowhere else but on his rather refined features. Steve, loathe as he was to admit it, had been noticing that about the engineer-billionaire more and more of late.

Steve glowered.

“Sure Mr. Stark,” Bucky replied, falling immediately at ease with his new visitor.

“Tony, please. Mr. Stark sounds so proper. And ‘proper’ is hardly a word that describes me,” Stark interjected, amused at his own wit. “So… how’re we doing today, James?”

“I’m terrific. I didn’t know I was going to have visitors today, but having you and Stevie here is a nice surprise, if I do say so myself,” Bucky said, gesturing for Stark to take a load off and sit. “You must be a very busy man, but you found time to visit me. To what do I owe this pleasure?”

Steve couldn’t understand why Bucky was so accommodating to someone he’d never met before. Steve’s old friend was only ever so charming with the women…

“I brought you some books. Your shelves are looking rather sparse there. And… I also have some DVDs and audio CDs for you to amuse yourself with. I gathered from Dr Mathers, the last time that we talked about the rehabilitation process, that at this stage, you can now be given books and movies to put you up to speed. So… knock yourself out,” said Stark with a flourish, flipping open the box flaps to reveal books and CDs for Bucky’s ‘education’.

“Oh these are swell, Mr. S—Tony!” Bucky beamed, excitedly bending over the box and looking at the titles, the covers and the blurbs on the jackets.

“Don’t worry about breezing through these because I can always give you more. Just let your doctors know and they’ll get word to me if you need anything at all,” Stark assured, enjoying Bucky’s child-like enthusiasm. “We want you to get better as soon as possible.”

“For what purpose?” It was Steve who asked. Bucky paused mid-dig in his box of goodies. “Or are you going to tell me that you’re doing this out of the goodness of your heart, Stark?”

Stark smiled at Steve, but the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. To the blonde, it was a deceitful smile. “Caught me again, Rogers. You’re right. I do have an ulterior motive. I want to study James’ metal arm. I want to know how it works and I want to see if I can make a better one. I knew I couldn’t study it if he insisted on killing me in cold blood if I got within ten meters of him, so I thought a de-programming and rehabilitation were in order, for me to be able to study his arm without fear of possible death by strangulation or something infinitely worse. Did I answer your question?”

Stark looked at Steve evenly, without shame that Steve called him out on his play.

“And if Bucky refuses to give you access to his arm?”

“James’ decision will of course be respected.” Stark turned to Bucky and smiled a genuine and fond smile again. “But it’s still too early in the game to be talking about this. You, my friend, still have a long way to go before you’re all rehabilitated. We do not have to talk about any interest I may have in any part of your body until then,” Stark said, enunciating every word as if daring Steve to contradict him.

“Just let your doctors know if you need anything, alright?” Stark reminded with another warm smile directed at Bucky. “Focus on getting well, James, and I’ll see you again… soon!” He gave the former sergeant a casual salute before turning to Steve. “Rogers,” Stark acknowledged with an abrupt nod of his head before he left the living space, whistling to himself.

Barely a heartbeat after Stark left, a group of three interns entered through a different set of double doors by the basketball half-court, carrying trays of what looked like lunch for two people. They gave Bucky and his guest enthusiastic greetings and left through the same door they’d used to come in, after they fixed the dining table with place settings for the room’s current occupants to have their lunch.

Bucky noticed Steve looking at the set of double doors where the interns had vanished into. “That’s a subterranean hallway that leads to the med-facility proper, the kitchens and mess hall for the employees.”

“So they do tell you where everything is?”

“Yeah, I’m hardly a prisoner here, Stevie. The doctors told me that this place used to be a manufacturing plant of sorts until it was converted to a medical facility. They told me they’ve had to modernize it—update it—for my use,” said Bucky, tucking into their lunch of roast beef, mixed buttered vegetables, arugula salad and chocolate pudding. “Hundreds of thousands of dollars—if not millions—must have gone into refurbishing this facility before I was transferred here,” Bucky went on, pensive.

“Did they tell you how many others are being treated here with you?” Steve asked, forking his veggies.

“I’m the only patient here. There’s no one else. All these people are working here to look out for me,” Bucky informed Steve. Steve was a bit taken aback by that information. So all these people, this much effort and modern equipment and superb doctors were all for Bucky?!

“So that was the Tony Stark, huh?” asked Bucky, animated. “He’s a bit of a celebrity around here.”

“He’s a bit of a celebrity everywhere he goes, Buck.”

“The doctors, the interns—hell—everyone here talks about him a lot… a lot. Some of them have met him while some have only ever seen him on TV. Some of them hate him, some like him, some of these people love him and still some downright worship the ground he walks on,” said Bucky in between chewing and swallowing his food. “And I must say, I think I agree with that one thing they all seem to be in agreement about when it comes to Tony Stark.”

Steve didn’t bother prompting his friend.

“He does have that magnetic personality. He draws people in and keeps them right where he wants them. Whether they end up hating him or loving him—doesn’t matter. They’re drawn—hooked, captivated. He keeps people in his atmosphere and these people are only too happy to have him in theirs. I can definitely see his old man in him, but Howard’s got nothing on his kid in the way of magnetism, I’ll tell you that,” observed Bucky. And Steve silently agreed with him whole-heartedly.

There was something about Stark that drew people to him. Steve couldn’t explain it. Steve didn’t want to keep thinking about it. It was bad enough that he thought Stark was easy on the eyes; he didn’t have to dwell further on the appeal of the man, too—like someone with a secret obsession.

They didn’t talk about Stark again until after lunch and the two friends were parked in front of the TV to watch one of the DVDs that Stark had brought in for Bucky entitled Million Dollar Baby.

“So the people here keep saying that you and Stark are in some kind of superhero team and that you once saved New York from an alien invasion, is that true?”

“Yeah,” murmured Steve, shifting in his seat.

“So how long exactly have you known him—Stark?”

“Almost three years now. We first met a couple of days before that alien invasion episode,” replied Steve. Why was it that everywhere he went, people seemed to not want to talk about anything—or anyone—else but Tony Stark?!

“You don’t like him very much, do you?”

“Was it that obvious?”

“You were always the more discerning one of the two of us, Stevie. When you didn’t like a dame because she was too loud or her dress was too revealing, you always spoke your goddamned mind about it—made sure everyone knew how you felt. I even remember that mouth on you was always to blame for you getting beat up in some back alley all the time,” Bucky said, snorting in amusement.

“He’s arrogant, self-assured and egotistic. He thinks putting you in this ultra-modern hospital and having people fawn over your well-being would mean he can get whatever he wants from you, no questions asked,” muttered Steve, annoyed anew. He remembered the straight-forward look on Stark’s face when the latter revealed his interest in studying Bucky’s abomination of a metal arm.

“Well, the man is responsible for whatever headway I’ve been making right now. I’d still be in that dark place without any memory of who I once was and the friends I made if he hadn’t put me in this facility and thrown his money around. So I say if he wants to study my arm, I’d pluck it out myself, shove it in a box, gift-wrap it with a bow and send it to Stark for him to keep for as long as he bloody well wants,” Bucky said, shuddering at the memory of The Winter Soldier. “What he wants from me is nothing compared to what he’s done for me, Stevie.”

“I know,” Steve admitted. He was man enough to admit that Stark was indispensable to Bucky’s current condition. He hated to admit it, but he, too, was thankful to Stark for what the latter had done for his oldest friend. Irrespective of whatever Stark’s motivation might have been, it was definitely the end result that mattered more to Steve.

They watched the movie in companionable silence after that.

After the movie, Steve and Bucky eagerly dug through the contents of Stark’s care package and animatedly put them away. Steve answered what questions he could about the movies, books and music he already knew about—thanks to Natasha, Clint and Mecha. Bucky was particularly interested in reading the back flap synopsis of one book.

He held it up to show Steve. Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy by John Le Carre. “Have you read this already?”

“I have, actually,” said Steve with a fond smile of recollection burgeoning on his face.

“Is it good?”

“Yes.”

“I think I’ll read this first, seems interesting,” Bucky said, setting the book aside. He carefully stacked the rest of the books and CDs in his bookcases with an excited grin on his face.

It was then that Steve thought of Mecha again. Mecha, who had suggested Le Carre’s books to him. Mecha, who was witty and funny and smart. Mecha, who vanished like smoke after teasing him that they should meet one day. He wondered again what could have happened. He missed talking to Mecha, joking around with him, and discussing both profound and inane things with him.

While he said his goodbyes to Bucky and promised to be back as often as he could, Steve made a decision to write Mecha a Privy as soon as he got back to the Tower and ask the latter what his problem was. He was Captain America—for sobbing out loud. He was a brave, unflinching superhero, and it was about time he started acting like one.

###

Tony was back in his workshop in the Avengers Tower, after two short meetings and his epic-fail of a surprise visit to Barnes, trawling government servers, satellite feeds, Instagram, Facebook, Twitter or Stem for pictures or videos shot around that time in El Paso when his suit had failed and he had nearly ended up as a Tony pancake. He was confident he could piece together whatever he could find to make a reconstruction of what could have happened to him, particularly what caused his suit to malfunction as it did.

He didn’t like what he told Bruce that day that Tony decided to break his temporary, self-imposed monkhood. ‘I don’t know’ ceased to be part of Tony Stark’s repertoire of statements the same day that Stark Industries had officially stopped making weapons for the use of both the government and the terrorist organizations. To have to admit to Bruce that he didn’t know jack shit about what hit him in El Paso was about as painless as a lumbar puncture.

So he trawled through mountains of data looking for his answers, but there was no matching energy signature in the entire fucking electromagnetic spectrum to what he was able to pull from a government satellite feed. It was as if the DNA of whatever had felled Iron Man that day was not of any known creature in the planet! So after a while, he just decided to probe the data they had pulled from the El Paso data banks and hard drives for anything remotely useful: their human experimentations, the experimentations conducted on Loki’s scepter—maybe these things, Tony hoped, were related to the momentary failure of the Mark XLIII.

It was a thankless, tedious job, for which he was immensely thankful as it took his mind away from Rogers—Storm and what Tony’s momentary but momentous lapse in judgment had cost him.

It was stupid! Stupid and fucking insane! What was Tony thinking blurting out that he and Storm should meet? Did he have a death wish or something? Because Tony knew that Steve would fucking kill him twice over if the ex-army found out that Tony and Mecha were one and the same person.

So why did he do it? Tony wanted Rogers to realize that they could actually get along, that they really weren’t so different from each other, that maybe they could even be good friends. Because they have already been good friends, Rogers just didn’t know it yet.

And how did he take it when Storm readily, and even quite eagerly, agreed to that meeting? He fucking panicked, scrammed with his tail between his legs and kept himself away for three whole days! There was no glossing over what had happened—it was cut and dried stupidity. Hey—even geniuses do stupid things every once in a while; Pepper even had a list.

And then who should Tony find getting cozy with Barnes on the day that he decided to pop over for a surprise visit but Steve fucking Rogers himself? Fate clearly liked pissing on Tony Stark’s head. And Steve was his usual stern self, calling Tony out on his ulterior motive for wanting to help Barnes and goading Tony to take a defensive and sarcastic position. And what did they bicker about exactly? Oh yes—Bucky’s fucking arm!

“JARVIS, tell me if Captain Rogers has returned from his excursion, alright?”

“Sir, Captain Rogers arrived in the building 4 minutes ago and is on his way to his personal floor.”

“Right,” Tony muttered. These past three days, he had only logged in on Stem for thirty seconds at a time during wee hours of the day, hoping to avoid Storm’s detection, seeing as Mecha was listed as Storm’s Chum, but at the same time, wanting to see if perhaps Storm had sent him a Privy to demand an explanation from him for his questionable behavior.

But there was absolutely nothing. It could safely be assumed that Storm was pissed as fuck at him.

Tony dropped everything he had been trying to distract himself with and went to sit in front of his holo-screen and –keyboard. “Log me in on Stem, J. And get ready to compose a Privy. We need this sent to Storm before Rogers reaches his floor.”

“That will be in approximately 5.5 minutes, Sir.”

Shit! Whatever would Tony say in five and a half minutes?!

Privy to shield_storm_

heir2mecha.realm wrote:

I’m so sorry I bolted from the Speed-dating vein and was a no-show since then. I’m stupid! What I did was stupid. I just asked you if we could meet up in person and then disappeared on you. And I’m so sorry. But I panicked because I really don’t know how you’d find me once you meet me in person. I’m beginning to value your friendship very much, Storm. I’m afraid of things changing once you meet me and I somehow end up disappointing you.  

I can understand if you never want to talk to me again after what I’ve done because it was stupid and shitty. We haven’t even met and I’ve already disappointed you.  

I really am sorry.

“That’s it, J. Send it and log me out,” Tony instructed, decisively. He didn’t know if Storm would even grace him with a reply, but he hoped that the latter would feel his sincerity. Because he really was beginning to value Rogers’—Storm’s—friendship if only through a shroud of mystery and anonymity. He was beginning to enjoy and actually look forward to their chats and teasing and playful banter.

He tried to bury the thought of Storm and Steve Rogers out of his conscious mind by returning to his work. He was mildly successful, too. He actually finished getting through several huge tranches of data. He was only distracted when Dummy accidentally dropped a newly-repaired juicer on his way to making one of his mystery fruit juices for Tony’s consumption.

“Time, J?”

“It is 3:10 in the morning, Sir.”

“Head count?”

“Ms Romanoff is asleep in her bedroom; Mr Odinson is in the kitchen getting a witching hour snack of Pop tarts; Dr Banner is asleep on his table in the laboratory; Mr Barton is on the common floor in the middle of his Prison Break marathon, watching the fourth episode of the second season; and Captain Rogers is asleep in his bedroom, Sir.”

“How long has the Captain been asleep?”

“He went into deep sleep around an hour ago.”

“Coast’s clear then. Log me in on Stem, J,” Tony commanded. He didn’t know if his AI can detect a hint of hesitation in his voice. He dreaded what he would find in his Privies.

“There is a Privy from shield_storm sent at 9:48 last night, Sir.”

Tony wheeled himself before the holo-screen and read:

Privy to shield_storm_

shield_storm replied to heir2mecha.realm’s Privy:

I was upset when you vanished on me and when you didn’t even give me the courtesy to tell me if it was something I said. I was on and off on Stem for the next few days after that, hoping for a message from you, but there was nothing. I’m beginning to value your friendship as well, Mecha. And if you think you’re not ready to meet me in person yet, then I can definitely accept that. We don’t even have to talk about it again, if you’d prefer that.

Please don’t be afraid of disappointing me. You have been a terrific friend so far and I assure you that there’s nothing you can do from here on out that will cause me any disappointment. If anything, I might be the bigger disappointment for you.

I accept your apology, and I want to assure you that of course I’d still want to talk to you! What’s a minor misunderstanding between friends, right?

Talk to you soon then. Take care. G’nyt!

The engineer exhaled a breath he didn’t know he was holding and laughed softly. He couldn’t put a name to what he was feeling—was it relief? Pleasure? Thankfulness? Satisfaction? He didn’t know. All he knew was that there was warmth in that space below his heart and above his stomach. And that for once since he’d had those arguments with Pepper and since he had broken up with Pepper, he was actually happy.

Chapter Text

It was ten o’clock in the morning and Tony Stark was in a strangely good mood for someone who hardly had any sleep the previous night. He was also quite unusually chipper and awake. So when he strode into the common floor to avail himself of his daily coffee fix, he didn’t pay any mind that Rogers was parked in the recreation room, in front of the TV that was playing some horrendous daytime soap opera. Tony didn’t know if Rogers noticed him because the latter was intently focused on something else.

“G’morning,” Tony greeted. He had never done that before, be the first to greet someone—anyone—who happened to be in the common floor and before his third cup of coffee, too!

Rogers must have thought it was peculiar, too, because he looked up from whatever was demanding his attention on his lap and stared after the billionaire with shocked but suspicious eyes.

“I didn’t know you like watching morning soaps,” Tony observed, motioning at the TV with the coffee pot. He poured coffee in an extra-large mug and took a greedy swig, disregarding the scalding temperature and the extra-strong kick. Tony liked his coffee hot, black and strong, preferably the first drip of a fresh batch of coffee beans—so strong, it could corrode metal.

Rogers turned to the TV with a blank expression as if realizing for the first time that it was open and tuned in to something brainless and vile. “I don’t. I didn’t realize that the news program was over.”

The former soldier reached for the TV’s remote and pushed the power button, turning the machine off. He wordlessly went back to whatever it was he was doing before he was interrupted. If he noticed the peculiarity of Tony’s presence in the common floor at that hour, he didn’t show it.

Tony raised his eyebrows and exhaled through his nose in mild irritation. If Rogers was going to be a snob, then fine—Tony could be a snob, too. He had perfected snobbery. He might even have had a patent taken out on his specific form of snobbery. He refilled his already half-empty coffee cup with more coffee before purposefully walking back towards the direction of the elevator to return to his workshop.

“Thank you,” Rogers blurted out before Tony could press the button to call the elevator. Tony turned and stared at the Captain questioningly.

“Huh?” Contrary to popular opinion, Tony did know simple words! His ability for hyper-verbal vocabulary vomit failed him occasionally.

“Bruce told me it was you who asked him to countersign the request,” said Rogers, standing up and facing Tony squarely. The man was irritatingly taller than Tony by about two and a half inches.

“Bucky’s been doing really well and none of it would’ve been possible without your assistance. Also, that was a good batch of stuff you gave him yesterday. So…” Rogers trailed, awkwardly trying to find the words to keep talking. “Thank you,” he finished, for lack of more words.

“No worries. There’s really no need to thank me because like I said yesterday, I’m not doing this out of altruism or something. I have a vested interest in James’ recovery which is purely scientific,” Tony disclaimed, stuffing his free hand in the front pocket of his jeans.

“Right,” said Rogers, nodding twice. “I mean—I know about your purely scientific intentions. You told us as much yesterday. But I just thought that—you know—regardless of your intentions, I feel like I have a moral obligation to say something because—this—this thing that you di—I mean—that happened is a big thing… for me,” Rogers blathered on, exhibiting his immense discomfort about having this conversation with Tony. The blonde was clearly uncomfortable because he was doing all sorts of gestures, gesticulating excessively with his hands, stammering. Those were tell-tale signs of distress.

“OK—correct me if I’m wrong. But you’re saying you feel like you have a need to thank me because you consider this thing that happened—James’ commitment—to be an important thing regardless of my own reasons for doing it, am I right?” Tony clarified, moving closer to Rogers.

“Yes,” Rogers agreed, breathing a relieved sigh.

Another awkward silence followed and it was then that Tony let his eyes wander over the recreation room. He took another drink of his coffee to mask his own discomfort. And then his eyes fell on an open sketchbook on the couch with a well-worn pencil stuffed in the spine groove. Rogers had been drawing. It was of the plant in the glass bowl sitting atop the center table. It was beautiful, too, Tony thought.

“Listen, Rogers? No need to thank me, alright? I’ll spare you from having to continue this very, very awkward conversation. Because looking at you right now, with your jaw-clenching, is really hurting my teeth. It was really no biggie. So I’m gonna go… now…” said Tony, walking backwards to stand in front of the elevator again.

He pressed the down button with his free hand in haste, stepped into the elevator—back end first, and before he pressed the floor to his workshop said, “that’s a really nice drawing of the plant you have there. It’s…inspired—not by what you were just watching, I hope.” The elevator doors closed between them, but before they did, Tony thought he saw a startled look on Rogers’ face.

“You really had to say it like that, didn’t you, Stark? You do have a death wish, buddy,” Tony murmured to himself, shaking his head as if disbelieving his nerve.

He placed his precious mug of coffee on a relatively clear table nearest the area where he was working before he took his break. He sat himself back down on his wheeled stool and picked up where he left off in re-wiring and soldering the gauntlets of the Mark XLIV prototype. He was into it for the whole of six minutes before JARVIS called his attention.

“Sir, Captain Rogers is at the door to your workshop, requesting entrance.”

“Tell him I’m busy—I can’t talk. I’m in the middle of delicate re-wiring work, J,” Tony muttered, pursing his lips in irritation. If Rogers was going to pick up where he left off in thanking Tony, the latter might just have to rethink the whole rehabilitation thing and throw Barnes back out in the streets!

“I have relayed your message Sir, but I’m afraid the Captain is making use of his emergency override codes to enter the workshop.”

“Jesus Christ!” Tony protested, throwing his arms in the air in sheer exasperation. The man was goddamn insufferable!

“The fuck are you doing, Rogers? You do know that the emergency override is only for goddamned emergencies, don’t you?!” Tony demanded from his teammate as the latter resolutely strolled into the workshop. Judging by the look on Rogers’ face, he was channeling Captain America at that moment.

“Why do you do this?!” Rogers demanded.

“Why do I do what?!” Tony retorted, flaring up.

“Why is it so hard for you to accept gratitude? Why is it so damn challenging to thank you?”

“Is that what you were trying to do? Because to me that looked like you were having a root canal while standing up,” Tony spat. “And I kept saying over and over to you that you don’t have to thank me. I said it in English, too!” He was becoming mildly aware that he was beginning to gesticulate wildly with his hands. He was starting to show tell-tale signs of distress…

“You can’t just simply accept gratitude and you’re so… standoffish!” Rogers said in a raised tone of voice.

“I’m standoffish? I’m standoffish?! And you think you’re just so amiable, don’t you, Rogers?” Tony crossed his arms over his chest, blowing a half-decent raspberry.

“I’m not the one who alienated the people I live in the same house with for almost two weeks while I wasted away until I was three sheets to the wind,” said Rogers, glaring. “And did you really have to mock me about my drawing?”

“Oh my god!” Tony complained. “I wasn’t mocking you! I was complimenting you, Rogers.”

“You don’t compliment me; you’ve never complimented me,” Rogers said, narrowing his eyes and staring Tony down.

“I’m pretty sure I just did,” Tony answered through gritted teeth. He stood up from his stool and straightened up to his full height. He really hated it at that moment that Rogers was still taller than him. “You know what your problem is, Rogers? You don’t know how to take a compliment.”

“Because you’ve never given me one, Stark. To you it’s all about making me feel deficient because I can’t get your references or because I wear the clothes that I do or do the old-fashioned things that I do,” Steve blurted out, thunderously.

“There’s one other thing apart from my money, Rogers, that I know I’m not tightfisted about and it’s giving compliments. I always give credit where credit is due,” said Tony, eyes blazing. “Now if you don’t feel that I’m sincere about giving those compliments, then that’s your fucking problem, isn’t it?

“You wanna thank me? Fine! Let’s hear it,” Tony said, sitting back down with his arms open and welcoming for Rogers to do what he came there for.

Rogers clenched his fists on his sides and tried his best to even his breathing out. “Thank you for what you did for Bucky,” he said evenly.

“You’re welcome,” Tony replied with the same even tone.

They stared at each other still, warm brown eyes meeting deep-set blue ones.

“You don’t know how important it was for me to have Bucky back.”

Tony just blinked once at him, opting not to say anything because he felt like Rogers was five words away from socking him in the jaw.

“Thank you for all the effort—the money, the facilities, the comfortable accommodations—that you’ve provided to rehabilitate Bucky. I know you have your own reasons but regardless of them, this is still a big—huge—favor that you’re doing for us.”

“You’re welcome,” Tony answered again. Seeing as Rogers didn’t explode when he first said that combination of words, Tony thought they were safe enough to be repeated.

“And to show my immense appreciation, I’d like to invite you to dinner,” Rogers said, poker-faced.

Say what?! Tony thought he must have misheard the blonde. “Din—what? Why?”

“It’s an expression of my gratitude,” the Captain answered. “I’m trying to thank you.” Rogers merely rephrased as if he was speaking to someone with a vocabulary deficiency.

“And you have thanked me. Do you really want to extend this farce to an invitation for dinner? Is this not excruciating enough for both of us?” Tony asked, gesturing to both of them.

Steve just stared at him, clenching his jaw again.

Tony threw up his hands in mock surrender. Breathing deeply, he said, “you know what? Fine! Dinner it is, and you’re paying to show me the immensity of your gratitude. So when and where do you want to do this, Rogers?”

“I got no plans tomorrow night,” came the simple response.

“Fantastic. Where?”

“Do you have any preference?”

“Hey—you’re footing the bill. It’s your call,” Tony gestured to him, fighting the urge to shake his head fiercely at the incredulous situation.

“Sure, but I don’t want to have to take you someplace where you’d just turn your nose up at the f—,”

“I turn my nose up—I turn my—what?!” Tony was practically reeling at the nerve of this asshole! “OK—alright… Gianni’s off Central Park. Tomorrow at 7. Now can you please get out of my fucking workshop? There’s the door,” Tony said, his lips curling in annoyance. He pointed at the workshop doors with this loafered foot.

Rogers made an abrupt about-face to leave. The Captain’s fists were still tight round balls clasped at his sides.

Tony snapped his fingers, making Rogers freeze in his tracks. “Oh and Captain—I think I’ll revoke your emergency override privileges from now on,” the engineer said with a sneer. “Goodbye! See you tomorrow!” Tony followed it up with a sugar-coated by-your-leave, a wave and a toothy smile.

Rogers finally left the workshop, muttering under his breath.

###

In Steve’s defense, he didn’t know what came over him to just march up to Stark’s workshop, punch in his emergency override codes that was only supposedly for emergencies only, call the billionaire standoffish, accuse him of being difficult to thank, charge him with mockery of Steve’s drawing, and invite—force—him to go to dinner. He just felt so embarrassed after Stark pointed out that he’d noticed Steve’s drawing and so frustrated that he merely blubbered through his speech of gratitude that he had been steeling himself to say to Stark the moment that Steve noticed the engineer enter the common floor for some coffee.

He just got fed up that Stark was always the one to get the last word on him that, before Steve could stop himself, he was practically drilling holes in the access panel of the workshop with his finger and punching in his emergency override codes. Enough was enough.

At first, he only wanted to let Stark know exactly what Steve thought of his dismissive attitude, but then Steve thought of Bucky’s expression of relief and happiness at the good turn his life had finally taken and—well—his own deep sense of obligation to somehow acknowledge the service he was done. He had got his best friend back. And it was the greatest kindness he had ever been bestowed.

So he invited the engineer-billionaire to dinner because… what else could he do to return the favor? It wasn’t like he could repay Stark for the millions the latter must have funneled into the facility for Bucky’s care and treatment. It wasn’t like there was anything Steve could buy for Stark who happened to be a billionaire. There was only so much Steve could afford even with seventy years’ worth of government back pay and senior citizen benefits he was owed.

An invitation to dinner it was.

He didn’t want to dwell on it too much but he knew there was more to the dinner invitation than just wanting to repay his debt of gratitude to the billionaire. Steve was also curious about Tony Stark.

In the almost four months since Steve had moved into the Tower, Stark was the only Tower resident that had never spent more than 20 minutes alone with Steve. Ironically, Stark was the most popular of all of the Tower residents but he was the only one that Steve knew next to nothing about. Apart from his impression that Stark was arrogant, egotistic and self-centered, Stark’s very obvious love for coffee and equally very obvious revulsion for Stem, Steve didn’t really know anything else about the engineer-billionaire. He wanted that to change.

It was also tactically advantageous. If Steve thought they already fought well enough together even as impersonal teammates, then they were bound to fight even better alongside each other if they were actually friends. It made sense!

But since he didn’t want to waste his night berating himself for his rashness at inviting—forcing—Tony Stark to have dinner out with him, he reached for his phone and logged in on Stem for a much sought-after distraction

shield_storm: oh hey! You’re online!

heir2mecha.realm: yeah. I’m really sorry again for ditching you that day. It was shitty of me.

shield_storm: I got that already. And if I’m not mistaken, I’ve already forgiven you for that. :-)

heir2mecha.realm: yeah. I just thought one more ‘I’m sorry’ wouldn’t hurt.

shield_storm: are you busy right now?

heir2mecha.realm: not really. Why?

heir2mecha.realm: don’t tell me you want to take another crack at the Speed-dating vein…

heir2mecha.realm: I thought you’ve sworn off going back there?

shield_storm: I have. I’m sticking to it, too. I’m never going back there. Too traumatizing… :-S

shield_storm: I was thinking of watching a movie

heir2mecha.realm: Need recommendations?

shield_storm: No- I was thinking we could watch a movie together.

heir2mecha.realm: ???

heir2mecha.realm: About that, Storm. I thought you said we can forget for now about meeting up?

shield_storm: Relax. I did say that. And I’m standing by that. We don’t have to talk about if it makes you uncomfortable.

shield_storm: I was thinking maybe we could watch the same movie but you watch it there in the comfort of your own house and I’ll watch it here in my house

shield_storm: and we can stay logged in as if we’re watching the same movie right next to each other.

heir2mecha.realm: what gave you that idea?

shield_storm: I visited a friend of mine yesterday. I haven’t seen this friend of mine for so long. I thought he had died when we were in the field together.

shield_storm: But it turned out that he was merely taken prisoner by the enemy and brainwashed.

heir2mecha.realm: that’s horrible

shield_storm: yeah. And then he turned up last year, alive and well, but without any memories of me or our times together. Or our other friends for that matter. But he’s being treated now. And I visited him yesterday for the first time since his treatment began. And it was like I had my friend back. We watched a movie together and I didn’t realize how much I missed doing that until yesterday.

shield_storm: And I thought maybe we can try something like that too.

shield_storm: so what do you say?

heir2mecha.realm: Let’s go give it a try then. :-)

shield_storm: is there a movie you haven’t seen yet but you’ve been meaning to see that we can watch together?

heir2mecha.realm: well I’ve always wanted to watch The Prestige. I’ve been meaning to but I never got around to it. You haven’t seen that yet, have you?

shield_storm: no I haven’t. :-)

shield_storm: I’ll look for it. We should have that. The movie selection in the house is quite extensive. We like watching movies. Hang on.

Steve crept out of his personal floor to go to the common floor to see if their collection would have the movie that Mecha suggested. He also hoped that Clint wasn’t in one of his movie or series marathons because he really wanted to try this out with Mecha.

Blessedly, the common floor was empty, so he went about setting the home entertainment system to suit their purposes.

shield_storm: We have The Prestige here. Is that the one directed by Christopher Nolan?

heir2mecha.realm: yup that’s it… hang on also, I’m setting my computer up…

shield_storm: so you want popcorn?

heir2mecha.realm: :-D hahaha! Yeah. Popcorn’s good. Maybe butter flavored?

shield_storm: soda too? ;-)

heir2mecha.realm: nah. I think I prefer fruit juice.

shield_storm: I’m getting a soda. :-)

After fixing a bowl of popcorn and twisting the cap off some leftover soda, Steve parked himself in front of the TV with the remote in hand.

shield_storm: I’m good to go.

heir2mecha.realm: same here.

shield_storm: movie’s playing already.

heir2mecha.realm: shush… I hate it when people talk during the movie. :-)

The movie was about rival stage magicians in London at the end of the 19th century who had begun their careers as shills for another magician. An accident involving the death of the wife of the magician, Angier, due to what he believed to be the fault of the other magician, Borden, caused them to lead separate careers, but always with a view to one-up the other.

 shield_storm: I’ve always feared death by drowning…

heir2mecha.realm: god me too

When they came to the scenes where Angier sabotaged Borden’s bullet catch trick, costing the latter two fingers and Borden sabotaged Angier’s bird cage act, maiming a volunteer from the audience and damaging Angier’s career, Steve barely paid any mind to eating his popcorn.

heir2mecha.realm: good popcorn

shield_storm: I can barely eat mine. I’m too focused on the movie.

shield_storm: I think this isn’t about the wife anymore.

heir2mecha.realm: yeah. This one-upping each other is already about ego…

heir2mecha.realm: This isn’t weird at all, is it? This ‘watching a movie together’ bit?

shield_storm: we could do voice chat instead if you think this is weird.

heir2mecha.realm: I don’t. I just thought you might think it is.

heir2mecha.realm: maybe next time. ;-) with the voice chat, I mean. I’ll take a rain check tonight?

Then the character of Borden introduced The Transported Man trick, where he would enter one cabinet and would exit another across the stage almost instantaneously. It was insisted by another character, Cutter, that Borden was using a double, but Angier would hear none of it.

shield_storm: jeez, how does he do it then if not through a double?

heir2mecha.realm: but who’s the double? Someone walks around looking like you, people are bound to notice.

It was revealed that Nikola Tesla had something to do with Borden’s Transported Man trick. So Angier engaged Tesla as well to make him a machine like Borden’s.

shield_storm: Isn’t Tesla a scientist?

heir2mecha.realm: yes he’s Edison’s contemporary.

shield_storm: So The Transported Man is science? Like a teleportation device maybe? Is that consistent with the period setting of the movie? I didn’t know teleportation was already a thing back then.

heir2mecha.realm: This may be just symbolic. There’s a blurred line between magic as sleight of hand and magic as just something so advanced that’s beyond one’s understanding at the time.

Later on it was further revealed that the machine that Tesla fashioned for Angier worked, making a duplicate of whatever was placed inside it. But Tesla, before he and Angier parted ways, warned against its use and even advised Angier to destroy it. Steve watched transfixed as the character of Angier electrified audiences back in London with The Real Transported Man trick. Angier would vanish within the machine and reappear at the back of the hall.

shield_storm: now how does Angier DO that?!?!?! You think maybe this is another double like what he did before?

heir2mecha.realm: nah… he’d be stupid to try it again considering how successful it was last time. What’s with all the tanks though?!

Then Angier died performing the trick and Borden was accused of killing him. But it turned out that Angier was alive and went by the name of Lord Caldlow. Borden was hanged for the supposed murder of Angier and the latter took Borden’s daughter to care for her as his own. Steve was perplexed at that twist. So who was it that died in that tank?

shield_storm: how is he alive?!

heir2mecha.realm: maybe it WAS a double after all. It’s not like they already have DNA testing back then.

But when the final twist was revealed, Steve busily chatted up Mecha if the latter had seen it coming.

shield_storm: so it wasn’t a teleportation device. It was an instantaneous cloning machine!!!

heir2mecha.realm: And that dude Fallon was his twin brother?!?! His effing twin brother? He was so nondescript!!!!

shield_storm: yeah maybe he was meant to be downplayed so the twist becomes even more remarkable. Borden WAS using a double after all. And the sacrifice they did so maintain the illusion… Sarah hanged herself for sobbing out loud!

heir2mecha.realm: so who do you think really fathered that child- Borden or Fallon?

shield_storm: I don’t want to think about it.

heir2mecha.realm: and all those unwitting clones! Death by drowning *shudders*

shield_storm: IKR?

shield_storm: do you think we’re any closer now, making a machine like that? Instantaneous cloning- I’ll be damned…

heir2mecha.realm: well more than the technological question. It’s really the morality question that’s more of the issue, isn’t it? I mean look at the guy, he’s had to kill—what—a hundred of those things—people?!?!  WHAT was he killing exactly? A man hanged for being accused of killing one of those. But what was it—Angier himself or just a part of Angier? Did that clone even have his memory? His personality? His soul? Too many ethical and moral considerations to building a machine like that.

shield_storm: If you have the know-how like Tesla, would you build a machine like that?

heir2mecha.realm: Probably not. Like I said too many moral and ethical considerations.

shield_storm: that may be for the better. Even Tesla was edgy when he gave it to Angier.

heir2mecha.realm: whew… good movie!

shield_storm: it was, wasn’t it? :-)

heir2mecha.realm: we should do this again soon!

heir2mecha.realm: next time, you pick the movie.

shield_storm: ok :-)

shield_storm: I had fun. It was a good movie. And the company wasn’t so bad, too.

heir2mecha.realm: hear hear!

Steve tucked his legs in a meditative position, clutching his phone close to his chest.

heir2mecha.realm: Are you tired yet?

shield_storm: a bit. I kind of got into a tussle with Leo earlier.

heir2mecha.realm: you didn’t hit him, did you?

shield_storm: no it was just a stare down. I was trying to thank him for helping that friend of mine I told you about earlier. But he was flippant about it.

heir2mecha.realm: don’t lose it with him. Just be patient.

heir2mecha.realm: Think about it this way. You and I don’t know each other. At all. We only know each other by our usernames, but we found a point of compromise and we took off from there. That’s all you need to improve the way you and Leo deal with each other.

heir2mecha.realm: you need to find that point of compromise and when you do, let things take off from there and before you know it, the air between you won’t be as charged.

shield_storm: I hope so. For everyone’s sake. When we’re in the same room, all hell tends to break loose. And I know the rest of the guys suffer because we can’t see eye to eye most of the time.

heir2mecha.realm: Rome wasn’t built in a day, as they say. You gotta put your back into it, man.

shield_storm: yeah. So I got to hit the sack. I’m pretty beat. This was really nice…

heir2mecha.realm: yeah. We should do this again soon…

heir2mecha.realm: Talk to you tomorrow, alrighty?

heir2mecha.realm: good night. :-)

shield_storm: Yeah ‘see’ you tomorrow. ;-)

shield_storm: good night to you too, Mecha! Pleasant dreams…

Chapter Text

Steve dodged Natasha’s jab that would’ve hit his throat in the nick of time. He parried another lightning quick blow supposedly aimed at his torso with a well-placed arm. It was always a challenge and a delight to spar with Natasha. He tested his Super Soldier reflexes against her creative, varied, unforgiving and often damaging strikes. He remembered how he’d had to learn the hard way never to underestimate Natasha’s fighting skills. She and Clint were just as good at hand-to-hand combat as Steve was and they didn’t even have the benefit of the Super Soldier Serum.

While he and Natasha traded blows on the mat, Clint was beating the stuffing out of one of their free-standing punching bags. The three had had full rein of the gym since Steve returned from his morning run three and a half hours ago.

“I was watching this instructional video in Stem about cooking a good stuffed pork belly. I thought I’d try it out later for dinner. Bruce might want a break from having to cook for us, ingrates, all the time. Natasha said she’d help. Think you might also want to lend me a hand later?” Clint asked, slinging a towel over his shoulder and plopping down on the flat bench press with a powerful exhale.

Natasha used the momentary distraction to try to execute a spinning back-fist against Steve, but the latter deflected the momentum of her outstretched fist with his forearms, but it still jarred his teeth a bit. It was a marvel how Natasha with her 5’6” frame could manage to put so much power in her strikes. “I can’t. I have a dinner thing tonight,” Steve muttered, bending over and snatching his scrunched up towel from the edge of the mat.

“You have a date!” Natasha teased, one corner of her lips curling into a ghost of a smile.

“No—I have a dinner with Stark,” Steve clarified.

“Tony? He invited you for dinner and casually left us out?! That’s the height of injustice, man! He’s supposed to be closer to me than to you anyway,” Clint gibed, earning a scowl from Natasha.

“He didn’t invite me. I kind of forced him into it,” said Steve, fighting the beginnings of a blush that was creeping up his neck. He remembered how he had browbeaten Stark into accepting that invitation for dinner again, and Steve was almost guilty. Almost.

Natasha looked at him with unabashed curiosity. “What for?”

“I wanted to thank him for what he did for Bucky,” Steve said, matter-of-factly.

The good thing about talking to former spy assassins was that there didn’t seem to be a need to put them up to speed about anything; everything was just tacitly known and understood by them.

“It’s not like I can pay Stark back or buy him something flashy to express my thanks. So I thought dinner was a safe bet.” Steve still felt the need to explain that one. He didn’t want the two to get the wrong ideas about him and Stark. It wasn’t like it was a date or something. It was just payment for a debt of gratitude between teammates.

“I bet having him accept that invitation was like pulling teeth,” Clint said with a sneer, leaning back on the bench press on his sweaty arms. “Where are you taking him? It better be something up to Stark’s standards.”

“Gianni’s. He said it’s off Central Park. I’ll have to look it up in Google or something,” said Steve, dismissively.

Clint whistled. “Gianni’s is his favorite place. And it doesn’t come cheap, I’ll tell you that.”

“He used to take Pepper there almost every week. He usually takes his dates there,” Natasha further supplied.

“His classier dates. Not the bimbos. He takes the bimbos somewhere else,” interjected Clint, straightening up on his seat, twisting the cap off his water bottle and taking a huge swig from it. All the while, the look of mild amusement never left his face.

“So how nice of a restaurant is it supposed to be? What should I wear?” Steve casually asked, flopping into a meditative sitting position on the bench press’ ten o’clock and draping his nearly sweat-soaked towel around the back of his head.

“Smart casual’s fine. No slippers, no shorts, no running shoes and no tank-tops,” Natasha rattled off. “Clint and I can help you pick out some nice clothes, if you want,” she offered, walking back to the mat to start on some yoga stretches.

“Yeah—you don’t want to be mercilessly teased by Tony for two hours over dinner because of your clothes,” Clint contributed. “Nothing gives you indigestion worse than being on the receiving end of Tony Stark’s jokes, trust me.”

“I think I have a pretty good idea about that,” Steve admitted, rolling his eyes at Clint.

He then turned to look at Natasha who was doing a perfect inverted V while taking deep relaxing breaths. She would usually do yoga stretches to wind down from sparring. “Do you think I would need to call ahead for a reservation?” Steve looked from Natasha to Clint, waiting for their suggestion.

“Nah—don’t think so. Tony’s almost always there anyway. They probably have a table ready for him. Just casually drop his name to the maître d' and you’d be ushered to the best table in the house before you realize what’s happening,” advised Clint, doing waist twists while seated on the bench press to work on his obliques.

“When was this dinner date set anyway?” Natasha asked from behind Steve again, this time doing a forehead to knees stretch. Steve casually scrunched his nose at the word ‘date’ but he didn’t bother to set things straight with her as pointing it out would probably emphasize how mortified he was by the idea.

“Yesterday morning,” came Steve’s answer.

“I suggest you remind him of it. Tony’s prone to forgetting these things,” Clint further recommended. “Especially since you’re not a blonde with a big rack.”

Steve gave a pained expression. “I already forced him into accepting the dinner invitation. I don’t want to have to remind him of that compulsion. I think I’ll just send him a text if he’s not there on time,” said Steve.

“Your call,” conceded the archer, standing up and stretching his arms over his chest. “It looks like you’ll just have to miss my special stuffed pork belly tonight.”

“I’ll live, Clint,” Steve joked with an atypical toothy grin.

They temporarily parted ways when Steve mumbled that he needed a shower and went up to his personal floor. But after twenty minutes, he was again joined by the former SHIELD spies in his meagerly-filled closet, freshly showered themselves, for that promised aid to find a Stark wit-proof ensemble.

Steve didn’t have much in the way of clothes—or possessions, for that matter. He’d thought, when he moved in, that the closet was too damn big. Whenever they could, Natasha and Clint would help him pick modern-style clothes, but with Avengers business and all, they had never really had enough time to pick him a whole new wardrobe.

After countless debates, they finally settled that Steve was going to wear a light blue button-down, long sleeved shirt the sleeves of which Steve would fold up to his elbows, tight black slacks and his only pair of leather shoes, which Clint was in doubt about because they were a bit shabby, but Natasha argued that it would have to do, with a bit of shoe polish and some elbow into it.

Clint ended up polishing the shoes instead of Steve because the archer didn’t trust the former soldier to do a proper job of it. And of course, it wasn’t like Clint could order Natasha to do it without having to sacrifice one of his nuts.

“The waitresses will surely have a hard time choosing which one to check out between you and Tony,” Natasha assured Steve, pushing a tub of hair wax, a small bottle of cologne, a fresh, perfectly-folded-into-a-square hanky, a pack of Tic-tac’s, the most decent for-all-occasions wristwatch that Steve owned, and a pair of black socks into Steve’s arms. Then she turned to Steve with an expression full of admonition. “And for the love of god, don’t fight; don’t yell; don’t throw stuff at each other. I don’t want to have to hear that you two got thrown out of Gianni’s because you got into a brawl with each other,” warned Natasha. “Or so help me, you boys will be in a world of pain.”

Clint stopped polishing, looked at Steve and mimicked hanging himself, complete with crossed eyes and a lolling-out tongue.

Steve grimaced. When Natasha threatened, she could be counted on to follow through with it. Through the most painful ways imaginable.

The blonde inwardly braced himself for that night. There was no one to blame but himself for getting into that situation so he silently swore that he was going to get through one night with Stark without incident, even if it killed him.

###

Tony was in one of his zones again. He’d been working non-stop for 16 hours, after he had finished watching that movie with Storm. He was actually able to finally finish the Mark XLIV prototype and had just sent it to JARVIS’ capable—well—hands for the next 18 hours for further testing, troubleshooting and painting. He also dabbled again in the El Paso business, getting down and dirty with several more tranches of HYDRA data. Sadly, the mysterious energy that knocked the Mark XLIII out of the sky remained a mystery.

It was after he took the quickest shower in history in the workshop’s bathroom that he decided to check back in on Stem to see if Storm was logged in. Tony had unexpectedly enjoyed watching a movie ‘with’ Storm the night before that he wanted to see if his Stem friend could perhaps be persuaded to watch another that night. It was very refreshing for him. Tony’s movie-watching experience usually ended up in a make-out session if it was with Pepper or with him being fucking bored out of his mind if it was with the rest of the Avengers—not for poor movie choice on his teammates’ part, but because it was an activity he had never really voluntarily gone for. Last night was the first time he watched a movie where he actually watched the movie.

heir2mecha.realm: hey Storm!

shield_storm: Hey! What’s up?

heir2mecha.realm: I’m just taking a breather. You?

shield_storm: I’m actually just logged in to pass the time, I’m waiting for someone but I arrived in our meeting place too early

heir2mecha.realm: you’re on a date!!!

shield_storm: not a date. It’s just dinner with Leo. Supposedly.

Tony suddenly remembered the incident with Rogers the day before and jumped out of his seat. “Shit!!!” He had completely forgotten the ‘Thank You Dinner’ that Rogers had forcefully shoved down his throat the day before.

“JARVIS! Why didn’t you remind me about the dinner with Rogers?!”

“I tried to, Sir, just as you were relinquishing the Mark XLIV over to me but you put me on mute.”

He did that?! Why did he do that?! “Time, J?”

“It’s 6:56 in the evening, Sir.”

“How long will it take me to walk or drive to Gianni’s?”

“It will take you 10 minutes to walk or 6 minutes to drive to Gianni’s, but with the early evening traffic factored in, Sir, it will take you 11 minutes to drive to the restaurant.”

“Shit! Shit! Fucking shit! No time. J, I want the Mark XLIII out of the armor vault and on the landing pad in 2 minutes; I’m flying to Gianni’s,” Tony said, scrambling out of the workshop.

“Perhaps a quick change of clothing also, Sir?”

“No time. What I have on will have to do. Gianni’s dress code can suck it!”

“Sir, should I log you out of Stem?”

“No, let’s see if we can’t keep the Captain occupied while his dinner companion is running late—fuck!”

Tony nearly tripped out of the elevator into the penthouse. The suit was mercifully on the landing pad already and prepped to receive him. He was in and off the roof in a heartbeat, repulsors blazing. He couldn’t be late; he’d never hear the end of it from Rogers. The Captain would be sure to look at him reproachfully all fucking night if he arrived late. And the evening would be a complete and utter catastrophe even before it began.

“Put up my chat with Storm on the HUD, J and type for me,” Tony ordered, keeping one eye on the HUD and one eye on his flight path as only years of experience and his level of multi-tasking could accomplish.

heir2mecha.realm: is that so? Which reminds me- my neighbor’s invited me to a party he’s having downstairs so I may have to go in a bit too.

heir2mecha.realm: I just thought I’d check in on you and to thank you again for last night.

shield_storm: a party huh? Well that’s good that you’re associating with your neighbors!

heir2mecha.realm: yeah it might just be a one-off or something. But yeah, it’s good.

shield_storm: the movie was really awesome. We have to do that again!

heir2mecha.realm: Agreed. Listen. Have fun with your dinner. Don’t forget what we talked about- about being patient with Leo. Try not to kill him, ok? ;-)

shield_storm: haha! Yeah have fun at the party, too!

shield_storm: I don’t know for how long I’ll have to be out tonight, but I’ll talk to you tomorrow?

heir2mecha.realm: yup sure. Bye!

shield_storm: G’bye!

Tony found a square of vacant pavement by the bicycle parking area at the back of Gianni’s and landed in his usual Iron Man landing pose on one knee like a graceful but bad-ass supplicant. Heads turned, eager fingers pointed and ready phone cameras flashed as usual as Iron Man landed and its famous pilot emerged wearing his trademarked charming smile.

The engineer quickly mouthed hurried explanations to the crowd gathered outside Gianni’s, waiting to be seated, why he couldn’t stay and pose for pictures. He gave abrupt waves and terse smiles as he made his way through the throng and into the restaurant.

Steve Rogers was seated in Tony’s usual Gianni’s table in a semi-private alcove near the rear, looking squarely at him with a disbelieving expression on his face and a hard-to-read flicker in his deep-set blue eyes. The bike path was right in the table’s view and the Captain could not have missed Iron Man’s grandiose landing several moments ago.

“You forgot, didn’t you?” were the first words out of Rogers’ mouth through his gritted teeth.

“No, I wouldn’t be here if I did. Besides, it’s only 7:02. I’m hardly late,” Tony defended, sliding carelessly into the vacant seat across from Rogers and crossing his legs underneath the table.

“So you just thought that it’d be good to take Iron Man out for a spin?”

“Yeah sure,” replied Tony.

Before Rogers could say anything else, the restaurant’s owner, Giacomo, approached the table welcoming the billionaire with a smile, a kiss on both cheeks and warm—unmistakably—Italian words. Giacomo and Tony exchanged pleasantries, small talk and jokes in quick Italian that made the latter forget that he actually had an audience to this occasional exchange between him and the restaurant’s proprietor.

After Giacomo left with a flourish and an assurance that the pair of superheroes would be well cared for, Rogers cleared his throat and spoke, “I didn’t know you could speak Italian.”

“Not very many people do. My mother’s Italian so I learned the language at an early age,” Tony supplied. “I’m actually fluent in three languages—English, Italian and bullshit,” the billionaire joked, tapping the tabletop in a staccato beat. “So—let’s get this party started! Have you ordered anything yet?”

Rogers shook his head. “I don’t know what’s good here. So I thought I’d wait for you,” he said.

“I’m having the lobster tonight, but I do recommend the steak. They serve the best steaks here,” Tony suggested with a knock of his fork against the artfully-folded table napkin. He didn’t even need to open the menu splayed beside his gold-edged plate.

“Yeah—OK, sure. I’ll—uh—have the steak then,” Rogers conceded, closing his menu even before he took one cursory glance at it. Tony noticed that Rogers’ phone was on the table beside the Captain’s plate, and thought about how just a couple of moments ago, the Captain was on that same phone talking to him, without a single clue who he really was. And felt the first twinges of disquiet about that fact for the first time in weeks.

There they were, seated in front of each other on a table in a posh restaurant and all they could talk about was who was having the lobster and who was having the steak. But in Stem, behind the veil of mystery and anonymity, they could actually talk about anything and not be uncomfortable around each other. To Tony, who was, in fact, privy to Storm’s real identity, it was a bit frustrating to have to think that he could only get along with Rogers when the latter didn’t have a fucking clue who he was.

He couldn’t even begin to put his finger on why that was. He couldn’t understand how it was so easy to talk to Rogers on Stem, but it was so difficult to deal with the same man when they were in each other’s faces.

Tony warily admitted that ‘The Rogers Mystery’, as he had begun to refer to it in the deepest crevices of his mind, was partly the reason why he accepted—albeit reluctantly—the dinner invitation: he wanted to see if there might be something from the Storm-Mecha friendship seeping into the Stark-Rogers association. Tony was half-heartedly beginning to believe that if he and Rogers could be friends on Stem, then there was no reason why they couldn’t at least get along in real life.

“So…” Tony began after taking a deep breath.

“So…” Rogers echoed, pursing his lips a bit to fight the beginnings of discomfiture.

Wow. So much for Tony’s belief. Tony wracked his brains but he couldn’t remember it ever being this awkward with Storm. Not even when they were only talking about book recommendations.

“Nice threads. Let me guess—Natasha?” Tony observed, tilting his head to the side to get a better look at Roger’s ensemble. The man could pull off modern man-wear quite attractively. And Tony only just noticed! How could he notice this only now?!

“Natasha and Clint, actually,” Rogers admitted, an embarrassed tinge of pink beginning to color his neck and ear lobes.

Even in the delicate and elegant lighting of the restaurant, it was unmistakable how Rogers colored because of his embarrassment. Tony recalled his conversation with Storm about excessive blushing and he unwittingly snickered in the memory.

“They hoped that if I dressed like this, you wouldn’t make fun of me,” Rogers muttered, clearly irritated that Tony seemingly just poked fun at him. “And they said this restaurant has a dress code.” Rogers returned Tony’s unintentional mockery by giving the latter the once-over and narrowed his eyes at what the engineer-billionaire was wearing: a dark gray MIT sweatshirt, ragged jeans with a hole on the left knee and his red and gold trainers

“I lost track of time and didn’t have enough time to change. And it’s not like Giacomo is going to throw me out of the restaurant because I’m in my trainers and tattered jeans,” said Tony with a flippant wave of his hand. He had always believed that he looked good no matter what he was wearing anyway.

“You forgot about this dinner, didn’t you?” Rogers asked again, but this time, there was a slight amusement in his blue eyes.

Rolling his warm brown eyes, Tony exhaled forcefully through the nose and said, “Almost. But I recovered. I made it here, didn’t I?” Crossing his arms over his chest, he slightly smirked at his dinner companion and said, “besides, it’s not like this is a date where I have to impress you by arriving on time wearing my Sunday best.”

A pretty and willowy waitress in a crisp uniform respectfully interjected then, before Steve could make any protestations about using the D-word, to take their order and Tony rattled off to her in his usual manner—playful and endearing. The waitress left with a hint of a smile and a sparkle of humor in her gray eyes.

Rogers fidgeted again, obviously trying to think about how to kick-start some semblance of a civil conversation between them. “So… thank you,” the Captain mumbled again.

“When are you going to stop thanking me, Rogers? It’s not like it gets any less excruciating as the number of thanks increases,” Tony joked, smirking at his teammate.

“I was trying to thank you for accepting the invitation to dinner,” said Rogers, feeling the need to elaborate.

“You’re welcome,” Tony evenly replied to make things simpler. “You’re going to like the steak. So, in anticipation of your thanks for that—you’re welcome.”

“I’m sorry for calling you standoffish,” blurted Rogers out. Tony had to hand it to the ex-army for the latter’s unwavering gaze as he said it.

“That wasn’t the first time I was called that,” admitted Tony. “That would be a pretty good assessment, all things considered.” Tony grinned with thanks at the server who filled their crystal glasses with water and served their drinks, and the billionaire got a respectful smile back.

“I’m sorry about Pepper,” Rogers said again, on a roll.

The engineer was a bit taken aback by that. Although he had known that Bruce must have shared the reading room conversation with the rest of the team, he had not anticipated that Rogers was going to bring it up. “It was for the best,” came Tony’s vague reply.

“I’m sure that didn’t make it any less painful though,” said Rogers, poking at Tony’s smarting wound again unintentionally.

“Can we… not talk about it? I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“Sure. Of course,” Rogers said, taking heed.

There was a considerable period of silence between the two men as they each considered how to pick the night up from slowly spiraling into an absolute disaster.

But before any more small talk could be forced through, their food arrived: lobster thermidor for Tony and medium-well big hunk of ribeye steak for Rogers. Tony, with his appreciative nature automatically thanked the one who served their food with a smile and a good-natured wink. And they both tucked in, grateful that they didn’t need to make any more conversation while they chewed their food.

When Rogers was about half-way done with his steak, he attempted to initiate a conversation again. “Listen Stark, about Bucky—“

“Tony,” interrupted Tony.

Rogers gave him a curious look.

“Not Stark… I distinctly remember telling you… repeatedly… before not to call me Stark. Name’s Tony, Rogers,” said Tony, wiping his mouth with his napkin with gusto.

“Steve,” Rogers lobbed back. “Not Rogers. Not Captain. Not Capsicle. Definitely not Spangles. Steve.”

Tony laughed, his first uninhibited, unforced laugh, since he had ever been in a conversation with Rogers—Steve—for more than 20 minutes. “Touché,” Tony said, raising his tall glass of lime-infused iced tea to the Captain.

“So when do you plan on visiting James again?” Tony asked conversationally. As if the conversation had been nothing but healthy for a while now. He smiled sweetly at some waiters and waitresses that whizzed past their table.

“Schedule-permitting, maybe next Tuesday. You want to go with me? I think it’d be good for him to have many visitors,” Steve casually invited the other man. If he had been hoping for the invitation to be accepted, he didn’t show it.

“I don’t want to intrude in your dynamics. Maybe I’ll come visit him some other time. But hey—do let me know if he needs any more movies or books, alright?” Tony declined, but reminded the blonde to inform him should Bucky need anything.

“Sure. Thank you again for doing this for Bucky, St—Tony.”

“My pleasure,” Tony replied without any embellishment but with a half-grin. First names… at least they were getting somewhere.

Tony signaled for their waitress and talked with her playfully some more, asking for any dessert recommendations. He even went so far as to personally introduce her to the Captain America, and Steve exchanged bashful greetings with her. There were casual touches, too. Nothing that would merit a sexual harassment lawsuit, of course, but just enough to give her the full Tony Stark effect. It was nice to be out and be his charming, flirtatious self again. He had reined it in while he was still with Pepper as a form of respect for his former girlfriend. But since he was single again, he didn’t really see anything wrong with giving the world the old Tony Stark back.

He missed Pepper still, especially her smiles and her casual intimate touches—to his earlobe, his chin, his lower lip. He missed her at night especially whenever he would still have the occasional nightmares. But he was re-learning having to console himself after those hard nights and deal with being alone. But sometimes… he still really missed her. So he immersed himself in work.

And Storm. Talking to Storm.

Talking to Steve.

Only Steve didn’t know it was him. Shit. Was this guilt again? What was there to be guilty about anyway? It wasn’t like he and Storm were doing something indecent. It wasn’t like he was leading Storm on or something. They were only friends. Friends who recommended books and movies to each other. Friends who chatted with each other when they were down or bored or when they needed to be distracted from something.

Only now, Tony knew things about Steve that Steve probably never intended for him to find out. Like that bisexual business.

But Tony inwardly shook his head clear. There was nothing to be guilty about. He should be feeling thankful—not guilty—for Storm’s presence. After all, he would’ve been achingly alone otherwise. Pepper was no longer his; Rhodey was still in parts unknown and Happy was still chun-king in China. Storm was all he had.

Maybe if he could ease Rogers—Steve—into it, they could actually be friends and then Tony could break the thing about Mecha gently to him. But considering where they stood right now, being friends was still a far-off place. Not counting what little they knew about each other on Stem, they hardly have any idea who Tony Stark and Steve Rogers really were.

Their dessert arrived shortly after: poached pears in sweet cream for Steve and miniature Death by Chocolate cake topped with whipped cream and almonds for Tony. When the dessert choices were placed before each of them, Tony noticed the intent and longing stare that Steve was giving his Death by Chocolate cake. “You don’t like yours?” Tony asked, raising a questioning eyebrow.

“N—no, no. Mine’s great. I love fruit,” said the blonde, but Tony could hear the half-heartedness in it.

“But you like chocolate better,” Tony said matter-of-factly, still observing the hungry and nearly-salivating stare that his dinner companion was giving his cake. “Which I didn’t know. Because if I did, I’d have gotten this for you instead. You want to exchange?”

“You’d be alright with that?” asked Steve, disbelievingly. He probably never thought that Tony had it in him to offer his own dessert.

“Well, I love chocolate, too, but seeing as you’ll be paying for this anyway—“

“We can share,” Steve offered tentatively. “I mean, if that’s OK with you—because I’m interested to try the pears, too.”

The engineer looked around, expecting to be jumped by a hidden-camera-gag-show person. Tony Stark and Steve Rogers, who couldn’t agree on the merits and demerits of Bluetooth, were talking about sharing a Death by Chocolate cake and poached pears dessert—Tony’d never seen or heard of a funnier thing. Bruce would’ve Hulked out in shock.

“S—ure…” agreed the brunette with a perplexed but amused half-smile.

They ate the desserts in relative silence after that, save for Tony’s moans of appreciation at the decadence of the Death by Chocolate which were purely reflex on his part. He loved, loved Gianni’s chocolate. He would shamelessly close his eyes, moan and lick his lips and his fingers every so often while devouring his share of the cake. The poached pears weren’t bad, too. They were spiced and sweetened to absolute perfection.

Tony was too preoccupied with his chocolate mini-orgasms to notice Steve’s reactions but the former knew that the latter was enjoying their dessert choices as well.

When it was time to get the check, their waitress smiled sweetly at Steve but gave a sexier version of the same smile to Tony while brandishing the check out to him. Tony, afterwards, slid the check to the blonde without looking at it. “Thank you very much for this treat, Captain Rogers,” said Tony, winking with both eyes.

Steve studied the check, looking perplexed. “It’s not too expensive, is it?” Tony asked, considering whether to take the high road and snatch the check out of Steve’s hands to pay for it himself.

“No, it’s alright. There’s a handwritten telephone number at the bottom of the check. It says ‘Call me, Tanya.’”

“Now—I’ll take that one,” said Tony, asking to be handed the check again. He confidently tore the bottom of the paper and stuffed it in the front pocket of his jeans with a conspiratorial wink at his ex-army teammate. “Unless you’re interested to call her, too?” Tony asked Steve.

Steve only too hurriedly shook his head.

“’Cause, you know, I think she likes you, too. She couldn’t seem to get enough of you in that shirt. I must commend Natasha for her excellent taste in clothes,” Tony teased, taking another confident swig of what’s left of his drink.

After their bill was settled, there was momentary awkwardness again. Tony prepared himself to stand up and save Rogers the trouble of having to cut short their evening by giving all sorts of excuses, unfinished business or other engagements, when Steve surprised the billionaire by asking, “do you have anything else to do tonight? Do you maybe want to take a walk or something?”

This night was chock full of surprises, apparently. Tony’s pre-rehearsed excuses that he had important things waiting for him in the workshop all but died in his throat.

Wasn’t he the one who had already begun to believe that there may be something between him and Steve Rogers that made for a possible friendship? Wasn’t he the one who had thought that maybe it would be easier to tell Steve who Mecha really was if they could also be friends in real life?

Maybe now was as good a time as any to start working on that?

“A walk sounds OK. Just—um—let me deal with the suit and we can go take that walk, alright?” For the first time in Tony’s life since he’d come clean to Pepper about his feelings for her, Tony was unsure of himself, even shy. Thank goodness he wasn’t the blushing type.

Before that night, he didn’t know how much he’d wanted to know Storm—Steve—like this, without the pseudonyms, the ambiguities, the veiled facts. Or how much he’d wanted Steve to know him like this, too.

Chapter Text

Steve was busy shading the contours of his current drawing project: Stark’s—Tony’s expression of amusement from the night before when they’d had dinner at Gianni’s and then walked around the streets adjacent to Central Park while St—Tony ate lurid yellow cotton candy. The expression that Steve decided to capture was the one that St—Tony gave when Steve called him out on the multitude of pet names he liked to call Steve except for the latter’s first name.

Steve already had done drawings of the rest of his housemates: Natasha doing a perfect inverted V yoga position; Clint taking aim with his bow and arrow; Bruce studying some solution in a test tube raised against the light; and Thor winning some tennis games with his perfect follow-through form against Clint on the Wii. And now St—Tony. With that unguarded, spontaneous expression of open amusement on his face. Steve didn’t know where the urge to capture that particular moment came from. But all he knew was that he had to put in on paper for posterity.

He was completely prepared for an absolute disaster the night before. He had thought they really were on the way there when Tony touched down near the restaurant in the armor, 2 minutes late and dressed in his plebian work clothes. Steve’s conviction of the night’s classification as an unqualified calamity was further cemented by the fact that they couldn’t even sustain 30 seconds of civilized conversation except to say who was having the lobster and who was having the steak. Steve also felt very awkward when he had tried to sympathize about Pepper, but Tony had, quite bluntly, asked for the subject to be dropped.

But then, their night was saved, in more ways than one, by dessert.

Steve thought there were a few hiccups during dinner, such as when the billionaire unashamedly started to flirt with practically everyone that came within two meters of their table, so much so that their waitress actually gave her number to him! Tony had only just broken up with his girlfriend but he was already on the prowl like nothing had happened. Steve would not have believed it if he had not seen it with his own eyes. It disturbed him to no end that Tony could so effortlessly and shamelessly philander his way to just about any warm and willing body he set his sights on. And all Steve could do was gape at him disbelievingly, wonder how he could pull it off, and blush resentfully.

It also disturbed Steve immensely when Tony started defiling his dessert and making those groaning and moaning sounds that were positively lascivious! There was no other word to describe it. Steve was shocked to find himself responding to it by curling his toes, catching his breath and balling his hands into fists on his lap. He thought his mouth had fallen open at some point, which he had tried to hide by stuffing it with poached pears and sweet cream. It was a bonus that Tony was too busy licking his lower lip and his fingers indecently with his eyes closed in rapture to notice Steve fall into some kind of breathless trance.

If Steve had thought before that Tony was good looking, it was nothing compared to what Steve thought of the billionaire now, post-chocolate and pears: Tony Stark was definitely breathtaking.

The walk following dinner was also quite inspired, in Steve’s opinion. He didn’t even know where the invitation for that walk had come from—he thought the chocolate and pears might have something to do with it—but he was glad he had asked. And Tony had taken him up on it.

The conversation during the walk and the subsequent lurid yellow cotton candy purchase had not been comfortable but it hadn’t been awkward either. It was as if they had not known each other before that night and were only then discovering things about one another.

All in all, Steve believed that though the night was not a complete success, it wasn’t an unmitigated catastrophe either.

It actually made him want to get to know the engineer-billionaire more. Loathe as Steve was to admit it, he may have also developed a sort of fascination for Tony Stark, which he was trying to shove at the back of his mind. He didn’t know the guy! Steve had never talked to him or hung out with him before last night. There was no way he was developing a crush on someone he didn’t know!

And his thoughts immediately turned to Mecha. Alright—so maybe it was possible for him to be infatuated with someone he didn’t know. But Mecha was nothing like Tony! Mecha was witty, charming and thoughtful; Tony was sarcastic, flirtatious and self-assured.

Before Steve could dwell on the tumult he was feeling, he closed his sketchbook almost angrily and reached for his smartphone, logging in on Stem.

shield_storm: Thank God you’re logged in!

heir2mecha.realm: problem?

heir2mecha.realm: lousy dinner last night?

shield_storm: actually it wasn’t half bad…

heir2mecha.realm: really?! Leo was tolerable?

shield_storm: he was ok. He was actually nice last night.

heir2mecha.realm: define nice.

shield_storm: He didn’t insult my clothes. He recommended what I should order for dinner and it was really good. He shared his dessert with me. We took a walk after and the silence was more companionable than awkward during that walk.

heir2mecha.realm: so he WAS nice… were you surprised that he was?

shield_storm: I guess. I wasn’t expecting he could be as pleasant as he was last night.

shield_storm: what about you? how was the party?

heir2mecha.realm: also surprisingly nice. ;-)

heir2mecha.realm: the conversation was at first sparse, but it took off from there.

shield_storm: so which neighbor was it who threw the party?

heir2mecha.realm: the serious one—or at least I thought he was serious. But he was unexpectedly civil.

shield_storm: what do we call him when we gossip about him? :-D

heir2mecha.realm: Let’s call him N.

heir2mecha.realm: And he likes chocolate!

shield_storm: who doesn’t?!?! I like chocolate too! Don’t you?

heir2mecha.realm: I like it too! Chocolate and coffee are the best! In fact I can live eating/drinking nothing else—that’s how much I love them!

shield_storm: :-D

heir2mecha.realm: So there… I thought it’d be nice to get to know N. So I guess I’m following your advice to get to know my neighbors.

shield_storm: there’s no harm in that really.

heir2mecha.realm: so if last night was not lousy, why did you sound like you were ready to rant to me about something?

shield_storm: can I ask you something? It’s a bit odd.

heir2mecha.realm: this is not in the same level as your blushing, is it?

shield_storm: haha…

heir2mecha.realm: :-P

heir2mecha.realm: go for it. I’ll try not to judge… :-)

shield_storm: what can you tell me about flirting?

heir2mecha.realm: flirting?

heir2mecha.realm: You’re not attracted to Leo, are you?

heir2mecha.realm: I mean you go out with him for one night and then you’re suddenly interested to know more about flirting… I’m just asking…

Steve’s breath caught in his throat. How could Mecha have found out?! What should he tell Mecha? What was there to tell, really? The blonde clutched his phone tightly, biting his lower lip, an internal debate raging in his system.

shield_storm: I’m not. But I just kind of noticed him flirting with our waitress last night, and I just got into thinking that I don’t know anything about flirting. At all.

shield_storm: And it seemed so easy for Leo, too. Maybe it would be easier for me to find the right partner if I know how to attract them, you know?

heir2mecha.realm: yeah- I understand.

heir2mecha.realm: what exactly do you want to know about flirting?

heir2mecha.realm: because it’s going to be a bitch to teach. Flirting is supposed to be instinctive… not textbook shit, you get what I mean?

shield_storm: yeah. :-( I guess I was just wondering… But- never mind… forget I asked.

heir2mecha.realm: OH NO!!!!! You’re not doing that, Storm. You’re not getting off that easy.

heir2mecha.realm: I’ve taken it upon myself to help you find romance, a relationship, a fling, one night-stand- ANYTHING!!! So we’re doing this- talking about flirting!

heir2mecha.realm: I said it was going to be a bitch to teach, but it’s not impossible. It’s not impossible for *me*. I happen to be really, REALLY good at it. I practically have a PhD in flirting… So let’s get to it!!! 

shield_storm: :-D ok so how does one flirt exactly?

heir2mecha.realm: Flirting (dictionary definition) is the art of courting triflingly or acting amorously without serious intentions.

heir2mecha.realm: (Mecha’s definition) Knowing what to say and/or do at a certain time and place that would incite feelings of attraction or even just interest in another.

heir2mecha.realm: the operative words being- what to say (verbal), AND/OR do (body language, facial expression) at a certain time and place… are you listening?

shield_storm: yeah…

heir2mecha.realm: OK so how about if I give you some situations and you tell me how you’d react to them, alright?

shield_storm: ok

heir2mecha.realm: are you ready?

shield_storm: hit me

heir2mecha.realm: you’re in a picnic date and you accidentally drip some ketchup on your hands and your chin, what do you do?

shield_storm: I’ll wipe it with some paper towels, and I’ll try to do it without my date noticing how messy I eat.

heir2mecha.realm: huh… you’d really do that?!

shield_storm: yeah why? What would YOU do?

heir2mecha.realm: I’d lick my hand and get the ketchup from my chin with my finger and then lick it, too! And I’d look straight in my date’s eyes as if I were licking her (or his) fingers… >:-P~~

The emoticon and the accompanying imagery sent heat blazing up Steve’s neck and face. But he stopped himself. Steve didn’t know why but he suddenly thought of Tony Stark again, licking traces of Death by Chocolate from his lower lip and sucking sweet cream off his forefinger.

shield_storm: that’s messy! And gross!

heir2mecha.realm: not if your hands are clean!!! OK listen to me… I know that in the army they teach you that food is not for appreciation but for sustenance. I’ve heard that you army boys can eat in under 3 minutes and you are trained to eat in a robotic manner. But eating is a treasure trove for flirting techniques. Dates almost always involve food—dinner, coffee, breakfast, picnics…

heir2mecha.realm: If you don’t know how to use the mechanism of eating suggestively, then you’d really be lost. Your date will quickly lose interest in you.

shield_storm: But wouldn’t something like that turn them off? Aren’t you supposed to be in your best behavior during a date to present yourself to your potential partner in the best light possible?

heir2mecha.realm: that’s true, but these days, what’s more important than etiquette and presenting yourself in the best light possible is to present yourself as an interesting person- as a person who is unpredictable, adventurous, confident and spontaneous.

heir2mecha.realm: being prim and proper can sometimes imply that the person is boring, conservative and timid. In short- uninteresting. You can kiss the possibility of a repeat date goodbye.

heir2mecha.realm: in the fast-paced world that we are in now, you might as well present yourself to be as interesting as you can be in the quickest amount of time possible. If you can get your date all hot and bothered by watching you devour a sub-sandwich, then do it!!!

Steve hated to admit it but Mecha had a point. Steve was beginning to realize that here in the 21st century, looks could only get one so far but it was personality that made one attractive, memorable and date-worthy. Unfortunately, considering his oftentimes rigid, dry and shy personality, Steve, himself, wouldn’t be caught dead dating himself. Sure he had the looks and the body but he was too uninteresting, especially when placed beside the likes of Tony Stark.

shield_storm: so that’s your flirting advice? Eat suggestively?!

heir2mecha.realm: Appear interesting. Appreciate your food for starters. Know what to say or do and when and where to say or do it.

heir2mecha.realm: and for god’s sakes LOOSEN UP! You’re no longer in the army, right? Your date will probably not appreciate how straight you sit or stand more than she will appreciate how you look at her or how sexy you eat your pasta. CONFIDENCE IS KEY, Storm. Trust me. I’m always right, aren’t I? ;-)

shield_storm: I thought you said you’d give me situations? That’s just one situation…

heir2mecha.realm: We’ll stick with that one for now… Seems like I have my work cut out for me. Practice it and we’ll get back to more Flirting 101 later.

heir2mecha.realm: how about if we watch a movie again?

shield_storm: :-DDDD Sure!

heir2mecha.realm: It’s your turn to choose. :-)

shield_storm: Have you seen The Shining? I’ve been meaning to watch it ever since Arachne first suggested it to me.

heir2mecha.realm: I might have seen that but I don’t think I finished it. You wanna check it out? I’m game. :-)

shield_storm: ok. Oh hang on! I’ve finished your recommended books, by the way. Do you have anything more for me?

heir2mecha.realm: Hmm… Have you read any of Sue Grafton’s Alphabet Mysteries books?

shield_storm: nope. Are you recommending them?

heir2mecha.realm: sure… check them out… there are about 23 published ones so far…

shield_storm: you’ve read all of them?

heir2mecha.realm: Oh about 19 of them… They’re interesting! It’s about a female P.I. like Arachne!

shield_storm: Oh ok!!! Hey that’s fascinating! I think I’ll go check them out- buy the ebooks…

heir2mecha.realm: Maybe I should throw in some recs for Self-Help Flirting books, too???

shield_storm: haha… :-P

heir2mecha.realm: Oh and How Not To Blush Too Much books?

shield_storm: shut up. :-P

heir2mecha.realm: *guffaws* What are we waiting for? Are we not getting The Shining on?

shield_storm: yeah yeah… hang on I’ll go park myself in our rec room.

heir2mecha.realm: Pop some popcorn while you’re at it! You should see me eat popcorn suggestively. Or a Magnum bar!!! I could be thrown in jail with the way I eat a Magnum bar, or so I’ve been told. Hahahaha! :-D

shield_storm: you’re incorrigible, you know that?

heir2mecha.realm: You hate me cos you ain’t me…

###

Tony rarely joined the rest of the team for breakfast, but he made an exception that morning, confidently exiting the elevator on the common floor and sauntering into the dining area where the rest of the Tower residents were already assembled for a meal of creamy scrambled eggs, chocolate chip pancakes, savory sausages, a huge batch of ham steaks, and hash browns, courtesy of Bruce, Natasha and Steve.

Tony finally succumbed to Bruce’s incessant badgering that he should join them for a meal. The billionaire could hardly remember the last time he ate with the rest of the occupants of his Tower and Bruce point-blankly pointed that out so Tony was left with no choice but to grudgingly agree to make an appearance at breakfast.  

Thor was very enthusiastic about sharing the breakfast banquet with Tony that he insisted that the billionaire should take the seat between him and Steve. Clint was also surprised at Tony’s rare breakfast appearance that the former raised his coffee mug in mock salute to the latter.

Before he could stand up again to grab himself some coffee, Natasha beat him to it by placing his favorite mug, full to the brim with coffee the way he liked it, before him on the table with a hard-to-read expression in her otherwise cunning eyes. The breakfast cooks took their places on the table and they all tucked in with minimal fuss.

“Anthony, we were just conversing about the internet sensation called Stem of which we are all members—even Steven! And I wondered if maybe you have a Stem persona as well, and that if you do—may I include you as one of my Chums?” Thor asked with a formal air to it. It was quite funny to have to listen to Thor spout off the Stem lingo in his usual archaic manner. The excitement was very much evident on his strong Scandinavian features. “The name I have decided to assume is fists_of_deity1010.”

Tony nearly choked on his sausage and he sputtered like a dying engine. “Oh my god, not you, too! Don’t tell me but was it Bruce who talked you into it?!” He looked dirtily at Bruce and then back at Thor. Bruce had the audacity to look shocked and ignorant. Tony stole a sideways glance at Steve and busied himself rearranging his food on his plate. He knew that his face showed the right amount of consternation that there they were talking about bloody Stem again, but he feared that somehow someone on that table was going to detect that kernel of guilt that Tony had begun to harbor since he’d found himself craving conversations with Storm.

“No! It was my lady, Jane, who introduced me to the joys of Stem! It is marvelous, Anthony. Are you also a member of this esteemed brotherhood? If you are, what is your designation so that I may Chum you,” Thor pressed, shoveling spoonfuls after spoonfuls of scrambled eggs in his mouth.

“I’m not a member of Stem. I’m far too busy to concern myself with it,” said Tony, looking at Steve again from out of the corner of his eye. The blonde was typically blasé about Tony’s apprehension to get into this conversation about Stem.

Of course he couldn’t very well reveal what his username was or Steve would feed him his teeth for breakfast then and there! He could almost see it now—Steve’s reaction of shock, then revulsion and then anger that witty and charming Mecha was none other than arrogant and self-absorbed Tony Stark in real life.

“But I find that difficult to comprehend, Anthony! You, of all people, are not on Stem?!” Thor asked incredulously.

“We did tell you, Thor,” said Bruce, pouring more syrup over his pancake stack. “Tony, unfortunately, doesn’t think very highly of Stem,” continued Bruce, staring pointedly at Tony as if that reason was nothing but bullshit.

To Tony’s utter disgust, the rest of them started to discuss Stem again: the things for sale that were of interest in the Marketplace; the most recent cooking instructional videos uploaded; the new promos and raffles; the recent influx of uploaded ebooks and audio lectures in various subjects of interest to the rest of the team; and their more memorable Chums.

“So Steve—have you already been to the Speed-dating vein, by any chance?” asked Clint, casually, taking a swallow of his mouthful of hash browns.

“Yeah—a…a Chum of mine sort of convinced me to go,” Steve replied, a bit apprehensive to talk about it in detail. “It was horrible.”

Tony wanted to gurgle in amusement. He had always imagined Steve’s face while talking about his horrible stint in the Speed-dating vein; it was nice to finally see it up close. Steve, in all fairness, looked totally traumatized. Too bad, Tony couldn’t react to it the way that Mecha would. So he just hung his head and tried to school his face into an expression of indifference bordering on outright antipathy. 

“OK, that’s a first. I’ve never heard of that strong a reaction to being in the Speed-dating vein,” Bruce noticed with a snort. “I’ve been there a fair few times myself, and I thought it was OK.”

“I thought it was quite an exciting experience also,” Thor agreed with Bruce, looking strangely at Steve.

If the alien found the experience more enjoyable than the human did, then there was definitely something wrong with the world—or with the human.

“Do you still talk to that guy who made those book suggestions you enjoyed so much? That Atticus Finch guy?” Natasha asked, forking more eggs on her plate and then passing the plate on to Clint.

“His username’s heir2mecha.realm. And yeah—I still talk to him. He’s fun to talk to, actually,” Steve admitted. Tony, daring to steal yet another glance at the Captain, couldn’t help but notice the secretive small smile that Steve started to showcase on his face at the mere mention of his Stem friend. It definitely piqued Tony’s interest. If he was starting to appreciate Storm the way he knew he was, Tony started to wonder exactly how Steve was beginning to see Mecha.

“Are we just going to talk about Stem all morning or do I have to repulsor someone’s ass so we can change the subject?” Tony complained, injecting exasperation in his voice. Although he was willing to trade in his left nut to see more of Steve’s reaction about the subject of Mecha, his self-control could only hold out for so long. Tony felt that if they kept talking about Stem and Steve’s Stem friend, he was going to blurt out an offhand confession that would earn him a one way ticket to the dumpster in the back alley via the common floor windows.

“So Tony—know more about what could’ve happened in El Paso?” asked Clint with a sarcastic smirk.

Tony suddenly ached for his gauntlet so he could tear Clint a new rectal cavity. This particular subject was so sore there was actually physical pain in Tony’s insides. He hated, hated not knowing things as much as he wanted to. The footages he pulled from various sources were all useless; they didn’t tell him anything he didn’t already know. The HYDRA files from the confiscated hard drives and data banks were a smidge more helpful, but the information was nothing conclusive and more speculation than fact. And Tony absolutely loathed it.

“HYDRA was experimenting on metahumans or mutants. Though I have yet to find any conclusive evidence that what caused my armor to malfunction is an ability of such metahumans, it’s the best theory I have and JARVIS and I are working on finding out more,” explained Tony, taking a deep inhale of his coffee and savoring the thoughtful silence his news had generated.

“So it is some form of magic—or mutation,” murmured Natasha, placing her fork at an angle on her plate. “They must have had hostages or volunteers for testing then, and these metahumans they were testing on might have escaped at the time of our siege.”

“Exactly,” replied Tony.

Everyone around the table was distracted and deep in thought, even Tony, as he casually studied each and every person’s reaction to his theory. Steve, in particular, was so pensive that he accidentally upended the uncorked glass jar of maple syrup when he splayed his arms on both sides of his half-finished plate. His Super Soldier Serum reflexes seemed slow on the uptake in that instance.

Bruce and Natasha scrambled to fetch some paper towels or anything else that Steve could use to wipe off the sticky liquid from his hands and from the tabletop. Everyone on the table—even Tony—knew that the Captain was a bit of a neat freak and he absolutely despised wasting any kind of food, so he ate meticulously but quickly without any room for playfulness or disorderliness, as could be expected from a former soldier. Tony was convinced that there was even a system to the way Steve stacked his pancakes or cut his sausages.

But everyone was stunned beyond words when Steve started licking his digits.

The pad of the blonde’s pink tongue made contact with his palm, wrist and the dip between thumb and forefinger like it was the most natural thing in the world. He also brought his knuckles between his lips and sucked the maple syrup off them with certitude like he was administering life-and-death CPR to a dying man. The room was quiet but for the light gurgling of Tony’s coffeemaker and the Captain’s absolutely obscene—in Tony’s objective opinion—ministrations on his own appendages, which Tony fully believed should be declared illegal somehow.

Clint was dribbling egg in shock; Thor’s mouth was wide open—any wider and something would no doubt crawl in there to die a most horrible death; Bruce’s mouth, in contrast to Thor’s—was set in a tight line but his eyes were narrowed in an expression that was a combination of disbelief and mortification; Natasha, whom Tony had always trusted to remain undaunted about practically anything, was sporting an unreadable expression while watching Steve shamelessly slurp on the maple syrup on his digits. The Captain seemed happily oblivious to everyone else’s reactions, too.

Tony clenched his jaw, hung his head to try to hide the look of absolute mirth that he knew was beginning to be obvious on his face, and fought the roaring laughter bubbling in his throat. He could feel tears of hysteria forming in the corners of his eyes. He wanted to cover his mouth with his hand to force the laughter back down his throat, but it proved too much and Tony started whimpering.

It was goddamned priceless! It hasn’t even been 24 hours since he’d talked to Storm about eating suggestively and here was the Captain taking to heart the advice of his supposedly unknown Stem friend and rendering an entire goddamned table of battle-hardened superheroes stunned and speechless. If Tony wasn’t so afraid of Steve’s reaction to Mecha’s identity, he would’ve patted himself on the back for a job well done and congratulated Steve for being a fucking flirting prodigy!

“Must be really awesome maple syrup we have here,” Tony finally managed to blurt out, breaking the silence on the breakfast table. Steve, seemingly noticing for the first time the kind of attention ha had been giving his fingers, colored a light pink and grabbed a paper towel from the middle of the table to clean the rest of the maple syrup that his tongue had missed.

“JARVIS, how many bottles of this maple syrup do we have left?” Tony said, raising his voice to talk to his AI. Raising his voice was near useless since everyone else was still wordlessly staring at each other but mostly, at Steve.

“We have two bottles left on the common floor and one more bottle in the pantry of your penthouse, Sir.”

“Order three additional boxes of the stuff, J. Since the Captain seems to take a liking to it, we don’t want to run out, do we? Must be some damn special ingredients they put in there,” mused Tony, winking slightly at a still-pink-in-the-ears Steve.

Tony was liking it—looking at Steve blush. Before, it used to irk him that Steve found nearly everything embarrassing, but now—knowing what he knew about the man. It was starting to become more endearing than irksome. Tony realized that he wanted to keep making Steve blush—whether as Mecha or as himself, it didn’t matter. Tony wanted the feeling that came with seeing Steve blush…

“That’s not really necessary,” Steve dissuaded. “We can’t possibly need that much maple syrup for ourselves.”

“What’s the rate of our consumption of this maple syrup, JARVIS?”

“The Tower residents collectively consume 3 bottles a week of this brand of maple syrup, Sir.”

"How many bottles to a box, J?”

“Sixteen bottles.”

“Nothing will go to waste; don’t worry. We can always donate what we cannot consume in one month. Don’t you, Natasha and Bruce sometimes volunteer for children’s shelters or welfare centers, anyway?” Tony asked, reassuring Steve. He didn’t want his wanton spending of his billions to be an issue between them again—not when they were only just beginning to try to get along.

“Which reminds me—Steve,” Natasha finally spoke, clearing her throat. “I’m gonna have to pass on going to the children’s shelter the day after tomorrow. Clint and I have to go with Fury on a trail-sniffing in Maldives. It’s fieldwork for three days and we leave tomorrow,” Natasha explained, breaking the spell cast on the table. The rest of the guys went back to their neglected food as if no digit-licking had happened. “Maybe Bruce can go with you?”

“I have a time sensitive experiment in the lab. I have to be on watch and within the vicinity for the next 96 hours,” Bruce said with an apologetic tone.

“What about you, Thor? Are you busy with something the day after tomorrow?” Steve craned his neck past Tony to look at Thor.

Tony was almost offended that Steve didn’t ask him first when he was seated closer.

“I’m afraid I will be indisposed, Steven, for my Lady, Jane, will be arriving tomorrow afternoon and I undertook to escort her to a gathering of scientific Lords in the morning and to a sporting event in the afternoon. Perhaps another time?” Thor said, expressing regret.

“I can go with you,” Tony said as nonchalantly as he could manage. He cleaned his plate of syrup with a last small wedge of pancake, shoved it in his mouth and chewed. “I need a break from trawling through those HYDRA files or I’m gonna spoon my brains out. Besides, it’s like Avengers community service—kinda like an Avengers Give Back, that sorta thing. So yeah, count me in,” said Tony after he’d swallowed the last of his food. Steve was pokerfaced and silent beside him, as if he wasn’t sure what to make of Tony’s offer to go with him.

Tony hoped no one would point out the strangeness of his offer since he had never been known to accompany Steve in any of the latter’s personal advocacies. But Tony, for some reason that he desperately wished had nothing to do with wanting to see Steve blush, actually wanted to go. Maybe this was already Mecha and not Tony Stark talking. But he felt like if he did this—came with Steve to the children’s shelter—maybe it would help soothe the sting of the future exposure of Mecha’s real identity.

“Man—I don’t remember having a more eventful breakfast than this!” Clint exclaimed, clapping his hands once. Natasha glared at him, lips curling.

“Savor it, asshole! You don’t know if there’s going to be another like it,” Tony taunted Clint, unceremoniously leaving the table and walking towards the elevator doors.

“Just tell JARVIS to remind me about that trip to the shelter,” Tony reminded Steve, who, for all intents and purposes, was still trying to figure out if Tony had really meant what he said about going with him. “Thanks for breakfast y’all—‘s been finger-lickin’ fun,” Tony called back to the table with a half-laugh just as he entered the elevator compartment in his usual self-assured strut.

Chapter Text

Tony shuddered awake and bolted upright in his king-sized bed that was too big for one person to sleep in. His loose white cotton shirt was drenched in sweat; his cheeks were stained with tears; and his eyes burned with unshed tears. His heart was racing like he’d just been sparring with both Clint and Natasha. But there was no Pepper to embrace him and tell him it was just a bad dream.

He curled up into a ball in the corner of his huge bed, leaned his back against the headboard and hugged his legs close to his chest. He touched the spot where his miniaturized arc reactor used to be and swallowed a lump in his throat. His heart was still going too fast and he was beginning to feel pain from somewhere in his body that he couldn’t quite place. It was nights like this when he missed Pepper the most—missed her reassuring touch and her kind eyes, the warmth of her embrace and the protection of her kisses. When Pepper was around, it was as if no one could harm him or hurt him. But now, everything was different. His demons had learned to follow him from his dreams to reality.

It was unfair. He was a 41-year-old grown man and nightmares shouldn’t have this effect on him. Only children were supposed to cry from bad dreams. Not adult superheroes. But it was these nightmares that told him he was still just a man. A vulnerable man, at that. A vulnerable man playing dress up in titanium-alloy armor and trying to chase his demons away with over-the-top explosions. No one quite knew how deep his rabbit hole went. Only Pepper.

But Pepper was no longer his.

He had no one. Even the people living in the same house with him had no idea about the depth of his scars.

He knew that being a superhero came with a price. All the suffering, anger and cruelty he had kept away from the world had to have gone somewhere: in him, absorbed by him. And his mind, through these horrible, horrible dreams wanted to unload the burden he had absorbed.

Being a superhero was an oxymoron: you were both invincible and vulnerable.

Everyone on the street knew about the Invincible Iron Man. Unfortunately, no one, save for Pepper, knew about the Vulnerable Tony Stark.

It was nights like this that he, himself, wanted to question why he chose this kind of life to begin with. And recently, more than ever, he started to doubt whether this was worth losing Pepper. Maybe if he begged Pepper to take him back, she would realize that he was indeed more than ready to retire as Iron Man.

But he knew that the next time he was neck-deep into another mission, his decision would waver again. He would re-discover why he was doing what he was doing and why he wanted to do it. And then he would find himself resolute about setting both him and Pepper free.

It was just a matter of riding this one out. As what he’d been doing for a little over a month now. He was a big boy. This, too, would pass. He started breathing deeply, exhaling through his nose.

Tony reached out on the bedside table for his phone and, as if by instinct, logged in on Stem to see if, by any chance, Storm was logged in, too. His phone’s digital clock spelled 2:48 a.m. He had been asleep barely two hours after 60 straight hours of puttering in his workshop. His breakfast with the rest of the team felt like a lifetime ago.

He really wasn’t expecting Storm to be logged in because they have a long day ahead of them later. They should be in the children’s shelter by 9 a.m. to help with breakfast and morning activities with the kids. But Tony was undeterred. Though there was a slim chance of talking to Storm, Tony logged in anyway.

He was in luck. Tony felt relief wash over him.

heir2mecha.realm: hey… you’re still awake.

shield_storm: for some strange reason, I’m finding it difficult to fall asleep. Why are YOU still awake?

heir2mecha.realm: this is going to sound really pathetic but I just had a nightmare.

shield_storm: it’s not pathetic. I have nightmares, too.

heir2mecha.realm: I just feel like I’m too damn old to have this problem.

shield_storm: I know what you mean…

shield_storm: do you maybe want to talk about it? I find that it’s easier to deal with them if I talk about it.

heir2mecha.realm: who do you talk to about your nightmares?

shield_storm: Arachne. She’s kind and patient. She always tells me that everyone has nightmares. Even she has nightmares.

heir2mecha.realm: I used to talk to my girlfriend about mine… But now that we’ve broken up, I have no one.

shield_storm: I’m here. Why don’t you tell me about them?

heir2mecha.realm: You are probably secretly laughing right now… A 41-year-old grown man cowered by a fucking nightmare. You can say it… I’m giving you license to judge.

shield_storm: there’s nothing to say, Mecha. Don’t be embarrassed. Didn’t you tell me once that everyone’s afraid of something? This is like that… Everyone has nightmares. Even us grown-ups. :-)

heir2mecha.realm: I always dream about freefalling into a void. It’s dark and I’m alone. I’m always alone. And I keep screaming but no one hears me. I dream about reaching out to someone, calling my name. But I always fail to save them. They fall. And it’s my fault.

The screen blurred as tears pooled in his otherwise playful brown eyes. He always hated this part, crying like a baby and waiting for Pepper to console him. It was so goddamned pathetic! Goosebumps erupted all over his exposed arms and cold enveloped him. Why did he always insist on falling apart before Storm? Where was his self-respect? Where were his self-preservation instincts? First, it was drunk-chatting with him about breaking up with Pepper, then admitting to him how much being friends with him mattered. And now this—spilling to him about having really wretched nightmares!

It was like the rules that applied to everybody else didn’t apply to Storm. While Tony pushed everybody else away from him at arm’s length, he insisted on pulling Storm close against his heart, where the latter was in the perfect position to break him. While Tony fought to keep everybody else in the dark by telling them inconsequential things, he chose to divulge such intimate details about himself to Storm, giving the latter such power over him.

And to think how precarious it all was, considering that Storm was probably going to murder him once Mecha’s true identity was revealed. But Tony couldn’t help it. It was like he hadn’t learned anything from the heartache that was the end of his relationship with Pepper because here he was again, trying to reach out to someone who would sooner strangle him than be his friend.

It was just that Storm was the closest thing to a safe haven for Tony at the moment.

shield_storm: I always dream about drowning in the ocean with my lungs filling up with water and I can’t breathe. About reaching out for my best friend as he falls from a train in the mountains. About my dead friends. About explosions and being buried under several stories of concrete.  

shield_storm: We all have demons that try to break us when we are most vulnerable. And that’s nothing to be ashamed of, Mecha…

heir2mecha.realm: Why are you so nice?

shield_storm: I’m just returning the favor, you know. :-)

heir2mecha.realm: I’m not as nice as you. I already ditched you once without any explanation. I can be plenty mean.

shield_storm: that’s water under the bridge, you know. Besides, you’re nice in your own way. ;-)

shield_storm: I know- why don’t we make a deal…

heir2mecha.realm: I’m listening…

shield_storm: When you have nightmares, no matter what time of day or night it is, I want you to tell me about them and I’ll listen and I won’t judge. I’ll be nice like Arachne.

shield_storm: Just because you’ve broken up with your girlfriend doesn’t mean you’re all alone, Mecha. I hope you know that by now…

heir2mecha.realm: It’s a deal… But-

heir2mecha.realm: When YOU have nightmares, you should tell me about them, too. No matter what time of day or night you have them. And I’ll listen and I won’t judge. :-)

heir2mecha.realm: Do we have a deal?

shield_storm: I guess that’s only fair… :-) Alright. Deal.

Tony found that he’d already stopped tearing. He was no longer shaking like a leaf either. There was an unusual calm that had settled in the pit of his stomach. A longing was blossoming where the unusual calm now sat. He suddenly found himself longing to tell Steve who he really was, consequences bedamned. He wanted to tell Steve in his voice, his words—Tony’s voice, Tony’s words—unconcealed by fictitious names and vague references, how grateful he was for having Steve, in whatever capacity, during such low moments of his life.

It would be so easy, too. Tony began to type ‘Steve’ on the message box and his finger hovered over the Send button. Steve would realize that Mecha was someone he knew and then Tony could just try to explain. He could try to leave Privies with detailed explanations and profuse apologies He could even force himself into Steve’s private floor and explain in person, accept Steve’s accusing look and scathing words. Tony wanted it off his chest—both the gratitude and the guilt. He could deal with the fallout. Even if they came to blows over it, Tony knew he could deal.

But he couldn’t bear to press the button. Because he knew he couldn’t deal with losing Storm. And losing Storm was a near certainty. Steve was going to feel cheated and deceived, like he was maliciously fooled and led on. And to a certain extent, it would be true. Except that everything Tony’d ever said to Steve on Stem was the god’s-honest truth. Only that he’d said those things through a different name. But Steve was probably not going to be inclined to look at it from that angle. Deception was deception, no matter the intent.

Tony pressed the Backspace button, erasing ‘Steve’. He wasn’t ready yet. He knew no secret could remain a secret forever. He couldn’t keep Steve from finding out the inevitable, but between now and then, Tony could take pleasure in having Storm in his life—for as long as he possibly could.

The billionaire took a deep, resolute sigh.

heir2mecha.realm: Thank you. I will never be able to make it up to you for everything you’ve done for me. You’re a good friend, Storm. I’m very fortunate to have you as one of mine.

heir2mecha.realm: You should try to get some sleep. The worst has passed and I’m all calm now, thanks to you. I’ll talk to you soon, ok? Good night and thanks, thanks, THANKS again…

Clutching his smartphone tightly in his palm, Tony slipped back under the covers of his bed. The last thought that came, unbidden, in his mind before he fell back to sleep was Steve’s lopsided grin, illuminated by damp yellow streetlights, that night after dinner as they walked in the outskirts of Central Park.

###

“I’m not overdressed, am I?”

Steve shook himself out of the momentary trance he’d fallen into when St—Tony stepped off the elevator into the common floor. The blonde knew he needed to get used to thinking about Stark as Tony in his mind because he didn’t want to have to see the billionaire roll his brown eyes exasperatedly when Steve slipped up and started calling him by his surname again. It was just that Steve couldn’t reconcile the fact that Tony was actually there in the common floor on time to tag along with him to the children’s shelter. There was already an internal betting pool in Steve’s mind, from the moment that the billionaire volunteered to accompany him, that the latter was going to be a no-show.

But lo and behold, St—Tony actually showed up! And he was dressed in a black leather jacket with a plain white V-necked shirt, low-riding stonewashed denims, black and silver Nikes, his usual Iron Man loom band in his right wrist and an unremarkable-looking but no-doubt expensive digital watch on his left. Granted, the billionaire looked a lot nicer today than he did during their Gianni’s dinner, but Steve thought the former was not overdressed.

“No, you’re—,“ Steve trailed off. Was he supposed to say that Tony looked nice? Because he was—nice-looking. Or would that be too presumptuous on Steve’s part? Or maybe too weird—like a schoolgirl with a crush? “—not overdressed,” came the rest of the sentence through gritted teeth about three heartbeats later.

“Nice pants,” Tony observed, brazenly giving Steve the once-over. “And no—that’s not meant to mock you but to compliment you,” Tony clarified before Steve could say anything else. Steve wasn’t really about to object; he was too busy holding down a fiery blush because he’d felt like Tony’d undressed him by giving him the once-over. He fidgeted in his dark blue close-fitting round-necked shirt, gray-blue hoodie, black denim skinny jeans and worn white sneakers. Again, the blonde marveled at how Tony Stark could do that—be so unembarrassed about saying and doing otherwise embarrassing things.

“Thanks,” said Steve as confidently as he could muster. “I didn’t think you’d actually show up,” he added, finally voicing his thoughts. He thought he owed St—Tony, goddammit!—as much, to be upfront to his billionaire-teammate.

“Ye of little faith,” joked Tony, pressing the Down button on the elevator again to leave the common floor. “So do we need to bring anything—food, toys?”

“Well, we’re just there to volunteer, you know—read to the children, pick up after them, help serve food, chat them up. If you’re packing away some toys someplace, then—yeah—you can bring them, but I think it’s a bit of a lost cause right now. We simply don’t have enough time,” Steve said, stepping into the elevator after Tony and taking a glance at his wristwatch.

“Next time, yeah?” Tony asked, pressing the button for the garage.

“Are we… taking one of your cars, Sta—Tony?” Steve asked, recovering before he made the slip up.

“Yeah—how else are we gonna get there?” inquired Tony, crossing his arms over his chest.

“We can’t take one of your high-end cars to the shelter. For one thing, where do you expect to park it? It’s not like the shelter has an exclusive, 24-hour-guarded parking lot. Besides, we’re there to volunteer. Bringing a car valued at an amount that can feed a small country is hardly low-profile,” Steve reasoned. As soon as the last word was out of his mouth, he steeled himself for a squabble as only a Rogers-Stark face-off could generate.

“Fine, we’re taking a cab then,” Tony conceded with hardly his usual confrontational air, pressing the button for the lobby and re-pressing the button for the garage to revoke the earlier command.

Steve wanted to stare deeper into the brunette’s eyes to check if the latter had been swapped for a life model decoy or possessed by powers unknown. He couldn’t understand why Tony was so agreeable towards him today.

They were greeted by practically everyone on the lobby; Tony was very cordial and amicable —he was hardly recognizable as the boss/overlord/bigwig/owner of the entire building as he even chatted with the bag-check operators. It was then that Steve realized the contradiction in Tony Stark’s character—Steve had always believed the man to be arrogant and self-assured, but here was a man that didn’t discriminate between the CEO of another multimillion-dollar company and the guy manning the bag-check machine. It was something that was hard to process and reconcile, but nonetheless good to know about his teammate.

Tony chatted with the security personnel who volunteered to accompany them outside to hail a cab for the pair. He looked like he was in his element, unmindful of the stares they were getting from the people milling the sidewalks and of Steve’s own fascinated study of him. Soon enough, the guy who assisted them was opening the door to a cab.

“After you,” Tony waved for Steve to scramble into the cab’s backseat first. Tony slid in gracefully after him as only long years of practice of sliding into backseats of expensive cars could make possible. The moment the door was closed, Tony’s fingers were already jumping on the screen of his smartphone, quick as lightning.

“Grand corner Pitt. The children’s shelter there—um, Hunter’s House, please,” Steve rattled off to their cabbie, leaning forward a bit.

“Can we can take the 34th and then right to 2nd, please? I need to swing by someplace there,” mouthed Tony, his fingers still flying over the screen of his phone. Steve didn’t know if the billionaire was talking to him or to their driver.

“Isn’t there some kind of construction in 2nd?” Steve interjected, turning to his companion with an inquiring look. He didn’t want to sound like a control freak, but he also didn’t want to be late getting to the shelter.

“Please? It’s really important. It won’t take long, I promise,” Tony said, almost absent-mindedly. His thumbs were still whizzing away on his phone. He was so deep in concentration that the tip of his tongue was just peeking out from between his lips, instinctively.

“Hey—aren’t you Mr Tony Stark?” Their cabbie craned his neck to look at one of his passengers better through the rear view mirror.

“The one and the only,” Tony replied with an arresting smile though he barely looked up from his phone.

“Fancy seeing you taking a cab, Sir! Don’t you have, like, thirty cars or something—one for each day of the month?” Mr Cab Driver joked, looking at the rear view mirror at Tony again. An excited smile was on the cabbie’s face like he couldn’t believe who it was he was driving.

Tony briefly looked up from his phone with a bemused expression. “Inaccurate information, Mr Harvey Saul. I don’t even have enough cars for each day of the week, much less for each day of the month. Nice ID picture, by the way,” answered Tony. Steve couldn’t believe that in the very short span of time, Tony was already able to glean their chauffeur’s name from his identification badge pasted in a rectangular frame on the dash.

“Thank you, Sir. I would just like you to know that meeting you, driving you—is an honor. My son is a huge, huge fan of Iron Man,” Harvey piped back while keeping his eyes on the road that time.

“Then he must also be a big fan of Captain America! Harvey, Captain America. Captain America, Harvey Saul, whose son has the best taste in superheroes,” mumbled Tony, motioning for Steve.

Harvey craned his neck at the rear view again, this time to look at Steve. “Holy shit! Captain America, huh?” Steve, smiling tightly, wanted to tell him to keep his eyes on the road.

“Steve Rogers. Nice to meet you, Harvey,” said Steve with a crinkle of his bright blues and a quick flash of his even whites.

“Driving Iron Man is thirty shades of awesome, but driving both Iron Man and Captain America—whew! Epic!” Harvey was gesticulating wildly and practically buzzing with excitement. If he got any more excited, Steve was going to have to ask him to relinquish the wheel and step out of the vehicle.

“Not used to driving big personalities, Harv?” Tony asked; he was still at it on his phone. He didn’t look like he was going to stop anytime soon. Steve looked with mild irritation at the contraption, and then at Tony and then looked away with a purse of his lips.

“I used to drive for a Vice President of a publishing company before I got downsized. Other than that—not much experience on this cab driving for bigwigs. The VP was not even on the same level as you two. My son didn’t give a rat’s bum who he was, but I’m sure Calvin—that’s my son—would piss his pants if he sees you two,” Harvey related with an ecstatic whoop.

“Downsized huh? How’s the cab-driving income holding up for Calvin’s needs?” asked Tony as offhandedly as he could, still thumbing his phone. Steve didn’t know how Tony could converse so eloquently while seemingly intently focused on whatever he was busy with on his phone.

“We barely scrape by, Sir. But I can’t complain—at least I have a job,” said Harvey.

“So it’s just this one job?” Tony asked, interested. To which question, Harvey just nodded in answer. “What are your hours?”

Harvey told him and pretty soon the two were talking about Harvey’s schedule, the recession, Calvin, being a cabbie in New York City. Tony seemed interested, too, if not for the constant fixation on his smartphone, which from the moment they closed the door on the cab, he had not stopped using. Harvey, for his part, was still quite careful and alert despite conversing with one of his world-famous passengers.

“Are you working on something?” Steve asked finally, finding a short pause in the conversation between the billionaire and their cabbie. He couldn’t take it anymore. If Tony was going to be doing that freaky, almost inhuman thumbing of his phone in lightning quick gestures all day, then he shouldn’t have come with Steve at all!

“Relax, Steve. I’ll put this away when we get there. I’m just trying to settle something really quickly,” assured the brunette with a half-grin.

Steve just narrowed his eyes and looked away. The conversation between Tony and Harvey picked up again.

“Harv, make sure we stop by The Hub along 2nd, alright? Need to pick up a few things from there.”

“Sure thing Mr Stark, Sir,” Harvey replied enthusiastically.

On the sidewalk in front of The Hub stood a girl—Melissa, with what turned out to be five boxes of assorted toys, which, with Harvey’s assistance, was stowed at the rear compartment of the cab, except for one box which Tony asked to be given to him directly. Tony thanked Melissa with his usual charming smile and a wave before they sped off for the children’s shelter again.

“For the kids,” explained Tony tersely when Steve was staring at him. Steve hoped the billionaire didn’t notice it but the blonde stared at the former with awe and disbelief that he had pulled off, in true Tony Stark fashion, something like that.

“When did you have time to get all of those toys?” asked Steve with what he hoped was just casual curiosity and not all-out reverence on his part.

“Just now. Mel and I were exchanging texts about that,” replied Tony, raising his hand clutching at his phone, which was already resting on his lap.

There was companionable silence and occasional exchanges between Tony and Harvey as they traversed the rest of the way to the children’s shelter. When they got to the drive by the front steps of Hunter’s House, which was a brightly painted building, they still had a couple of minutes to spare before 9 a.m. All three men got out of the cab. Steve assisted Harvey to unload their stash from the rear compartment while Tony, acquiring a pen from Harvey earlier, was bent over the box in his hands and writing something in his precise and quick penmanship. He had also peeled a small card from his wallet taken from the back pocket of his jeans.

Tony set Harvey aside after the latter had stowed the boxes on top of the House’s front steps. Steve, though halfway up the steps himself, couldn’t help but overhear the billionaire’s parting words to their cab driver.

“This is for Calvin. I hope he likes it,” Tony said, putting the otherwise nondescript box into Harvey’s arms. “And the card is for you to show to Ms Frances Jenkins on the 15th floor of the Avengers Tower. She’s our Recruitment Head and she may have a job to offer you for you to better provide for Calvin’s needs. I already emailed her to expect you within the week—come whenever you’re free—and talk to her about that job, alright?” The billionaire continued with a slight smile, handing the card to a stunned Harvey.

“S—sir…”

“Don’t mention it. Good, honest fathers need to be cut some slack once or twice,” said Tony, patting Harvey on the shoulder.

After a very, very thankful and ecstatic cab driver pulled out of the drive, Tony made it to the top of the front steps where Steve was already waiting. Steve must have had on an unreadable expression on his face because Tony asked him: “what?”

“Did you just give that man a job and a toy for his kid?”

“I like him,” Tony simply said as if that explained everything.

Steve just breathed an ‘Are-you-for-real?’ huff with his tongue lodged against his cheek and a slight shake of his head. The man was incredible, pulling stunts like this, and decimating Steve’s impression of him—one misconception after another. The billionaire sure didn’t do anything by halves.

“Can you handle that lot or do I need to break my back?” Tony asked, motioning at the boxes and boxes of toys.

Before they could really settle on how to haul the lot inside, several other House volunteers met them on the top step and offered to help them bring the boxes in. The children were already excitedly assembled in the House’s mess hall for the distribution of breakfast. And on the table set for the food sat towers of packed breakfast of eggs, muffin, fruit, and rows of plastic bottles of soy milk for distribution.

“Mr Stark, we just accepted a delivery of these packed meals and cartons and cartons of this bottled soy milk for the kids courtesy of Stark Industries. You just missed the delivery truck by a couple of minutes,” the directress of the House said in welcome to the superhero pair. “Thank you very much! This will supplement, to a great extent, the porridge and sausages we prepared.”

“Just send word to the Avengers Tower if you need anything in the way of food and beverages for the kids. Proper nutrition is top priority,” said Tony, accepting the directress’ proffered hand.

“Indeed! Mr Rogers—thank you to the two of you for joining us today,” the directress turned to Steve with an equally welcoming smile.

Steve, with narrowed eyes, stared at Tony again. Food, toys and a supplemental job for their cabbie all in the span of an hour, courtesy of Tony Stark. The man was a miracle worker! Steve didn’t know if Tony was only doing this to grandstand in true Tony Stark bravado or if this was the real Tony Stark irrespective of who was watching and keeping count of his good deeds for the day.

But regardless, Steve really was impressed. And he fought it so it didn’t show on his face too much. He didn’t want Tony to start gloating over it and ruin Steve’s epiphany.

The pair helped distribute breakfast to eager kids who wanted food dished out by none other than Captain America and Iron Man themselves. After breakfast, Steve helped clean up while Tony offered to take the younger kids to the activity room for some Story Time.

Steve hurried in clearing the mess hall so he could go to the activity room and catch Tony interacting with the younger kids. He didn’t know why but he felt eager to observe Tony’s manner with the kids. Tony Stark had become even more of an enigma to him—a mystery that Steve was suddenly quite keen to solve and make sense of.

The door to the activity room was wide open and he saw that several other volunteers had already beaten him to it, wanting to see, themselves, how the famous Tony Stark handled the kiddies. And some of them had smiles on their faces while they watched Tony gesticulate wildly, telling the kid-friendly version of the failed alien invasion of New York.

Steve couldn’t help but be mesmerized as Tony recounted the story to the open-mouthed kids. Steve found himself laughing in amusement and gasping in surprise at the right junctures, along with the kids and the enthralled crowd of volunteers, crowding right outside the activity room door.

Just as Tony was telling the highlights, brown eyes momentarily locked with Steve’s blue ones, and it was as if the story, the kids, the volunteers, all ambient sounds and extraneous stuff melted away for an interminable heartbeat. Steve caught Tony with a slight curve of the corners of his lips in an unmistakable smile and a wink before everything else returned in waves of sensations.

Steve lowered his gaze after that, aware that his heart was beginning to beat a staccato rhythm in his chest. What was it really about Tony Stark that Steve was so desirous to learn like a secret, read like a book, touch like a candle flame, hold like a soft, fuzzy kitten in his hands, and embrace like an old friend? Where was this fascination for Tony Stark coming from?

He broke free from the huddle of captive audiences and walked back towards the direction of the mess hall to look for more stuff he could help with. He didn’t want to think about that persistent itch in his insides that was becoming more and more pronounced as he spent more and more time with the billionaire.

Steve suddenly wondered about what Mecha might be doing at that moment. It began to dawn on Steve that all his mind seemed to have space for, of late, were thoughts of Tony Stark and Mecha. And that began to really eat at his bowels. It seemed that when he wanted distraction from Tony, he would think about Mecha; and when he wanted to be distracted from Mecha, his thoughts would turn instantly to Tony. He pursed his lips and unceremoniously bumped a hand against the side of his head.

“You didn’t like my story?” Tony spoke, tearing through the thick curtains of Steve’s thoughts.

Steve shook his head inwardly as if to clear his wayward mind and turned to his teammate who was casually making his way down the hall to him. “It was great. You seemed to have that covered so I thought I’d leave you to it. I just thought I’d look for other stuff that might need the help of an extra pair of hands.”

Tony laughed softly. “These kids are great! Maybe next time, we can bring some interactive games or something,” he said. Steve could almost see cogs turning in the brunette’s head, planning for the next time.

“Yeah, that’d be great,” agreed Steve, distractedly.

“You okay?”

“Sure. I think I’ll go to the gardens out back, they might need help with weeding or something,” said Steve, wanting to make a quick getaway from the billionaire for reasons he, himself, was unsure of.

“Hey, you’re helping me distribute the toys we brought later, right?” queried Tony, falling into step beside the blonde, who unbeknownst to the former was trying to make a getaway to no avail.

“Yeah sure,” Steve answered with a tight smile.

“Alrighty,” Tony said, satisfied. He casually encircled a hand around the Captain’s elbow and squeezed before walking away with a cheerful whistle to return to the activity room.

With a shallow intake of breath, Steve felt a tingling on the surface where Tony had touched him. Maybe wanting to be friends with Stark was a bad idea because Steve was pretty sure friends’ touches weren’t supposed to feel electrifying like what Stark’s touch had felt like to him.

Chapter Text

Tony could smell an impending drizzle in the evening breeze as he kept walking backwards on the sidewalk to try to catch sight of a vacant cab. He and the Captain had just finished an entire day of volunteer work for Hunter’s House, a children’s shelter, and it was now time to return to the Tower after a productive day but as they were caught in the evening rush hour, there didn’t seem to be any available means of transportation to get them back home. They had been strolling through the streets adjacent to Grand Street, waiting to chance upon an empty cab to no avail.

Steve was walking beside him, occasionally turning his head to different directions to try to spot a cab himself. Sometimes, he would wave his hands in the air to catch the attention of a passing cabbie only to realize that the vehicle he was trying to hail was taken.

The billionaire wanted to point out to the Captain that they wouldn’t be having this problem if they’d just taken his car that morning as Tony initially intended, but the latter decided to keep his trap shut. They’d just had an awesome day spent with really amazing people, and Tony didn’t want to ruin an otherwise conflict-free day by bringing up the issue of their lack of transportation.

Turning around to walk normally, Tony shrugged off his leather jacket and slung it over his right shoulder. It was humid and he felt sweaty because they’d been looking for a ride home for about half an hour now. If it was up to him, he’d have pulled the shirt off, too. But he didn’t think his companion would appreciate that. It was unfair that Steve appeared so impervious to the humidity, still looking morning fresh, while Tony was sweating like a pig.

He swallowed the complaints about how sweaty he was feeling much like he swallowed the gibe over not bringing the car because he didn’t want to give Steve the impression that he couldn’t handle being roughed up. Tony guessed that Steve probably thought he was prissy and petulant, especially since he had grown up in wealth and comfort.

Tony inwardly admitted that he could be plenty petulant if he wanted to; Pepper knew as much. But for some reason, unknown even to Tony himself, he didn’t want to present that face to Steve at that moment. It was the first time they had ever spent an entire day together, as themselves—not as Iron Man and Captain America, and not even as Mecha and Storm—but as Tony and Steve, and they didn’t fight about anything! At all! For an entire day! Tony felt like it was such a monumental achievement that he didn’t want to have to be his usual asshole self and wreck it for both of them.

So naturally, fortune had other plans for the end of this otherwise great day, and it started to rain. A far-off rumble of thunder joined the cacophony of city sounds and the pair stayed out in the open, still hoping that a taxi would come along and save them from being completely drenched.

Taking refuge under his expensive leather jacket that was not supposed to get wet at all, Tony softly grunted his displeasure. There was irritatingly no roof or temporary shelter to take cover under, and their rotten luck disturbed Tony vastly. Maybe it was too much to ask—to spend an entire, conflict-free day with Steve Rogers—that, of course, something as ironic as being soaked in torrential downpour without any means of getting home was bound to happen. It had been a proven fact that Tony was unlucky like that.

“On hindsight, maybe we should have taken your car this morning!” Steve yelled to Tony so as to be heard above the whoosh of the rain. Well—it was the Captain who voiced what was merely a nagging thought behind Tony’s conscious mind.

“It’s just a little rain! Never hurt anybody!” Tony yelled back. He thought—what the hell—they were already getting soaked anyway; it wasn’t like wishful thinking could save them now. But he was glad he wasn’t the one who had brought the issue of not bringing a car up. He mentally patted himself in the back for his self-control.

“You think maybe we should split up to look for a ride home?” Steve asked, shrugging off his own hoodie and taking shelter under it, though it was a lost cause because the hoodie was already dripping wet.

“I know you’ve been thinking of just making a run for it because the distance between here and the Tower is nothing to you and you’re just being considerate! You don’t want to leave me getting drenched out here by myself!” Tony jested with what he hoped was a good-natured twinkle of his brown eyes. The expression was bloody difficult to pull off considering that he knew he was starting to look about as stylish as a drowned rat.

Steve actually looked abashed, and Tony knew he had it right. “You should go make a run for it then. I can find my own way back!” The billionaire thought that maybe he could walk to the nearest Volvo showroom and buy a car, but he also deliberated internally that that might be a tad too much.

“I’m not leaving you here!” Steve hollered back with a Captain America expression. And Tony expected as much that Steve would say that. “But I really think we’d have more luck finding a cab if we split up.”

“Fine!” Tony just yelled. He found it easier to just avoid conflict than try to hash it out with Steve under the fucking downpour. “Take the road going to the public library since you run faster and I’ll stay here, see if I get lucky. If I find one, I’ll swing by the library and pick you up,” shouted Tony, pointing towards the direction of the city’s public library.

“Copy that! Just stay on this street and if I find one in the library, I’ll come get you,” Steve said, yanking on the sleeve of Tony’s white shirt. The instinctive gesture brought unexpected comfort to Tony. “Don’t get mugged!” Steve yelled, an expression of worry bloomed on his face for a moment but it passed so quickly that Tony thought he must have just imagined it.

That parting advice made Tony paranoid for the next ten interminable minutes. The street he was in was a bit dark, and broken streetlights were interspersed with functioning ones. There were graffiti and overflowing trash bins everywhere. And he stood out like a sore thumb in the area that was uncharacteristically empty for early evening.

The billionaire exhaled a resolute breath and dumped his wet leather jacket in the nearby trash bin; it was ruined anyway—it wasn’t like he could get it dry-cleaned or something. And it wasn’t doing much in protecting him from the angry downpour. It only impeded his view of his surroundings. He also decided to pocket his wristwatch. Apart from it being ridiculously expensive that it probably called out to potential muggers within a ten-kilometer radius, Tony didn’t want it ruined in the rain.

And he knew he looked no different now from a blue-collar worker stranded in the less busy parts of the city under the pouring rain. Unless he got recognized. Which with his very rotten luck wasn’t very far off. But as minutes ticked by without any chance of finding a vacant cab, he started to care less and less about getting mugged. He was fucking Iron Man for chrissakes! He might not be as good as Steve, Clint or Natasha at close encounters but he wasn’t completely helpless!

When he felt the water start to seep into his jeans, possibly soaking his boxers, he began to get really frustrated. Maybe Steve had made a run for the Tower after all, contrary to their mutual plan because if the latter’d found a cab in the library, he’d have driven by and picked Tony up already! He was hungry, a bit tired, and soaking wet. Of course, he had license to get pissed.

At that point, Tony had two options: get his phone from the front pocket of his jeans to raise hell—alert the entire Stark Industries and order for a military airlift out of there; or call the Mark XLIII to him—if he could call the armor from Tennessee to Florida, he could bloody well call for it from the Tower to the vicinity of fucking Grand Street!

But Tony thought about Steve and that parting expression on his all-American features. Tony knew deep down that Steve didn’t make a run for it and was probably turning the streets around the library inside out, looking for a cab. When Captain America said he would come get you, then you had better believe it!

He was jolted out of his thoughts when a horn sounded behind him from the direction of the public library. It was a cab! The vehicle stopped in front of him and its passenger side rear window slid down, showing Steve with an unrestrained smile on his handsome face. “Come on,” the Captain invited before scrambling deeper into the backseat to give Tony some space. The latter gratefully opened the door and slid in with what was left of his grace.

“What happened to your jacket and your watch?!” Steve asked, panicked. The Captain probably thought he had gotten mugged.

“Relax—I threw the jacket away; it was ruined anyway. And my watch is in my pocket,” explained Tony, wiping himself down with his hands and adjusting his shirt so it didn’t stick to his skin so much but it was useless. He combed his fingers through his wet brown hair and used the neckline of his dripping shirt to wipe at his face but it was also useless—as his shirt was completely drenched.

“Here,” said Steve, offering Tony his slightly damp handkerchief, probably taking pity on Tony for looking like he had just been doused against his will in a college mixer gone really wild. “That’s clean; don’t worry. It’s a bit damp because it was in my pocket and my pants got soaked a bit, too.”

Tony reluctantly accepted the kerchief with a tight-lipped smile and asked, “don’t you need this yourself?”

“I’m good,” Steve replied, raising a thick wad of wet toilet paper for Tony to see. “A kind, old lady took pity on me when I stepped up behind her on the taxi queue in the library. I’m so sorry I took so long,” Steve apologized, pinching the fabric of his shirt between his fingers and air drying it as best as he could. “I’m sorry I stopped you from taking your car this morning,” Steve said, on a roll.

“Don’t worry about it; it’s just a little rain,” Tony said again. He hoped he didn’t sound flippant to Steve because the last thing he wanted to do was to make Steve feel like his apology didn’t matter to Tony. Because it did. But he didn’t want Steve to dwell on it too much. Tony Stark was a big boy and it was just rain. He wiped himself off with Steve’s hanky, scraping off the water on his arms, his neck and his face. Soon enough, the Captain’s hanky was saturated.

“I’ll replace this,” Tony said, looking remorsefully at the soaking hanky.

“That’s alright. I have plenty of those,” reassured Steve with a timid grin.

The ride back to the Tower was companionably silent but once or twice the backseat occupants exchanged tight-lipped smiles as the vehicle sped back into the busier parts of the city.

Once they were on the doorstep of the Tower, Steve paid the cabbie himself before Tony could protest and the two entered the building with minimal fuss.

“Thank you for going with me to the shelter,” said Steve with another timid smile just as the elevator dinged that they had arrived at Steve’s personal floor. “It was a lot of fun, hanging out with you and the kids,” the Captain continued. He stepped off the elevator and turned to look at Tony once again.

“It was my pleasure. Let me know when you’re coming back there because I kinda promised a few kids that I’d visit them again,” was Tony’s response.

“Sure thing. Good night, Tony.” Steve nodded to him and the parting smile he gave just as the elevator doors were closing between the two of them was the most sincere, most endearing expression that Tony had ever seen on the Captain’s face since that day that Tony had nearly died, nuking those Chitauri scumbags.

And that smile, that expression, left Tony breathless and so stunned that he hadn’t realized that the elevator had already arrived in the penthouse. He stepped off the machine and into his own living space and shivered, whether it was because he was soaked from the rain or because of Steve’s smile lingering in his mind, Tony didn’t know.

###

Steve logged in on Stem after having just finished his seventh Sue Grafton Alphabet Mysteries book. He’d been doing nothing but read again for the past two days since that time he and Tony had volunteered in the children’s shelter. Mecha’s Sue Grafton recommendations were, as always, enjoyable, but he thought he could use some company at the moment. He was itching to watch a movie, and he wanted to see if, perhaps, Mecha was up for another one of their movie-watching chats.

And Steve didn’t want to confront the thought but Kinsey Millhone’s adventures were falling short of trying to distract him from the memory of Tony Stark, their time spent in the children’s shelter and that evening romp in the rain. It was a pretty ordinary day, all things considered, and a near epic-fail of an evening, but somehow, whenever Steve thought of it, he would get shivers and goosebumps like it had been a dream honeymoon in Venice!

So he needed Mecha because the latter had never yet failed to engross Steve, so much so that whenever he talked to Mecha, thoughts of everything else would usually fly out of his mind. It was as if Mecha commanded nothing less than 100% of Steve’s attention.

heir2mecha.realm: So… how are we doing today? :-)

shield_storm: I’ve been doing nothing but read for the past couple of days. I think I need a break.

heir2mecha.realm: Sue Grafton books? Flirting 101 books? No to Blushing books? :-P

shield_storm: tease.

shield_storm: Sue Grafton books, of course. Why would I want to read books about flirting?!?!

heir2mecha.realm: Because you need all the help you can get with flirting?

heir2mecha.realm: But no- you’re right! You don’t need to read books about flirting because what you need is to practice it!

shield_storm: Don’t remind me about that!!! Something happened several days ago at breakfast and it was so embarrassing, I will have to reconsider whether I will still take your flirting advice. :-S

heir2mecha.realm: why? What happened?

shield_storm: I accidentally upended a bottle of maple syrup and I ended up with a sticky hand and fingers, so I just licked them. And my housemates started looking at me funny!!! I swear to God, I have never felt more humiliated in my LIFE!!!! They looked at me like I was doing a public sex act!!!! It was mortifying and I have just decided that I will never take your flirting advice ever again!!! X-S

heir2mecha.realm: LMFAO!!! :-DDDDDDDDD

heir2mecha.realm: LMFAO=Laughing My Fucking Ass Off

heir2mecha.realm: Hahahahahahahaha!!! Oh my god!!! Wish I could have been there… Oh my god!!!!

shield_storm: it wasn’t funny, Mecha!!! It was awful!!!

heir2mecha.realm: I’m sure it wasn’t. They just probably looked at you like that because they’d never seen you do something like that before… As long as no one keeled over and you weren’t arrested and charged with anything, it was all good!!! I mean, if it were me, I’d have done the same thing… I’d have licked my fingers clean, stuffed each digit in my mouth one after another and swirled my tongue all over them…

Steve, like the innocent virgin that he was, blushed a fiery red as he imagined Mecha’s very vivid description of the kind of treatment he’d have given his own fingers in that same situation. For some unknown reason, the face that Mecha assumed in Steve’s imagination was that of Tony Stark’s, and Steve wanted to erase his face with his palm. Groaning, gurgling and breaking out in a sweat, Steve fell on his back on his bed, grabbed a pillow from his otherwise neatly-made bed, and hid his face behind it. He couldn’t believe this was happening!

Steve wanted to wash his brain to get rid of the mental images that were making his body go haywire with unspeakable reactions.

shield_storm: You’re horrible…

heir2mecha.realm: You need to IMMUNIZE yourself from this, Storm! Work with me here!!!

heir2mecha.realm: And besides, I said that flirting is to know what to say or do and when and where to say or do them! *I* didn’t tell you to flirt with a table full of your housemates! That’s all on you!

shield_storm: right- throw the blame back to me… :’-(

heir2mecha.realm: Awww, poor you… Let’s try to avoid en masse flirting next time, shall we? I mean, I really don’t understand why you’d do that—it’s not like you’re emotionally or sexually attracted to any of your housemates!!!

Shrugging, Steve sat back up on his bed. Of course, Mecha wouldn’t know about Steve’s current unhealthy fascination for Tony Stark. The Captain seriously considered whether or not to tell Mecha about it. Then again, Steve was already neck-deep in the same unhealthy infatuation with Mecha also, so he thought he’d keep those cards close to his chest for now. He was so confused and conflicted; the desired distraction was not very forthcoming.

shield_storm: I just want to forget about that awful episode… So—you want to watch a movie?

shield_storm: Just think about it as a sort of payback because you owe me for that ill advice on flirting…

heir2mecha.realm: I DON’T OWE YOU!!! Like I said that was all on you! :-) But yeah sure, a movie sounds great. :-D Whose turn is it to pick?

shield_storm: I think it’s yours…

heir2mecha.realm: Alrighty… What to watch… hmmm…

heir2mecha.realm: Have you seen J. Edgar yet? That movie with Leonardo DiCaprio directed by Clint Eastwood?

heir2mecha.realm: It’s Hoover’s biopic… Haven’t seen that one yet but I’ve heard about it... What do you think?

shield_storm: Interesting. Haven’t seen it myself. Let’s do it!

Steve excitedly left his personal floor to head over to the common floor, hoping that he could have full run of it for the night. Mercifully, the common floor was empty and he set about preparing the usual tub of popcorn and six-pack of cold canned soda. He cued the movie as soon as he found it and settled on the comfortable couch right in front of the TV.

shield_storm: I’m all set. :-D

heir2mecha.realm: hang on…

Steve already pressed Play on the remote and tucked his legs beneath him when his phone bleeped again, presumably with a message from Mecha.

heir2mecha.realm: Storm… something came up very suddenly and I need to take care of it. Looks like I’ll have to pass on movie night tonight.

shield_storm: Awwww! It’s not life-or-death serious, is it? Are you OK?

heir2mecha.realm: Yeah… I’m fine. Just some sort of emergency with work, but hey—your night doesn’t have to be ruined on my account. Just keep watching the movie and you can tell me all about it. :-)

heir2mecha.realm: I’m really sorry about this. But I promise I’ll make it up to you.

heir2mecha.realm: Talk to you tomorrow?

shield_storm: alright. :-) catch you tomorrow! Take care!

Steve no longer had any time to mourn Mecha’s sudden exit for the night because as soon as he pressed Send, the elevator dinged and out of it came Tony Stark.

“Oh hey!” Tony greeted with a two-fingered mock salute. Steve noticed that the newcomer didn’t look surprised to find him in the common floor at that time of the evening.

Tony looked like he had just come home from a meeting because he was still wearing a red silk dress shirt with its sleeves haphazardly folded about halfway up his forearms, tight-fitting black slacks and black leather shoes. Steve felt nearly naked in his gray sweatpants, frayed light blue shirt and that tell-tale tub of freshly-popped popcorn in his hands.

“Long meeting?” Steve casually asked, gesturing at the remainder of the billionaire’s business attire.

“Nah! I’d been home since about four in the afternoon. I just didn’t have the time to change out of these clothes. Movie night?” It was Tony’s turn to ask, nodding towards the popcorn tub and the soda six-pack on the center table.

“Sort of,” Steve almost told Tony about Mecha and how the latter had bailed on him for the night, but the blonde stopped himself. He and Tony weren’t that close yet for Steve to tell him such intimate details about the dynamics between the Captain and his Stem friend. Even Bucky, who was Steve’s oldest friend, didn’t know about Mecha.

“Is it alright if I—?” Tony trailed off, motioning towards the other end of the couch as if asking for Steve’s permission. The blonde just stared at the brunette quizzically, wondering what Tony was really asking: was the billionaire asking if he could sit down on the couch for a while; or was he asking if he could actually join Steve in watching the movie? “What movie are you watching?”

“J. Edgar. I was told that it’s Hoover’s biopic. Have you seen it?” Steve asked, leaning forward to grab hold of the remote again.

“Not yet. Is it OK if I watch it with you?” asked the billionaire, tentatively. There was the more definite question that Steve was waiting for!

“Sure! Popcorn?” Steve offered the bowl to the other man with his signature tight-lipped smile.

“Thanks,” Tony replied, a half-smile gracing his face, and he scooped up a handful of popcorn kernels to nibble.

Steve tried his damnedest to focus on the movie as he sat there beside one of the two people he almost always seemed to be thinking about recently, eating popcorn and fidgeting in his sweats and tatty night shirt. He tried to look at Tony from out of the corner of his eye and saw that the other man was intently focused on the movie with his head bent at an angle and his bottom lip between his teeth.

Clearing his wayward thoughts inwardly, Steve forced himself to focus on the movie’s story and characterization. And for a while, he was successful in reining in his attention until the couch dipped a bit as Tony leaned towards Steve to grab another overflowing handful of popcorn from the bowl on the latter’s lap.

Steve knew he must look like a grade-A dork, sitting there so rigidly. But he couldn’t help himself from being so hyperaware of everything that was happening in the room, except for the damn movie! He watched still from out of the corner of his eye as Tony unbuttoned the first three buttons of his red silk dress shirt, as Tony leaned forward to grab one of the perspiring soda cans and pop the tab off, as Tony tucked a leg under him and slung an arm over the back of the couch in a relaxed manner, as Tony snorted or snickered at one of the movie character’s lines, as Tony toed both of his shoes off at some point, as Tony craned his neck from side to side as if to loosen up its stressful coil.

It was a wonder that Steve understood even half of the movie they were watching!

At some point further into the movie, Steve began to be transfixed by Hoover’s life story; especially the latter’s relationship with Clyde Tolson. Steve was engrossed with a single-minded focus when that tussle-turned-kissing scene began to play out.

“Did you know?” Tony asked suddenly, taking Steve out of his rapt interest on the movie. “About Hoover, I mean.”

“You mean, did I know he was gay?”

“Well—until his death, it was never really proven. A lot of people speculated, but that was the extent of it… speculations and conjectures. But he was already in office as FBI director in 1935. So you must know about him or must have heard about him, at least? Were there ever any… whispers of what his sexuality really was at that time?” Tony asked, biting his thumb between his teeth while his arms were crossed over his chest.

“Everyone knew about his close friendship with Tolson. But as far as any hint of homosexuality was concerned, everything was hushed up. He had a lot of power back then. And the political climate was chaotic enough that any personal stuff was just swept under the rug,” Steve explained, nibbling on one kernel of popcorn at a time.

“That would’ve been monumental though, if it was found out that the FBI director himself was gay. It would’ve catapulted the LGBT struggle ahead by a couple of decades instead of being the taboo subject it was until well into the 70s,” Tony surmised, grabbing more popcorn from the bowl with his free hand. The billionaire was already splayed on the couch on his side and supported by his right arm, nearly taking up two-thirds of the couch space while Steve was still too rigidly seated upright on a narrow slice of the couch.

“Or it might not have done that much because as powerful as he was, Hoover could’ve just silenced any possible sources of any whispers about his sexuality,” Steve contributed and Tony shrugged, conceding the point.

“It must be lonely though. To deny who you are because you’re afraid of the backlash. People nowadays are so much better off with all the freedom and the open-mindedness,” said Tony, sucking butter and salt that glazed his thumb. “Don’t you think?”

“Yeah. That’s true.” It was Steve’s turn to concede the point.

They stayed in companionable silence throughout the rest of the movie. The tension and hyperawareness that Steve felt earlier all but dissipated. His companion’s relaxed demeanor must have rubbed off on him.

When the end credits began rolling, Tony stood up and stretched that the hem of his dress shirt escaped from the waist of his trousers. He absent-mindedly pulled the rest of the shirt free from his pants’ waist. “Good movie,” the billionaire observed with a thoughtful purse of his lips. “If only we can watch movies like this during movie nights with the rest of the team.”

“We do watch movies like this. If you actually go to movie night, you’d know that we do,” Steve joked casually. He hoped he had injected the right amount of amusement so that the billionaire wouldn’t take offense.

“Sarcasm! There’s hope for you yet,” Tony complimented with a mischievous smile and a good-natured wink. “Fine, if you actually cue a quality movie for an Avengers movie night for at least one time, let me know and it will be my pleasure to join you,” said Tony, bending over to grab his shoes from the floor.

Steve momentarily forgot what he was about to say when he was presented with that marvelous angle of his teammate’s backside. It was quite an amazing backside, Steve had to admit.

“Bruce will like that,” Steve finally mumbled, recovering.

“I’ll bet!” Tony shot back, amused. “Well thanks for this, uh, Steve. I’m sorry for intruding on your personal movie experience, but it was a good movie,” he continued, walking backwards towards the direction of the elevator.

“It was a good movie, and I’m glad you joined me,” Steve replied in earnest. He knew it was true, too. He was glad that Tony joined him. Mecha might have bailed but having Tony as a substitute wasn’t bad at all.

“Hey—maybe there’ll be a next time?”

Steve laughed at that. He was a bit surprised at how pleasant his laugh sounded. It sounded effortless and in high spirits. “I’m game. How about you?” The question sounded full of promise and plenty flirty! He wanted to congratulate himself for pulling it off. Maybe Mecha’s advice wasn’t really so bad after all. Steve couldn’t believe it, but he was actually flirting with Tony Stark!

“I’m sure I can work something out,” said Tony with a feral smirk. Was Tony Stark also flirting with him?! Or was that simply wishful thinking on Steve’s part?

The billionaire pressed the button to call the elevator and the doors opened almost instantaneously. “Goodnight, Steve. Catch you later,” the billionaire said in the way of parting words, turning his head to look at the teammate he was leaving behind on the common floor.

Steve could swear there was naked, unadulterated delight in the way the billionaire’s eyes twinkled in the mood lights and his mouth curved into a smile that Steve, himself, also let loose what he knew was a dazzling smile of his own, directed at nothing in particular in the now empty common floor.

Chapter Text

Steve should’ve thought that it was too good to be true that he hadn’t had nightmares in a while because he was having one now. It was the staple nightmare: he was in a decrepit military-issue plane that was fast filling up with ice-cold water, and he was starting to lose all feeling in his limbs; his breaths were coming in short, ragged wheezes. Pretty soon, his head was going to be fully submerged but before that happened, a ruckus sounded from the plane’s cockpit that was separated from where he was by a metal door that was tightly-sealed shut.

“Storm!”

Steve didn’t know the voice; he had never heard it before, but he knew the name he was called. There was only one person who called him that. “Mecha?”

“Storm—I can’t open the door and the place is filling up with freezing water. I can’t find a handle on the door. Do you think you can break it down from your side? Storm? I’m scared! Please help me, Storm! Please save me!” The person on the other side started to pound on the door, and Steve fought his way to swim towards it, but he had already lost the strength of his legs and his fingers were turning an alarming shade of blue.

The voice was no one he knew in particular, but it sounded panicked and scared, much like Steve was at that moment. But as the person on the other side kept calling his Stem name, the voice began to sound familiar and yet strange—like a combination of all the voices of his friends: of Bucky, Natasha, Clint, Bruce, Thor, and Tony, but at the same time, the pitch and timbre of the voice sounded like it was coming from the depths of the well and the heights of a skyscraper. Like nothing he had ever heard before. But like everything he had never wanted to hear again.

“Storm! Storm—St—,“ And then the voice became more garbled from the other side of the cockpit door, like its owner was fighting a deluge of water pulling him in its icy embrace.

“Mecha!” Steve screamed but nothing came out of his mouth but bubbles as he had been pulled by the water in its unyielding hold. He felt his lungs fill with water and his throat burned as he still kept screaming Mecha’s name.

And then Steve woke up, trembling from head to toe and breathing like he had really been drowning. His sheets were tangled around his sweat-soaked body. He sat up with back-breaking force and scrambled out of bed to head to the bathroom where he retched something nasty. His throat was burning like he had really been screaming and he was still shaking that he could barely press the button on the water closet to flush the demons he had puked away.

Though he was hardly recovered from the vividness of his nightmare, he slipped, crawled, half-ran and half-dragged himself back to bed and reached for his phone. He needed to see if Mecha was online. If Mecha was alright. Terror gripped his gut anew as he waited, with bated breath, for Stem to log him in.

shield_storm: Oh thank God, you’re logged in! Are you alright, Mecha?

shield_storm: MECHA!!!!!!!!

He knew he sounded distressed, but he didn’t bother trying to rein it in. He couldn’t remember having a more vivid dream, and the fact that it was Mecha he had dreamed about—someone he was beginning to cherish and care about—only added to his anxiety.

heir2mecha.realm: Hey, you ok?!?! I’m sorry… I’m here, I’m here…

heir2mecha.realm: Maybe *I* should be asking *you* that, Storm? Are YOU ok? Did something happen?!?! Why are you still awake?!?! Do you know what time it is??? 8-O

shield_storm: I’m fine… I’m ok. I just had a bad dream—that something had happened to you!

shield_storm: I’m sorry for scaring the hell out of you. Damn. I know it’s late. I’m sorry if I woke you or something.

heir2mecha.realm: You didn’t wake me up. I don’t sleep that much, remember?

heir2mecha.realm: You wanna tell me about it?

shield_storm: Terrible nightmare. I was drowning and then you were there, too. And you were screaming for me to save you, but I couldn’t. And we drown… we die… I don’t know…

shield_storm: Dammit! I’m really sorry about this! I just had to know if you were ok…

heir2mecha.realm: I’m ok. I’m fine. If I am drowning in anything—it’s in paperwork. And coffee. Lots of coffee.

heir2mecha.realm: What about you? How’re you feeling? Just take deep breaths, ok?

heir2mecha.realm: Deep breaths in through the nose and out through the mouth. Keep doing that.

shield_storm: I’ll be OK. :-) I know you’re alright now. So I’ll be ok.

heir2mecha.realm: Do you feel clammy? Are you shaking? Or are you finding it difficult to breathe?

shield_storm: A bit. A bit. And no…

heir2mecha.realm: I wish I could be beside you right now. So I could help calm you down.

shield_storm: you ARE helping calm me down… :-)

shield_storm: that’s it. No more sleep for me today. :-S

heir2mecha.realm: Are you kidding? It’s only 2:37am!!!!! You have to try to get back to sleep! Or you will have a bitch of a headache tomorrow.

shield_storm: Whenever I have nightmares like this, I find it really hard to fall back to sleep. Maybe I’m scared. Maybe my mind is too anxious replaying my nightmare over and over. But I rarely fall back to sleep. :-(

heir2mecha.realm: Do you trust me?

shield_storm: what?

heir2mecha.realm: Do you trust me? Because I think I can help you with that.

shield_storm: of course. I trust you.

Steve didn’t know what Mecha was planning to do, but of course, he trusted his friend. Mecha had been nothing but helpful and sweet and witty and thoughtful. Steve knew that, short of anything illegal, he would do anything Mecha asked of him.

His phone pinged with another message from Mecha, but when Steve looked at it, it was a message like he had never seen before:

Stem Application Extension_

heir2mecha.realm is requesting for a VOICE CHAT.

The blonde’s anxiety seemed to drain away, much like the feeling that he was hung-over for the longest time and then the Paracetamol just suddenly took effect to give him that blissful, cathartic high. He may have already done away with feeling hung-over or feeling what Paracetamol was like with the Super Soldier Serum and all, but he had not forgotten what those felt like. And he was suddenly made aware of those very human—very vulnerable, yet very exhilarating feelings now—at that moment, seeing the request in black and white, illuminated by the bright backlight of his smartphone.

Steve pressed the Accept button, subsequently choosing the Hands-free option and tentatively asked: “hello?” His voice sounded breathless with excited anticipation in the stillness of his own bedroom. His hands shook but he knew it was for a completely different reason.

But there was no voice that answered back to him. Though before Steve could speak another greeting or call his friend’s name, melodious piano notes emanated from his phone’s speakers. The tune was so soft as if the fingers pressing those keys were hesitant or inclined to forget how the notes sounded.

But the song gave Steve an almost instant calm. Steve remembered the secret that Mecha had divulged to him: Mecha could play the piano. And Steve knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that it was Mecha’s fingers that were playing Steve’s ills away.

It brought memories of lazy afternoons with his mother while they looked out at the park, at the kids playing ball in the dying light of the sun. The song brought recollections of after-school walks with Bucky, before everything became too complicated in their young lives. It reminded Steve of the first rays of the morning sun during his morning runs, breaking through the gaps in the trees, reflecting against the shiny windows of the skyscrapers, bouncing off the silver dust motes and what dew drops there were in a frenetic city such as New York. The beautiful piano music brought reminiscences of the first drop of snow in the mountains while he and the rest of the Howling Commandos tried to build camp or the first twinkles of the stars in the clear spring evening while they opened their care packages from home.

Steve curled into a fetal position underneath his sheets and hugged his arms close to his chest. He clutched his covers like a lifeline as he felt the tears escape from the corners of his eyes and fall on his pillow. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to be carried away to a safe place, to a place where Mecha was seated behind a stark white grand piano, his head bent down to the ebony and ivory to play the melody that was taking Steve away from the horrors of his nightmare. The longer he immersed himself in the sound, the farther his nightmare went that he couldn’t remember anymore why he was distressed in the first place.

The blonde only wished he could put a face to the person, who was creating all this magic for him. He wished he could imagine what color Mecha’s eyes were, what his smile looked like, what his laugh, his voice sounded like. Steve wished he could hear Mecha say his name—not Storm, but Steve. Steve. Steve hoped he could see the mischievous twinkle in Mecha’s eyes every time he made a joke or every time Steve said something uncharacteristically funny.

Steve ached, ached to see Mecha, take the latter’s hand and thank him for everything: for the books, the movies, the stories, the laughs, the deep philosophical conversations, the silly exchanges, the companionship, the advice, the votes of confidence, the patience, this song. Everything.

As he slipped deeper into calm and sleepiness, Steve imagined that maybe someday—someday, he and Mecha would meet, and Steve would be able to tell the former everything he wanted to say.

“Goodnight, Mecha,” Steve murmured in the darkness and quiet of his bedroom. He let the rolling zeniths and troughs of the song cradle him back to the depths of slumber.

Nearly three minutes later, the calming song ended and Steve’s bedroom was cloaked in absolute silence, and though there were no longer any conscious ears to receive the whispered message, a soft murmur tinkled like the softest of bells from the other end of the open voice chat connection: “goodnight, Storm.” So soft, that even Steve, with his Super Soldier hearing, would have only found vaguely but disturbingly familiar.

###

The Captain shuddered to a stop, stunned, as he stepped off the elevator to the common floor.

He had just come from the Long Island facility to visit Bucky as he had previously planned, and he was only strongly suggested, nay, forced to leave shortly after lunch when one of Bucky’s doctors told him about a session that the former Sergeant was scheduled for that afternoon with another one of his attending doctors. Steve promised Bucky that he’d visit again as soon as he was able, and left in high spirits, thoroughly pleased at the immense progress Bucky was making.

Steve had thought long and hard whether it was time to tell Bucky about certain realizations he’d had since leaving Washington D.C. and moving in at Avengers Tower, namely, that he was bisexual and that he was currently disturbingly attached to a guy he’s never met other than online in a social networking site and whose real name he didn’t even know. Suffice it to say that Steve reconsidered telling Bucky because the former was worried that the information would affect the latter’s precarious mental health as it was.

Bucky was only, after all, just recovering his memory that Steve felt like he was going to do his friend a disservice if he unintentionally gave Bucky an untimely aneurysm. So Steve kept his mouth shut, shared brunch with Bucky and shot some hoops with him before he was respectfully thrown out of the facility due to Bucky’s scheduled session in the afternoon. With nowhere else to go, the Captain just decided to head back home.

He questioned whether heading back had been a good decision as he stepped off the elevator into the common floor to find Thor and Tony playing Just Dance on the Wii and doing some really fancy footwork and creative arm-waving to warm up for a round that was just about to start.

Steve just stood there unsure if he should make his presence known to the playing pair and watched as the round began on the dancing match. The tune picked for the ensuing battle was Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go by an artist named Wham!. Clutching their Wii controls, the pair got into some fancier footwork and more animated arm movements, gyrating, jerking their elbows and shoulders and even half-pirouetting at times.

To Steve, it was absolutely hilarious and embarrassing to watch a strapping man such as Thor pull the moves he was pulling. While Thor could be argued to be quite graceful, especially in the field of battle, Steve was sorry to say that none such grace translated to the Norse god’s dancing. Thor was awkward, but what he lacked in refinement in movement, he made up for in sheer enthusiasm. Steve very nearly had tears in his eyes because of the sight.

Tony, however, was in a different league altogether.

Steve couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow in intrigue while he watched Tony dance. The billionaire was actually and quite unbelievably a good dancer. Though his movements were not big and not as snappy and tight as the model whose movements they were supposed to be following, Tony had a sense of rhythm and his gestures were fluid and graceful though uncertain at times

Steve was chagrined to find yet another one of Tony Stark’s fine points. The man was rich, smart, good looking, charming, uncommonly kind and valiant, ingenious, and magnetic. Did he really have to be a superb dancer, too?!

When the playing pair stepped into a pivot, Thor caught sight of what must have been Steve’s half-amused, half-appalled expression and waved and hollered in greeting: “Steven!”

Tony stopped in mid-dance and offered Steve a flick of his wrist in greeting; there was a hint of horror on the billionaire’s otherwise attractive features before it faded into straight-faced composure. “Thank god you’re not Clint,” the brunette exhaled in relief, putting both his hands on his hips and leaning forward and backward on the balls of his feet.

“What—you think I don’t have it in me to make fun of you?” asked Steve, walking closer to the TV and taking a half-seat on the sturdy back of the couch.

“Oh you have it in you, alright. But you’re too noble to actually do it,” Tony interjected as if he’d got Steve all figured out. Steve narrowed his eyes but it was with curious amusement. So maybe Tony was correct, but Steve would sooner play Just Dance himself than admit it.

“For Clint, though, absolutely nothing is sacred,” continued Tony, pointing his Wii controls at the TV and cancelling the current dance match.

“This one is priceless; I have to admit. It would certainly fetch a hefty price on eBay or Stem, if a video of this is ever sold,” said Steve, crossing his arms over his chest and fighting the urge to guffaw at the image of Thor and Tony energetically dancing in unison.

“Well I don’t know about you, Thor—buddy—but I have a bad-ass reputation to uphold and footage of me playing Just Dance would definitely ruin my rep,” joked Tony, giving Thor a smirk.

“Play with me, Steven! I am weary of getting defeated by Anthony every time!” Thor invited, and Steve was off the couch and on his feet in a heartbeat to scram the hell away from there because he would sooner spoon his eyeballs out than play Just Dance in front of Tony Stark, of all people, especially after having seen how amazing the billionaire was at dancing.

Tony stepped in front of Steve, blocking the latter’s way. “Oh come on, Steve! It’s just a game. Besides, it’s just us. Are you really going to deny Thor the chance to beat you or be beaten by you? Come on!” The brunette persuaded with a wide smile. “Come on, please? Please? Please? Just one round, come on, Pleeeeaaassseee?” Big golden brown eyes unashamedly stared into deep blue ones.

Natasha had said it once before, and now Steve was inclined to agree: when Tony Stark turned it on, it was damn hard to turn him down. Before, Steve may have had a chance to stand his ground and put his foot down, but with Steve’s new-found affinity with Tony, the blonde was already considering how it wouldn’t really hurt to humor Tony and Thor just this one time…

“Alright! Alright!” Steve buckled in his resolve to maintain his dignity. “Just this once. And you can’t put it on video and sell it online, Tony!” warned Steve, sternly but good-humoredly.

“Damn!” Tony exclaimed, snapping his fingers. And Steve let Tony take him by the wrist and pull him in front of the TV. The blonde only silently prayed that this wouldn’t be as traumatizing as his Speed-dating vein experience with Mecha. But surely, with this much trepidation on Steve’s part, failure could be expected.

Steve and Thor stood gawkily in front of the TV while Tony, using Steve’s Wii controls which the billionaire had already buckled around the Captain’s wrist, set up the round. The tune that Tony picked was Starships popularized by Nicki Minaj.

It was hair-raisingly awkward, but to Steve’s surprise, it was bloody good fun, too! He felt the discomfort of his limbs as he tried to mimic the steps of the Wii model. He raised his arms, flicked them, waved them, lifted his legs, rolled his knees and shook his hips. On the occasional half-turns, Steve caught sight of Tony, who was seated on the sofa with his left leg crossed over his right, smiling so hard and clapping his hands in absolute mirth. Thor was also jumping and gyrating unashamedly with a wide smile on his otherwise strong and regal features. The three were positively howling in hysterics at how ridiculous Steve and Thor must have looked. When Steve got a string of high praises on the Wii for a particularly well-executed set of moves, Tony catcalled and cackled like a maniac. From out of the corner of Steve’s eye, he thought he saw a dazzling, most startling open-mouthed grin on Tony’s face that brought out the endearing crow’s feet in the corners of the billionaire’s eyes like Steve had never seen before, and the latter knew that every second of this undignified dancing was well worth it.

At the end of the song and the round, it was Steve who emerged the victor, beating Thor by only a very, very slim margin. Thor was quite a good sport about it, complimenting Steve’s effort and Tony’s non-partisan cheering. Tony was laughing and clapping both of his teammates in the back for a round well-fought.

“Now that’s something you don’t see every day!” Bruce cut in with a look that was both astonished and deeply amused. The three, with their merry-making, failed to notice the arrival of the good doctor in the common floor.

“Thank god you’re still not Clint!” Tony said with another relieved smile on his face. The billionaire’s relieved face was probably mirrored in Steve’s own, which garnered a curious stare from Bruce at both of them. Steve and Tony had been known to disagree on many things before, which was probably why their twin looks of relief had earned Bruce’s interest.

“Yeah, Clint’ll have a field day if he’d seen that,” opined Bruce, a tight-lipped smile on his face. “When I first walked in and saw you, I thought I’d gotten high from the solutions I’d been inhaling in the lab. What’s with the unofficial Just Dance Party? How come I didn’t get an invite?” asked Bruce, good-naturedly as he deposited three of his previously-used mugs in the dishwasher in the kitchen.

“The party just sorta happened, actually. So care to battle with me so we can see who fights Steve in the championships?” invited Tony with a roguish smirk.

If Steve had bet that Bruce was going to beg off from the invitation, he would’ve lost because Bruce gamely went up in front of the TV, beside Tony and strapped a Wii control around his wrist himself. “Give me a good fight, Stark,” challenged Bruce with an uncharacteristic cheeky grin.

“You’re so on, Banner!”

It was Steve’s and Thor’s turn, seated on the couch, to cheer, catcall and cackle the indisputably smartest members of their team. Steve had only ever seen the dynamics of the two scientists when they were in one of their deep-science conversations that left the rest of the team catatonic and wondering if the exchange had been in the English language in the first place. But seeing the two now, hashing it out on Just Dance on the Wii to the tune of Footloose by Kenny Loggins, they were like hyperactive children with a crazy sense of fun. Their open smiles, raucous laughter and twinkling eyes betrayed the playfulness behind their genius.

Bruce, like Tony, was surprisingly a good dancer, with an awesome sense of timing. But Bruce, loath as Steve was to admit it, was still a tad less graceful than Tony. In the end, Tony won the round by a landslide. And so it transpired that it was Tony versus Steve in the unofficial Just Dance Party ‘championships’.

“OK, as this is the championship. We have to level-up a bit. Thor and I get to pick the song you’re going to dance to,” Bruce announced, seizing Tony’s controls from the latter’s wrist and after a quick, murmured discussion with the Norse god, started pressing buttons in quick succession.

“Oh that’s just cruel, Bruce!” Tony protested when the choice was made. “You guys are such sore losers!”

The song that their former adversaries chose was Flashdance (What a Feeling) popularized by Irene Cara.

“Just thank me that I’m not texting Clint to tell him to get here as fast as he can with an HD camera in hand and ready to record,” Bruce teased just as the song was beginning.

Steve realized that Tony’s protestations were anything but baseless as he and the billionaire started to mimic very provocative ballet-like or interpretative dance-like steps that were very distinctly meant to be danced by females.

The blonde was fiery red in the face but he chose not to fold and hide in the first crevice he could stuff himself in. He was going to be a sport about this. It may have been bloody humiliating, but it was undeniably the first time he had ever had so much fun with two-thirds of the team that was the closest thing Steve had to a family. He even started to wish that Natasha and Clint could’ve been there with them.

Because there were so many steps that needed their arms to be outstretched, there were times that he and Tony accidentally touched. There were also times—lots of them—that their eyes met and they broke out in gales of laughter and snorts at the ludicrousness of what they were doing. There were also instances that one or both of them fell out of sync with the steps and they just bent over laughing, holding their sides or their knees. Steve stared, laughing, at Tony as the latter sometimes exaggerated the steps and made over-the-top movements.

At the end of the round, Tony came out on top, beating Steve by a considerable margin. And he proclaimed himself the champion with ostentatious bows and nods of his head at his teammates like he had won the Pulitzer. Thor clapped enthusiastically; Bruce nodded with a purse of his lips like he still needed to be convinced of Tony’s superiority; and Steve bowed to Tony, clapping and conceding his defeat. Tony surprised Steve when the billionaire enfolded the Captain in a half-hug, pulling the latter against the side of his body, fondly patting Steve’s shoulder, and lightly squeezing the nape of the blonde’s neck.

The spontaneous gesture sent unusual tingles up Steve’s spine and he reveled in the warmth that had settled in his stomach because of that touch. Steve was starting to get used to the feeling that came with Tony Stark’s touches. He was fast beginning to associate it with the idea of home.

###

The pneumatic doors to Tony’s workshop hissed open and Bruce entered with a jovial smile on his face, his hands clasped behind him. Tony momentarily looked up with a half-grin but returned his attention to the motorized wheelchair mechanism he was dismantling.

“Dinner’s ready, Champ,” announced Bruce, winking with both eyes. The reference brought the memory of the Just Dance matches earlier that day, which Tony had won, and the billionaire shook his head with wry amusement.

It was a great afternoon, alright! To think, Tony only reluctantly accepted Thor’s invitation to play because the engineer had been wary that Clint would walk in on them while playing and Tony would never be able to live it down. And then Steve had walked in on them and teased him as Tony never thought Steve was capable of.

What was even more of a shocker was that Steve had indulged Thor and actually played and danced! And Tony had never noticed it before, but the Captain could boogie with the best of them! Steve, though far from being a professional, was actually not bad at dancing. Tony thanked his lucky stars that he had issued a standing command to JARVIS to record everything that happened in all the residential areas of the Tower like a CCTV—only one that was more bad-ass, because now he actually had footage of Steve’s dancing for posterity, which he could play over and over to his heart’s content. And the Captain was none the wiser. Tony intended to keep the promise not to sell it online to the highest bidder, though, because, really, something as rare as Steve’s dancing was fucking priceless that he had no intention to share it with anyone.

Bruce subsequently joining them was like chocolate shavings to an already decadent Death by Chocolate cake. Tony inwardly admitted that he had never had so much fun since he had invited—or kidnapped, depending on how one would look at it—the entire Victoria’s Secret Swim Shoot team to crash in his resort in Mauritius for three weeks.

“You came down to personally tell me that when you could’ve just told JARVIS to relay the message to me,” observed Tony. He looked up again to meet Bruce’s eyes, but the latter was busily gaping at the newest furniture in his workshop that was sitting by the wall where his robots’ charging stations were located.

“Tony, why is there a grand piano in your workshop?”

“I needed it. Why did you have to come down and fetch me yourself, Bruce?” Tony said dismissively and then threw a question back to Bruce to divert the latter’s attention from the grand piano.

Tony had ordered the grand piano, through an online agent, on the same day that he and Steve went to the children’s shelter. It was one of those transactions he was able to close out on the cab ride going to the shelter. He didn’t know what possessed him then to buy a grand piano on a whim, but, on hindsight, he was glad of his purchase when he ended up needing it to help Storm get over his distress from some pretty disturbing nightmares.

“I’m making sure you’re not about to beg-off from dinner, making some lame-ass excuse, which you’re inclined to do. I didn’t know you play the piano,” Bruce answered before steering the conversation back to the fucking grand piano. Sometimes, Tony hated Bruce’s power of observation and persistence.

“I don’t. I’m dismantling it for the strings. I need a high-tensile wire for this project I’m in the middle of. You make it sound like I’m trying to avoid having to hang out with you guys on purpose. I don’t make excuses—when I can’t come to dinner, it’s ‘cos I’m really busy with something,” replied Tony, still trying his damndest to take the conversation from the blasted grand piano.

“So are you coming to dinner or not?”

Tony narrowed his eyes and stared Bruce down, though it was hard because Bruce was standing up while Tony was seated on his usual wheeled stool. “I’ll be right there,” Tony said with a slight smile, folding in the stare down. The billionaire secretly admitted to himself that life really became more interesting when he started hanging out with his housemates more—and with Steve, in particular.

“I have instructions to ensure that you’d get your ass upstairs so I’ll wait until you’re ready to go,” said Bruce, taking a seat on one of the cushier swivel chairs and feeling right at home.

“Remind me again what possessed me to give you regular access codes to the workshop?” asked Tony with all the sarcasm he could muster as he tried to return to soldering one of the smaller parts of the mechanism before him. “Because I’m pretty sure it can be reconsidered.”

“No need bite my head off, Tony. I’m only following instructions, you know.”

“Whose? Natasha’s?”

“Steve’s, actually,” Bruce said in a matter-of-fact tone. Crossing his arms over his chest, Bruce stared intently at Tony as if waiting for the brunette’s reaction to the information that was just revealed. “He’d have fetched you himself but he only had emergency override codes which may or may not have been revoked already since you’ve threatened to do so on more than one occasion. Hence, I got the displeasure of being asked to come get you.”

“One afternoon of Just Dance and he thinks he can give me an order to make an appearance at dinner and I’d hop to,” said Tony, but even he noticed that it was without the usual bite to it.

“You’re spending a lot of time with him lately.” It wasn’t a question that Tony thought he needed to answer, but something in his gut bugged him to at least debunk a misapprehension that was in that statement somewhere. Only he came up empty-handed.

“And it’s clearly been doing both of you some good,” Bruce continued. “It really is about time that you at least try to be friends.”

“Hey—I’m taking one for the team. Huzzah!” Tony joked with a mock cheer. Bruce rolled his eyes in consternation.

“He likes hanging out with you. I’ve never seen him more relaxed since he’d moved in,” Bruce said further, uncrossing his arms but crossing his legs and clasping his hands on his lap instead. “And based on my scientific observation, you like hanging out with him, too.”

“Is there a point to any of this? Because I’m trying to see if there’s a point around, somewhere.” As always, he tried to hide his discomfiture through curtains and curtains of sarcasm.

Bruce didn’t even know half of it, how Tony was talking to Steve online, how Steve had absolutely no idea that Tony and the person he was talking to online were one and the same person, how he was beginning to feel more and more guilty that Steve had no idea who his Stem friend really was, how Tony was beginning to dread when Steve would find out, how Tony didn’t have the guts to tell Steve himself, how Tony wanted, wanted so much to tell Steve so that the latter would look at him in the same way Tony knew Steve was beginning to see Mecha, how Tony wanted to do the things that Mecha would do for Storm as himself—as Tony.

Right then, Tony didn’t know what he really wanted: did he want to get close to Steve to ease the latter into the idea of Tony and Mecha being one and the same person? Or did he want to push Steve away because there was no use establishing any kind of relationship with Steve when all the latter was going to see in the situation was utmost betrayal on Tony’s part?

Because there was no way this was going to end well. For either of them. Tony already feared the kind of strong emotions he was starting to feel for Storm—for Steve. And Steve was still happily—or really, horribly—oblivious to the whole thing!

“The point is, Tony, there’s no real obstruction to you being friends with Steve, is there? Because if you both get your heads out of your asses long enough, you may actually see the beauty of what you’re both trying to build here—a true and lasting friendship, free of misconceptions and airs, or one-upping each other,” Bruce explained.

But Tony was only half-listening. He wanted to jeer at what Bruce thought the point was. A true and lasting friendship! What did Tony know about the concept when the bones of whatever animal he was trying to nurture with Steve were all marrowed with lies?

“Right,” Tony simply said, hoping that Bruce wouldn’t read anything more into the one word, hoping that the one word didn’t sound as doubtful as the thoughts the word had blossomed from. “So, I am kinda hungry. Dinner, yeah?”

The ride to the common floor was silent. The dinner with the rest of the team was filled with animated chatter, but only a part of Tony participated. Another part of him kept stealing lingering glances at Steve. Tony knew he needed to nip this—whatever this was—in the bud. If Tony really was sincere in befriending Steve, there was a need to come clean to the latter about the business regarding Mecha.

Tony must have fallen pensive because the next thing he knew, Steve was intently staring at him with questioning eyes as if to ask if he was alright.

No, Tony wasn’t alright. He was resisting the initial decision to come clean to Steve regarding Mecha because he was not ready to lose his special friend. But who was he kidding, really? Either way, he was going to lose Storm—Steve. Because Tony was sure that Steve was not going to take the betrayal lying down. But what surprised Tony was how painful the thought of the impending loss felt.

He bravely met Steve’s eyes again and smiled what he hoped was an affable and sincere enough smile. Tony didn’t want to have to demonstrate to the Captain the conflicted pain he was feeling inside.

Chapter Text

It had only been a week since Steve visited Bucky last, but here he was again, in the front passenger seat of Tony Stark’s fire engine-red Maserati Grancabrio, on the way to the Long Island facility where Bucky was still confined.

Traffic was moderate as they cruised on the outskirts of the busier parts of New York, and the weather was pleasant for late autumn. Wind whipped blond and brunette locks as the Grancabrio whizzed past the scenery made up of sparse cirrus clouds against the backdrop of blue skies and the city’s fading skyline. Steve was freely able to study Tony from out of the corner of his sunglasses-covered eyes. The billionaire was pokerfaced and strong-jawed as driving took up most of his attention.

Steve was unprepared for when Tony suddenly asked him very early that morning, just as the Captain was stepping off the elevator onto the common floor, back from his usual morning run, if the latter was planning on visiting Bucky that day. When Steve replied that he got nothing planned for that day anyway, Tony asked if he could perhaps accompany Steve to check in on their patient—see if the former Sergeant was climbing the walls yet. And Steve acceded to the request even if he really had no plans to pop in on Bucky that day.

Steve had vowed to call ahead to the facility if he had any plans to visit Bucky to see if his friend was going to be free for the entire day; he’d had to cut his last visit short due to a doctor’s session, and Steve didn’t want something like that to happen again.

But, really, what else could Steve do but make an unplanned visit to Bucky because Tony had asked if they could go together? And Steve found Tony Stark’s company quite agreeable of late. He had even told Mecha about it—how ‘Leo’ was not really that conceited, but was just self-assured when it came to his own unique place in the world. Even Tony’s sense of humor was starting to grow on Steve. The former was sarcastic, but his golden brown eyes actually held the key if the sarcasm came with amusement or disdain: if there was the tell-tale twinkle to it, it was sarcastic amusement; but if there was sharpness to it along with the illuminating wrinkle in the forehead, it was sarcastic disdain. Steve had also begun to notice that Tony was stealthily kind, and that his kindness was, as always, hidden behind veils of sarcasm.

The Captain realized that Tony was only hard to read on the get-go, but once the code to his whole operation was discovered, Tony could be read like a damn children’s book—easy!

When they got to the facility, Tony told Steve that he just had some other stops to make first—administration, accounting, procurement—and that he’d meet the Captain in Bucky’s living space in a bit.

So Steve went ahead to see Bucky and ended up helping the latter become more familiar with a recently-provided laptop. Granted, Steve was not very advanced compared to Bucky when it came to contraptions like a laptop, but Steve had already had three-years-and-some-odd-months’ worth of advantage over the recuperating former Sergeant. Compared to Bucky, Steve was a veteran at handling computers.

But of course, compared to Tony, who was a goddamned miracle worker at anything that had to do with technology, Steve was a caveman. So when the billionaire joined them after some time, Tony introduced Bucky to the real joys of the digital world and cyberspace. The engineer taught the former Sergeant all sorts of tricks, short-cuts, and cheats, short of illegal hacking, so that Bucky would be able to access everything in the internet that was of interest to him.

Steve watched with a slight smile while seated on the wooden trunk/footlocker at the foot of Bucky’s bed the pair as they were hunched over the laptop on the small dining table, discussing Tony’s recommended websites that catered to Bucky’s interests. The tableau before Steve of his oldest friend and his newest friend in animated conversation with each other left warm fuzzies in that area below his heart and above his stomach. He marveled at having Bucky back for the nth time, and he was again reminded that he owed it all to Tony.

The engineer-billionaire momentarily looked away from the laptop screen and met Steve’s intensely observant eyes. And Steve felt the corners of his lips curve into a timid smile. Tony winked back with both eyes before giving Steve a ghost of a grin and bringing back his attention to the laptop screen. Steve had a lot to be thankful for in his life lately: he had friends that were the closest he had ever had to a family; he had Bucky back; he had a lavish floor all to himself in the amazing Avengers Tower. While it was true that he still didn’t have anything even remotely resembling a romantic relationship, he had Mecha and the feelings of profound affection and contentment that only conversations with Mecha could create in him. Steve could live with that.

Bucky’s initial exploration of his brand-spankin’ new laptop was only interrupted by a host of interns and med-facility workers bringing in lunch for three people. They decided to postpone further examination of the contraption until after their meal.

“James, I was wondering if I could perhaps get an initial assessment of your mechanical arm. You can, of course, say no as I’ve said before but I really am quite interested to see how it works and, you know, if you’re having issues with it, then I can—maybe—fix them for you,” Tony asked, tentatively, forking macaroni and cheese around and around on his plate.

Steve noted the manner that Tony had employed to ask Bucky about the issue of taking a look at the latter’s mechanical arm. It was probably because it was fresh on everyone’s memory how Steve and Tony had snarled at each other the last time that the matter of Bucky’s arm came up.

“Sure Tony,” Bucky agreed with a nod and a smile, shoveling a spoonful of buttered corn and carrots in his mouth.

“And of course, provided that your best friend has no issues about it, as well?” Tony turned to Steve.

Steve really wasn’t expecting to be consulted on the matter of Tony’s interest over Bucky’s mechanical arm, but he just shrugged genially and looked from Tony to Bucky. “If Bucky’s alright with it, then so am I,” he assured his teammate with small nods.

“Perfect! I have just the thing to assist in preliminary assessments pertinent to the sensitivity of the neural connection between James and the mechanical arm,” Tony said, clapping once enthusiastically. And the three found themselves spending the rest of the afternoon playing UNO Stacko on the small dining table.

Before they started with their game, Tony attached small self-adhesive fiber optic pads to various points on Bucky’s head and, using his smartphone, recorded the neural wave patterns that the pads picked up whenever it was Bucky’s turn to get a color-coded block from the stack using the metal arm. Steve was sure the engineer was going to be studying the data with JARVIS’ assistance to determine the sensitivity of the neural connection linking Bucky to the arm. But judging by the amount of control that Bucky seemed to exhibit, nudging the block he wanted to remove from the precarious stack little by little, the neural link between Bucky’s brain and the metal appendage was strong down to the most minor and minute nerve endings.

Even Tony was mildly impressed at the genius and craftsmanship that obviously went into fashioning the metal arm with that degree of advancement.

But in the end, it was Steve’s surer hand and deeper concentration that made for winning more matches on the UNO Stacko than Tony or Bucky.

The engineer-billionaire assured Bucky that he would be studying the data he was able to collect that day, and before the pair of superheroes left, Tony asked Bucky if the former could take measurements of the dimensions of the arm. So Bucky stood before Tony while the latter poked and prodded the metal appendage. Tony asked Bucky to hold out his arm perpendicular to his torso to the side and to the front, and the billionaire joked that Bucky could prop his arm atop Tony’s head if the former felt tired in holding out his arm; a half-meant joke that Bucky took to heart when he became a bit weary of Tony’s attention on the arm.

All in all, Steve felt hugely satisfied with how his day in the company of both Tony and Bucky went. He was happy that Tony and Bucky actually got along quite well.

They grabbed some drive-through in the first Burger King they hit for a snack before re-entering the busier parts of the city. It was on the drive back as Steve was picking through his fries that he started studying Tony for the nth time from out of the corner of his eye. This was Steve’s leisure pursuit—to observe the curves, angles, lines and shapes of objects and faces, to take note of how light was supposed to hit something to capture it in its most beautiful.

And right now, Steve noticed the almost otherworldly glow of Tony’s rich brown, nearly black, hair in the afternoon sun, the strong set of his jaw, the nice fit of the sunglasses he was wearing against the graceful arch of his brows and on the narrow bridge of his nose, the meticulousness of Tony’s mustache and goatee framing full lips that were unusual for a man.

The blonde liked this habit of his—observing, perceiving. He’d already subjected his other housemates to the same treatment, and since Tony was a relatively new satellite in Steve’s orbit, it was only now that he noticed these things—details—about Tony. Sure, Steve had always recognized that Tony was rather attractive, what with all the throngs of the billionaire’s fans and admirers that always insisted on following him around, but it was only now that Steve really noticed the little things about Tony’s features that only highlighted rather than downplayed the man.

Then suddenly, thoughts of Mecha and the incomplete picture in his head of Mecha playing a grand piano snuck into Steve’s consciousness. What use was Steve’s habit of observing and perceiving and then committing everything he had observed to paper, when he had absolutely nothing on what Mecha looked like so much so that he couldn’t even begin to imagine what Mecha would be like while playing the piano to him?

In the past week since that night that Steve had had that nightmare, he and Mecha still conversed almost every night just talking about light stuff: the usual books and movies, best brands of art supplies, Astrology, Feng Shui, pets they’d had while growing up, ‘Leo’/Tony. Steve, of course, took every opportunity thanking Mecha for playing the piano for him that night.

Once that past week, Steve had even been brave enough to ask Mecha if they could have another voice chat, but Mecha’d begged off, saying that they didn’t want to spoil the exceptionality of the voice chat feature so they’d made a pact to use it only on special occasions. Steve knew better than to push his friend because it was still fresh in his mind what had happened that time when Mecha felt threatened by the idea of meeting each other and possibly changing everything between them. 

He cut short his study of Tony’s features and momentarily ached for his smartphone. To log in on Stem to ask Mecha then and there to describe what he looked like to Steve. So Steve could try to draw his friend and finally have a bit to work with whenever he thought of the latter. He stuffed his hand in his pocket and grabbed his phone, but he stopped himself just before he accessed the Stem app. His curiosity could wait. He didn’t want to give Tony the discourtesy of being absorbed in something else while they were trying to hang out. 

But Steve was still distracted by his burning curiosity nearly the entire time back to the Tower. He was barely paying attention as he and Tony parted ways in the elevator with jovial smiles, thanks and mutual Catch-you-laters.

He stripped out of his casual clothes, stepped into his more familiar sweats and tattered shirt, made himself comfortable on his neatly made bed and fired up his Starktech laptop to log in on Stem and see if Mecha was around. Upon seeing that Mecha was still offline, Steve considered sending a Privy but he didn’t know how to phrase what he wanted to ask. He didn’t want to have to send stalker vibes to Mecha again. And the information he wanted was plenty stalker-ish!

So he just sat there and forced himself to be patient. He didn’t know how long he’d had to wait but he didn’t really care anymore as Mecha came online.

shield_storm: hey! I’ve been waiting for you to come online!

heir2mecha.realm: I hope you weren’t waiting that long… I was out… I just got back…

shield_storm: it’s OK. I was out all day, too. I visited that friend of mine from the army I told you about.

heir2mecha.realm: He’s still being treated?

shield_storm: Yeah. He’s still in a facility outside of NYC, but he’s making loads of progress. We’re hoping he gets discharged in a couple of months. Leo came with me to visit. :-)

heir2mecha.realm: you’re spending a lot of time with him lately. That’s good! :-)

shield_storm: I didn’t expect him to be such a nice guy, but he actually is.

heir2mecha.realm: Sometimes, we just gotta have faith in people. ;-) I have to say I was guilty of the same thing. You were right about my neighbors. They’re really not that bad now that I’m spending more time with them, too.

shield_storm: So looks like we’ve both been having a really great week!

heir2mecha.realm: very true. :-)

shield_storm: Can I ask a favor from you, Mecha? It’s slightly unusual, but I’ve just been really curious…

heir2mecha.realm: yup, sure thing. What is it?

shield_storm: Can you describe to me what you look like?

shield_storm: It’s just that I’ve been trying to imagine you playing the piano so that I could draw you, but I really have no idea how and where to start because I don’t know what you look like at all…

shield_storm: I hope you’re not weirded out by this request… Just… you know, general descriptions will suffice, just to give me something to work with.

heir2mecha.realm: It’s not weird. Hey yeah! I’ve only just realized how we’ve been friends for the longest time now and we’ve never talked about what we look like to each other.

heir2mecha.realm: OK just let me know what you need… I don’t know how good I am at describing anything. As an engineer, we’re not exactly trained to be descriptive. Equations, I can handle, but descriptions are not my strongest suit. ;-)

shield_storm: Well for starters, what color are your eyes?

heir2mecha.realm: Brown. Warm brown. Like coffee, but I’ve been told that they become amber in the sunlight. How am I doing so far?

shield_storm: You’re doing great.

Steve reached out for his sketchbook, resting on his bedside table, and opened it to a fresh page. He wasn’t really intending to start to draw Mecha as the latter described himself, but Steve wanted to take note of every detail he was told.

shield_storm: What about your hair? What’s it like?

heir2mecha.realm: It’s wavy. I’ve been keeping it real short since I hit 35, because the ends at the nape of my neck curl when my hair gets to a certain length. And it’s dark brown with… like lighter brown shades to it. The hair on top of my head, I try to keep a bit long and I use wax—whenever I remember to—to style it. Or motor oil… ;-) excess motor oil from my hands… :-D

shield_storm: :-D what about your forehead? Is it wide? Low?

heir2mecha.realm: It’s regular, I think. I’m not losing my hair yet. Thank god! It’s not too wide. I’d say normal. I have got lines on my forehead whenever I frown, I think…

shield_storm: OK… what about your eyes—brows, lashes… do you think your eyes are closer together than normal or more far apart than normal?

heir2mecha.realm: My eyebrows are thick but I don’t have a unibrow. They’re thick but the arch to them is defined. I have the crease between my brows when I’m pissed or whenever I’m being told complete bullshit. :-D

heir2mecha.realm: My eyes are big and brown like I said and I’ve been told that I have really deep folds in my eyelids. My eyes can probably pass for doe eyes, if you squint… My eyelashes are thick and long—on my lids and above my cheeks. It’s like I wear dark eyeliner every time. Because they frame my eyes really nicely.

heir2mecha.realm: I have crow’s feet… laugh lines… or whatever you want to call them, whenever I smile. And they might be a tad closer together than normal? But just a bit, I think, no one’s pointed it out to me yet. But I do think they’re closer together rather than far apart than normal…

shield_storm: I can almost imagine them. They sound really pretty—for lack of a better term…

Steve could. He could almost imagine Mecha’s beautiful eyes with their warm brown color and really thick eyelashes. And they did sound pretty. Steve hoped that Mecha wouldn’t feel uncomfortable with the way Steve complimented them.

heir2mecha.realm: They are. :-D I’ve been told that my eyes and my smile are my best features. :-D

shield_storm: So what IS your smile like then?

heir2mecha.realm: I see I’ve piqued your curiosity! ;-P

heir2mecha.realm: Well for starters my teeth are even. I smoked a bit during my younger years but I stopped after just a couple of months and I’m glad that I stopped when I did because cigarette marks on the teeth, gums and lips are the WORST!!!! Thank god I don’t have them. My lips are pinkish—and free of cigarette marks, thank you! I have a small cleft on the center of my bottom lip though. I think my lower lip is fuller than most guys’ lips. My top lip is flat but has quite a dip to it. I don’t have dimples but I do have lines on the corners of my mouth whenever I laugh.

heir2mecha.realm: I have a strong chin, not pointy… just right. But I don’t think I have a masculine jaw… in fact, some people might even classify my face as soft enough to be on the effeminate side because of my soft-ish jaw.

heir2mecha.realm: However, I’ve been told that I have *the* sexiest smirk, but no one’s been able to describe to me how it looks like exactly. So… I can’t help you there, sorry. ;-P

Steve felt his cheeks flush with amusement. Mecha was such a tease!

shield_storm: Or maybe you *are* dying to describe it to me, but you don’t want to appear narcissistic…

heir2mecha.realm: HAHAHA! Well yeah, that, too! But no, really, no one’s been able to describe it to me. The moment any of my dates start to tell me that I have the sexiest smirk, I interrupt them with a deep kiss and they just end up forgetting about it… :-x

shield_storm: Oh you’re horrible!!!

heir2mecha.realm: I’m a bad boy… The worst kind…

shield_storm: What about your nose? What does it look like?

heir2mecha.realm: Kinda narrow, thin. I have regular-sized nostrils. I don’t pick my nose with my thumb or my pinkie, that’s for sure… :-D The end—the tip—is not hooked. It’s not bulbous or upturned either. Just regular… Medium-sized, refined… But I do have a small dimple at the tip of my nose… Shit… I’m terrible at this, aren’t I?

shield_storm: No, you’re doing great… By describing to me what it DOESN’T look like, you’re already giving me a picture of what it does…

shield_storm: Any other details about you that you’re forthcoming to share with me?

heir2mecha.realm: I’m not that tall. I’m just 5’10”, 5’9” thereabouts. My body type is not on the heavy side, but I think I’m stockier than most. I have long, tapering fingers and…hmmm, what else?

heir2mecha.realm: well I’ve been told that I have a nice ass, too! Do you need a description for that? ;-P

Steve burst out in noisy, wheezing laughter. Mecha was terrible! And Steve finally understood why this man had got flirting down pat, because he really was such a huge flirt!

shield_storm: I was thinking of drawing just your FACE, you know…

shield_storm: Are you flirting with me?! 8-0

heir2mecha.realm: HEY! You did ask me if there was anything else about me I was forthcoming to share! How was I to know you’re not interested in hearing about my ass?

heir2mecha.realm: Well that depends… Do you want me to?

Biting his lower lip, Steve shifted in his bed to get more comfortable. This conversation was starting to wreak havoc on his body. He was getting tingles and shivers in his back. Steve shook his head. So this was what proper flirting was like!

shield_storm: *facepalm* God, now I understand what you meant by your definition of flirting!

heir2mecha.realm: I did tell you that I’m good at it! Did you not believe me?!?!?!

shield_storm: I guess I didn’t think you would be *this* good at it.

heir2mecha.realm: Flirting is not the only thing I’m good at, you know…

Steve nearly choked on his own spit, and he started coughing. He was waiting for the feeling of fear or revulsion to explode from the pit of his stomach. Someone Steve had never met before, who could potentially be a crazy psycho, was flirting with him online! He should be alarmed and disgusted! But somehow, those feelings didn’t come. Steve just felt bloody thrilled! He was breathless, and a stupid grin was blossoming on his face.

heir2mecha.realm: I’m also good at fixing things and math and posing for pictures.

shield_storm: oh. :-)

heir2mecha.realm: you were thinking of something else, weren’t you? >[:-P You evil boy!

shield_storm: I wasn’t!!!!! :-P

heir2mecha.realm: I’m good at *that*, too. In case you’re *really* wondering…

shield_storm: You’re unbelievable!!! :-P

heir2mecha.realm: Since you asked about what I look like, I think it’s only fair if you describe yourself to me, too.

heir2mecha.realm: I mean, I can’t draw to save my life but I do have a pretty vivid imagination. So yeah, help my imagination out here. What do *you* look like, Storm?

###

After taking a deep inhale of his third cup of evening coffee, Tony rubbed his palms together and rolled his head from the neck to try to get the ever-present cricks to sort themselves out.

He was enjoying the current conversation with Storm just as much as he’d enjoyed spending the day at the Long Island facility with Steve and James.

At first, he was apprehensive to indulge Storm when the latter had asked him to describe what he looked like. He didn’t really know how to describe himself without giving himself away as Tony Stark; after all, he was nearly a permanent fixture in the news, the magazines, the tabloids, or blasted TMZ that it was damn difficult to find a person in all the continents of the free world who didn’t know who the fuck he was. Or what he looked like.

But Tony believed he owed Storm an honest description of his physical attributes. Well—because they were friends, or at least Tony wanted to think they were. And he didn’t want to have to refuse Storm another one of the latter’s simple requests. Storm had already been kind enough not to bring up the matter of meeting each other in person again. He was also understanding enough not to insist on another voice chat after Tony had joked that they were probably better off not abusing the novelty of the Stem feature. Tony could only refuse such inconsequential requests so many times; otherwise it wouldn’t be long before Storm noticed that something was amiss. Before Storm noticed that Mecha was trying to hide something from him: like who he really was—that little sweetheart…

He was enjoying baiting Steve, however. He would bet two-thirds of the aggregate total of all his personal offshore bank accounts—which, for the record, was quite a lot of money—that Steve was probably on his bed in his sweats and tattered nightshirt, clutching his phone or having his laptop on his lap and shaming a beetroot with the way he was blushing because of their conversation.

His only regret at that moment was that he wasn’t anywhere near Steve to see the blonde’s reactions with his own eyes as Tony did his very best with all the adjectives in his vocabulary arsenal to describe himself for Steve’s benefit. Tony admitted he was, technically, not saying the whole truth, though, when he failed to make mention of his ‘tache and goatee when Storm asked him if there were other things about him he wanted Storm to know about. The ‘tache and goatee would have been total giveaways that Tony might as well have asked Steve to go down to the workshop and join Mecha for a cuppa. 

Asking Storm to describe in turn what he looked like to Mecha had been inspired on Tony’s part. The latter was very much interested to know how Steve, using his own words, saw himself. Or how Steve wanted Mecha to see—imagine—him.

shield_storm: Well… what do you want to know?

heir2mecha.realm: What color are your eyes? What are your eyes like?

shield_storm: My eyes are bright blue. Like the sky on a clear day in early spring. My eyes are closer together than the normal, too—like yours. I have just slightly bushy dark blonde eyebrows. My forehead is narrow because my hairline is low. I have regular-shaped eyes. I don’t have doe eyes like yours… But I think I have long eyelashes too. But they’re light brown-dark blonde in color.

heir2mecha.realm: And the rest of your face, what’s it like?

shield_storm: My nose is medium-sized, strong and leaning on the pointy side, but not *too* pointy. I have thin, pinkish lips—because I’ve never tried smoking. I have a broad jaw and a square jaw-line. My chin is more rounded than pointy. I have small cheek dimples—if you look really closely. And I also have a slight dimple on my chin. :-)

shield_storm: But since my disposition is leaning towards the serious side, I seldom get any compliments regarding the sexiness of my smirk. :-3

This response from Storm garnered a loud guffaw from Tony. How he ever thought Steve had no sense of humor, Tony couldn’t comprehend. Maybe Pepper was right that they just simply didn’t know each other, which was why they had all sorts of wrong notions about one another. Because Steve, as Tony was beginning to appreciate now, was plenty witty.

heir2mecha.realm: LOL!!!

heir2mecha.realm: Oh btw, you sound gorgeous. ;-)

shield_storm: thanks. :-) What’s BTW again?

heir2mecha.realm: BTW=By The Way

heir2mecha.realm: Anything else you wish to tell me? How tall are you? What’s your body type?

shield_storm: I’m 6’1”, muscular with a slim waist and with big arms, big hands, big feet.

heir2mecha.realm: Well you know what they say about guys with big feet…

shield_storm: Huh? No. What do they say?

heir2mecha.realm: Never mind…

heir2mecha.realm: So what does *your* ass look like? :-3

shield_storm: Hahahahaha! :-DDD

heir2mecha.realm: While you don’t need a description of my ass for your drawing. I think I need a description of your ass to sate my imagination. X-)

shield_storm: it’s ordinary.

Oh but Tony begged to disagree. If Tony’s observation, from all the times they’d been spending of late, was anything to go by, Steve’s ass was anything but ordinary! But he didn’t want to tease Steve in fear of crossing some unspoken limits they’d set for themselves. Tony didn’t want Steve to be uncomfortable about their conversation, and the billionaire knew that it was uncomfortable enough as it was, having to describe what you look like to a supposedly complete stranger.

heir2mecha.realm: OK. :-) Alrighty. I won’t push you for details. But really, Storm, you sound like someone who can easily get dates if they wanted to. You sound gorgeous so why settle for talking, in a social networking site, to a middle-aged man who just got dumped by his girlfriend when you can be out there banging any girl or guy who suit your fancy?

shield_storm: I didn’t always look like what I look like now, you know.

shield_storm: I was once a sickly runt of a guy. Someone you’d never do a double take for. I was thin, short and nondescript. Girls wouldn’t go out with me if I paid them!

heir2mecha.realm: So what happened?

shield_storm: Well, some sort of growth spurt happened. I was a late bloomer.

heir2mecha.realm: Let me guess… you never really grew into your skin, am I right?

shield_storm: Something like that… :-)

shield_storm: I never really became all that confident about myself. You were right in that I probably envied guys like Leo because of their confidence and their certainty about how they look and how they want other people to see them.

shield_storm: And it didn’t help at all that I was bisexual and it was something I didn’t know how to deal with.

heir2mecha.realm: I understand. :-) you have misgivings. You’re uncertain of yourself. And it’s something that no one can force you to overcome with just a snap of your fingers. These things do take time. All I’m saying is that screw other people and how you want them to see you. It’s not about them or how they think about you. Everything begins with *you*. When you start seeing yourself differently, the rest of mankind will follow. :-)

heir2mecha.realm: I’m sure there was someone in the world who admired that sickly runt of a guy regardless of what he looked like. Because it’s not always about looks. Most of the time, it’s about character. :-)

shield_storm: My friend from the army—the one who’s currently being treated, he was my best friend and I remember him telling me the same thing—what you just said. It was only this friend of mine who knew that I actually had a pretty low self-esteem. We grew up together, you see. And compared to him, who was good looking and confident and sure of himself, I was worse than a shadow. The way I saw myself never really improved all that much- even after the growth spurt.

shield_storm: It’s funny because I thought I was attracted to him…

Tony shuddered in shock. Steve was attracted to Bucky?! He involuntarily stared at another holo-screen where JARVIS was trying to analyze the initial assessment data on Bucky’s mechanical arm.  Was that why Steve was hugely protective of Bucky? Because the Captain was attracted to his friend?

heir2mecha.realm: Are you still?

shield_storm: No. We’re family! It was just that short period. When we were young. Before either of us joined the army. He was really good looking then and I thought I had NO CHANCE in the world to be noticed by him other than as how he always saw me. So I was able to overcome it and I think it was all for the best that I did.

heir2mecha.realm: Did you ever tell him? About what you once felt?

shield_storm: No.

heir2mecha.realm: Are you ever going to tell him? I mean, if he’s your oldest friend, don’t you feel any sort of desire to let him know- not only that you once liked him but that you’re bisexual?

shield_storm: Do you think I should?

heir2mecha.realm: That’s up to you, Storm. Everything begins with you, remember?

shield_storm: :-D

Tony couldn’t presume to know what Storm—Steve should do. Tony understood how it must be for Steve to have all these misgivings—about his self-image, his sexuality. Based on their exchanges, Tony couldn’t really tell what was going on in Steve’s mind.

“JARVIS, check if the Captain is decent and give me the video feed to where he is currently located.”

“The feed from Camera 8387 is up on holo-screen C, Sir.”

It was the same camera that provided Tony with the video feed on the night that Steve had had that nightmare. Tony was so alarmed by how Steve sounded on chat so the billionaire pulled up a live feed to satisfy himself that Steve was alright and was able to get back to sleep after Tony had started playing the piano for him.

Tony thanked his AI and turned his attention to where JARVIS directed and saw that Steve was indeed in his comfy house clothes, and he was on the bed with his laptop on his thighs. A pensive expression was on his boyish features, and then he started biting his thumbnail, obviously thinking about what his next move was going to be. Putting his hands on the keyboard of his laptop, Steve began to type anew. And Tony read the new message that came in on his holo-screen.

shield_storm: Thank you. Why is it that you always know to say what I need to hear? :-)

The billionaire swept a hand through his brown hair. He smiled in earnest before typing another message to Storm.

heir2mecha.realm: It’s a gift. I’m gifted like that. ;-)

heir2mecha.realm: I know you’ll do what you think is best, Storm.

Tony meant it, too.

###

“Buck, there’s something I need to tell you,” Steve started, steeling himself for his oldest friend’s reaction. Bucky looked back at him with wide and welcoming gray-blue eyes, prompting Steve to spill what he was meaning to say.

Steve knew he looked manic when he arrived at Bucky’s living space that morning when he was only there yesterday with Tony. Bucky received him graciously, offered what beverage he could, and asked Steve to sit down to try to calm himself.

Sleep wasn’t forthcoming the night before after talking to Mecha about what Steve looked like and that he once had been infatuated with Bucky. He didn’t even know what possessed him to tell Mecha what he used to feel for Bucky, but there was no taking it back so he just rode with it. Mecha was, as always, very astute and candid. And Steve actually felt better having gotten it off his chest. He was really glad for his Stem friend. For always knowing what to say and how to say it.

Mecha didn’t really tell him what to do—only that Mecha trusted him to know what to do. And it was a long night indeed when Steve stayed wide awake, decided that he was going to tell Bucky about what he used to feel for the latter and about his very recent realizations about his sexual orientation.

So he set out for the Long Island facility at first light so that he would be waiting by the door as soon as they could admit visitors for the day. He must have looked like a sight for sore eyes to everyone who’d seen him that morning.

Steve fervently hoped that what he had to say was not going to be a setback to his friend’s progress because, then, he’d really feel like crap. But he really couldn’t hold it in anymore. When Steve made a decision to do something, it was going to be done come hell or high water.

Opening and closing his mouth a fair few times, Steve tried to say it as bluntly as he could. “I’m bisexual, and I used to think I was attracted to you.” There—the truth was out!

Bucky stared back at him with an inscrutable expression that got Steve really scared that his friend had blacked out on him somehow. Steve thought maybe if he explained a bit, it would be easier to process so he began, “Buck, bisexuality means—“ 

“I know what it means, Steve,” Bucky interrupted with a gesture of holding out his hand, palm facing down. “I do have the Internet now.”

“So… say something,” Steve requested, eyes assuming that kicked puppy look. “Are you… disgusted with me?”

“Jesus, no! Why would I be disgusted with you? You’re my oldest friend—practically speaking, my only friend. Why should your choice in a romantic partner disgust me?” asked Bucky, questioningly.

“Because it’s peculiar. Because it’s not normal.”

“From what I’ve learned, it’s what’s normal in this day and age,” Bucky countered. “And even if it’s not normal, what right do I have to judge you or begrudge you for being what you are?”

“What about that part about me liking you before?” Steve fished, still waiting for the other shoe to drop on top of his head. He wasn’t expecting it to be this easy.

Bucky stared at Steve’s grimace and actually cackled. “So you liked me. I don’t think you still do. Do you?” Bucky asked, shrugging. “I mean, somewhere along the way, attempted murder should have changed any feelings you had for me,” Bucky jested. Steve snickered with a shake of his head in response.

The former Sergeant gestured to him, “there you go! When was this—eighty, eighty-five years ago? That’s a long time ago, Stevie! You’ve obviously gotten over it already. I’m flattered and everything. But we’ve come a long way since then. We’re family; we’re brothers. What—you think I’d feel uncomfortable or shocked? I’m not.” Bucky took a seat on his dining table and motioned for Steve to take the seat opposite him. “Mind you, it doesn’t mean I’ve always known that you might be bisexual or that you had a fondness for me once, but I’ve known you for so long, Stevie! At this point, I don’t think you can tell me anything that will change how I’ve always felt about you.”

Steve breathed a sigh of relief that he didn’t know he was holding.

“But I am mighty glad you told me,” Bucky said with a half-grin. Reaching out for Steve’s wrist, Bucky encircled his fingers around it and squeezed. “Thank you for trusting me with this.”

“Of course, Buck. You’re my best friend. If I can’t trust you, I can’t trust anyone.”

Bucky squeezed Steve’s wrist again and smiled.

Steve then thought of telling Bucky about Mecha. That Steve was maybe, possibly, more likely than not crushing on someone he had never met before, someone whose real name he didn’t even know, someone who could very well be a psychotic serial killer and stopped himself. Although Bucky would know what to do and he could very well give insightful advice, Steve, himself, didn’t even know what he really felt about Mecha. He had never seriously thought about it. About the likelihood that maybe, just maybe, he was falling for his mysterious Stem friend.

Chapter Text

Tony was, as usual, in one of his frenzied moods, looking at several holo-screens at once, barking out commands to JARVIS, Dummy, You and Butterfingers, drinking several barrels of coffee, staying awake for three straight days, fixing eight different machines, one computer motherboard, one vintage car and two malfunctioning juicers, backing up his systems, popping in and out of Stem, adding new movies to the Tower movie library, doing additional analysis and research on James Barnes’ mechanical arm, migrating the Ultron Program data that he didn’t delete from one personal server to another and encrypting it about six times using different programs, shopping online for Tower supplies, sending—on the average—six emails per hour, and just practically vibrating where he sat because of pent-up energy. He estimated a crash in about two hours, but at the moment, Tony was satisfied to ride his high while it lasted.

When the doors to Tony’s workshop opened, he was too preoccupied to turn his head to see who had come in. Assuming it was Bruce, Tony muttered, “I’m not in the mood for breakfast, Bruce. I’ll just pop over to the commons to grab a Twinkie later or something.”

“Still prefer it when you’re running on coffee and nothing else?” Pepper asked with the familiar twinkle in her eyes and a slightly uncertain smile on her heart-shaped lips.

Tony dropped his precision screwdriver on the metal table and looked up at Pepper, catching his breath in surprise. He noticed that she still looked the same—still heart-stoppingly beautiful, dressed smartly and carried herself with quiet efficiency. “Pep—“ was all that Tony had enough breath to say. He had missed her. So much. Tony marveled, however, at the realization that there was only relief and happiness in him upon seeing Pepper again instead of the pain, regret and anger he was expecting to feel.

While there was still that twinge of sadness at what was and what could’ve been, Tony was more happy than sad, really, that Pepper had come back after what felt like forever without any contact so that both of them could move on. Seeing Pepper now, without the dread of a looming argument that characterized the end of their relationship or the pain and anger of her refusal to marry him or the desolation of her loss, Tony was sure they could still pick up their friendship with hardly any effort.

Tony stood up from his seat, walked to where Pepper was standing and enveloped her in a fond and platonic embrace. Though Pepper was in her usual skyscraper-high heeled sling-backs, Tony still unabashedly stood on the toes of his Nikes to kiss her right temple softly. “I missed you,” murmured the billionaire against the redhead’s hair.

“So did I. But I figured, we needed time to be able to move on and possibly realize how we could be better friends to each other,” said Pepper, turning to stare into Tony’s familiar brown eyes. “I’m happy that you look well. I had hoped you were eating more frequently than chugging down coffee, but I guess that was more self-delusion than anything.” Pepper enveloped his cheeks within her palms and swiped at stray strands of his brown-black hair on his forehead.

“And, as always, you still flat-out refuse to answer phone calls,” observed Pepper, her features schooled into amused admonition.

“You’ve been calling?” Tony asked, ignorantly. And just like that the Pepper and Tony dynamic of old was back—the banter they used to have before they tried a romantic relationship, before they were fighting over Tony’s near death experiences, before they broke up and realized that marriage was never going to be in the cards for them. They were better off as friends. At least now, Tony didn’t have to be worried about getting cock-blocked every time he pissed Pepper off!

He could return to his former favorite sport of Pepper-baiting without any sex-related punishments!

“Give it,” Pepper muttered, holding out her hand and demanding for Tony’s phone. Tony tried to see the screen of his phone as he was relinquishing it to Pepper, but the latter plucked it out of his hand quick as lightning. The efficient redhead keyed in Tony’s supposedly uber-secret phone access code and then brandished the contraption in front of Tony’s face.

Sixteen missed calls, six texts and seven alerts! Where was he the entire time when that was happening?! He had his phone in his front jeans’ pocket the entire fucking time and he didn’t even know where all that phone activity had come from!

“No more Silent mode, Tony,” Pepper thumbed the phone like the busybody that she was and then forced it back into Tony’s limp hand. “It’s easier to ignore me or act all innocent about not getting any calls when you can’t hear your phone trilling loud enough to rouse the dead. Now, you have an SI Board Meeting in D.C. tomorrow at 10 a.m.—“ At this, Tony opened his mouth to protest and remind her that the reason he had relinquished the reins as CEO was to never to have to go to one of those god-awful affairs again, but Pepper cut him off as if she was expecting it. “—and be thankful I did not let my assistant set it at 7 a.m. You’re going to this meeting whether you like it or not, and I don’t want to hear any more protests about it. And if you arrive late, Tony—I swear to god, I will enlist Natasha to practice her new set of knives on you and anything from the waist down will be fair game.” Pepper threatened with a malicious smile that looked out-of-place on her otherwise striking face.

“Wait… no really, Pepper, it’s important—,“ Tony protested, earning a glare from Pepper. “—what’s the date tomorrow?”

Pepper told him.

“Shit! The ribbon-cutting to the Stanton East Medical Center’s new cancer wing that the Maria Stark Foundation sponsored is scheduled for tomorrow!” Tony complained, pinching the bridge of his nose. “What time’s the Stanton East thing tomorrow morning, J?” Tony directed the question to his AI while he stared at Pepper straight in the eye as if to dare her to decide for him what with the conflicting appointments on Tony Stark’s ever-busy schedule.

“The ribbon-cutting for the new wing is scheduled at 9 a.m., Sir.”

“I can’t not go, Pep. That one’s been set for the longest time. So looks like I won’t be able to make it to the Board meeting after all,” said Tony, pouting his lower lip in a mock apology and hoping that he’d injected the right amount of disappointment that he, after all, wouldn’t be able to go to the meeting. When in point of fact, he was so thrilled, he wanted to pump his fists in the air. He was so bored in Board meetings, and most especially so in the last one, that he was very nearly in tears ten minutes in.

“You’ve begged off in the last three meetings, Tony! You hold the controlling stock of the corporation; it doesn’t give a good impression when you always try to get out of attending these meetings, and I am sick and tired of always having to cover for you! You’re going and that’s final,” Pepper said, staring him down from a great height of six inches above floor level.

“What about the hospital?” Tony asked, flipping a screwdriver he had just picked up around and around his fore and middle fingers.

“I’ll talk to Bruce. Maybe he can attend in your stead.”

“I’m the President of the Foundation, Pepper. I’m not missing this. How about if I go to the ribbon-cutting with another one from the team, attend a bit of it, and then I can leave the hospital early, taking the Mark XLIV prototype for a trial run to D.C. so I can be present at this infernal meeting you’re trying to shove up my ass? But you’re going to have to work with me and give me a bit more time. I’ll be in D.C by 11, 11:30. So just stall the Board until I get there,” Tony compromised, raising his eyebrows at his former P.A. to get her to agree to the minor change of plans.

Pepper pursed her lips, trying to find a flaw in the plan. But in the end she acceded. “Fine. 11:30 in the morning. If you’re not in D.C. by then, say sayonara to any plans you have of sexual reproduction.”

Tony cringed, but smiled inwardly—glad to have Pepper back in his life, threatening him every two minutes to cut his balls off. “I love you, too, dear!”

###

Rubbing the pad of his ring finger over the contours of his most recent drawing project, Steve briefly raised his blue eyes at a group of fast-talking women that passed by his outdoor table on the coffee shop at the corner of the street about four buildings away from the Avengers Tower. He had his sketchbook propped on his lap at an angle against the light wood table where he sat alone, drawing and nursing a cup of tea and some ladyfingers.

He had planned to go to Central Park to grab a park bench where he could draw and meditate, but he had been meaning to go back to this café where Natasha and Clint had once taken him. So he abandoned the trek to Central Park and strolled to the coffee shop, sketchbook in hand and with some pencils in his back pocket, for some good tea, some sunlight and some alone time to get some drawing done.

He was still trying to sort out his drawing of Mecha based on the descriptions the latter had provided him with. Steve planned to show his Stem friend his freshman attempt at capturing Mecha’s features as soon as he was confident enough that it was as close to Mecha’s descriptions as possible. He didn’t want to have to explain to any of his housemates what—or who—he was trying to draw in case they caught sight of it, so he figured that, to be on the safe side, he was going to draw in a different turf.

A jolly sounding car horn blared and Steve looked up from his drawing at a black Audi A8W12 that slowed to a stop right in front of his outdoor table. The rear passenger side window rolled down and Tony Stark’s sunglasses-covered face peeked from within the lavish sedan and called: “Steve!” Tony pulled his sunglasses lower down his nose to award Steve with eye-to-eye contact.

“Hey! Going somewhere?”

“Yeah, to Stanton East Medical Center to cut the ribbon on their new cancer wing. Wanna go with me?”

Steve fidgeted in his seat. He wasn’t expecting an ambush invitation from Tony. He wanted to finish his drawing of Mecha, but, at the same time, he wanted to go to the hospital with his teammate. Volunteer work for children’s shelters and welfare centers, hospital ribbon-cuttings, attendance in fundraisers and benefits were very much right up Steve’s alley.

“I think I might be underdressed for the occasion,” remarked Steve, of two minds about going because he was dressed in only faded jeans, high-cut rubber shoes and a red snug-fitting and hooded sweatshirt.

“You’re fine! Come on!” Tony said, smiling and jerking his head in invitation.

Steve finished off the rest of his tea and ladyfingers, gathered his drawing materials and walked to the waiting car. He slid inside the backseat with a tight-lipped smile and stacked his stuff as neatly as he could on his lap.

“Package secured,” Tony announced and the car pulled out of the curb smoothly. “Look who it is, Steve,” Tony gestured towards their chauffeur with his fingers folded in a makeshift gun.

“Harvey! How’ve you been?” Steve greeted their former cabbie, Harvey Saul, with a wide smile and a pat on his uniformed back.

“It’s been amazing, Mr Captain America, sir!”

“Please, Harv. It’s Steve. None of that Captain America business, alright?” To which Harv answered with a reverent nod before going back to giving the streets his full, undivided attention. “So—are you sure I can go to that event dressed like this?” Steve asked Tony, gesturing anew to his very casual clothes. Tony, Steve noticed, was dressed impeccably in a black V-necked silk shirt, dark blue coat, matching tight-fitting slacks and expensive-looking chocolate brown topsiders.

“You’re fine,” Tony repeated and noticing the way Steve was looking at the clothes he was wearing, commented, “I’m only dressed like this because I have a Board meeting to get to immediately after. I’m going to have to leave in the middle of the event to get to that shit—meeting.” Tony rolled his eyes.

“How did you know where I was?” asked Steve, turning away from the view provided by the car window to look at Tony again.

“Tracked your phone’s signal,” answered Tony, getting what looked like a comm unit from his left jacket pocket and stuffing it in his right ear with minimal adjustments. “I thought you might want to go. The cancer wing’s construction was sponsored by the Maria Stark Foundation. And I have to leave the hospital early to get to that fucking Board meeting, So I thought you could literally be my ‘cancer wing-man’,” explained Tony, stone-faced. Steve didn’t need to be a genius to know how the billionaire totally reviled going to Board meetings.

The rest of the ride to the hospital was uneventful. The two passengers talked meagerly about what the rest of the Tower residents were up to that day, how Steve was going to get home after the ribbon-cutting, how the Foundation ended up sponsoring the cancer wing’s construction, how Steve thought he saw Pepper loitering around the residential areas of the Tower quite recently.

When they got to Stanton East, the two were welcomed warmly even as they were getting off the car. There were lots of people—guests and employees of the hospital, paparazzi cameras and smartphones, banners of every size, proclaiming words of welcome and thanks, and balloons—quite a lot of balloons. Steve noted Tony’s effortlessness at shifting from his reclusive persona to the media darling guise, and he admitted that as a public figure, it was easy to have a false impression of Tony Stark.

Steve watched Tony shake dozens and dozens of hands, pose for countless selfies with complete strangers, smile, wave and exchange pleasantries with various people. To the Captain, it seemed exhausting to keep up that face. It was no wonder that Tony prized what solitude he could get behind the pneumatic doors of his workshop. Steve realized anew that what he pegged to be aloofness on Tony’s part was just the billionaire’s way of valuing what little solitude he could have in the middle of the crazy world that had its eye on him.

The Captain mingled with guests and employees, VIPs and service people alike, but tried to keep his teammate within his radar. Steve had never been good with public events where he had to associate and interact with a lot of people, most of which he wouldn’t remember or wouldn’t see again anyway. That was more Tony’s forte. So while Steve kept up the appearance of active interface with people, he was just trying to stop himself from running to the hills screaming bloody murder.

They were all shepherded to the main atrium to the new cancer wing where the ceremonial ribbon was to be cut by Tony Stark, himself, President of the Maria Stark Foundation. Steve, beside Tony, posed for pictures and watched with a tight-lipped smile how Tony cut the ribbon and presented the same to the hospital’s Board of Trustees after a short speech where he gave several well-timed quips about world peace and the Stark family’s moral philosophy, which sounded like utter bullshit to Steve.

Still more pictures were taken afterwards. The photo ops were seemingly endless, but Steve didn’t complain and he schooled his face to look gracious. If Tony could do it, so could Steve.

He worked the lobby, the hallways and the dining hall-cum-ballroom where the majority of the guests dawdled to ogle at fellow VIPs, partake of the refreshments and eavesdrop on others’ conversations. Pretty soon, he had lost sight of Tony. Steve kept on smiling and shaking what hands were offered to him and retraced his steps to try to catch sight of his teammate again.

Several more minutes later, Steve found himself in an area where the sounds of the party were suddenly silenced. By the looks of the area, it was hard to believe that there was even a party happening just nearby. It was the area of the wing where children suffering from advanced stages of cancer were accommodated. And the state of the children nearly broke Steve’s heart. Some of them were attached to respirators and life support systems; some of them were bald, pale-faced and haunted-looking; none of them looked like the children they were still supposed to be.

It was here that Steve found Tony. But Tony didn’t seem aware that someone had followed him from the party to that part of the cancer wing. Tony didn’t even have an escort with him. It was amazing how it was possible for the engineer-billionaire to have escaped the party when everyone must have had their eyes pinned on him.

Steve watched closely as Tony started talking to the kids in his own child-like and sincere manner. It was also quite awe-inspiring to see how his presence seemed to alleviate the kids’ suffering as they chatted with him, held his hand and smiled at his gentle words. It was a different face from the one Tony used to cut the ribbon. This was Tony’s non-public frenzy face. The face that Steve believed Tony only used for special people or special circumstances.

The Captain couldn’t believe how he once thought Tony Stark was self-centered and mean. Because this tableau had no self-centeredness or meanness to it. At all.

Steve leaned against the doorjamb in a way that Steve wouldn’t see Tony unless he leaned forward and peeked through the side of the entryway and Tony wouldn’t notice Steve standing there and observing him. But it was then that Steve noticed something remarkable about Tony.

His eyes. His warm brown eyes that looked amber in the sunlight spilling through the tall bay windows of the children’s ward. Tony Stark’s big, warm brown eyes that were framed by delicately arching eyebrows and dark, dark and long eyelashes.

Just like Mecha’s eyes.

Steve shivered and leaned his back flat against the wall beside the door. What was he thinking? He was delusional! Mecha couldn’t be Tony Stark, of course. There were lots and lots of people with brown eyes. Bruce had brown eyes, too. Several of his compatriots in the Howling Commandos had brown eyes. The internet, surely, would have statistics of what percentage of the population of the United States had brown eyes! He was reading so much into Mecha’s self-description that he was misinterpreting it. Or possibly just fantastical illusions on his part. There was no way that Tony Stark was Mecha!

Steve, attacked by immense unrest, reached into his front jeans’ pocket for his phone. He was about to log in on Stem when a shrill ring emanated from the inside of the children’s ward, and Tony purposefully strode out of the room, mouthing excuses to the kids.

“Steve—what’s up?” Tony asked, catching sight of his teammate flush against the wall.

“I was… looking for you,” Steve muttered, stuffing his phone back to his trousers’ pocket, currently foregoing his plan to log in on Stem to silence his disquiet.

“Hang on—two minutes,” Tony murmured, signaling to Steve that he really had to take the pending call.

After about what felt like more than two minutes, Tony ended the call and returned the phone to his pocket. He turned to Steve with an apologetic smile. “That was Pepper. I really have to make an exit now. I need to be in D.C. by 11:30 or my testicles are toast.” They started walking back to where the party was still ongoing.

Tony sought out some hospital top brass to say goodbye to them for the sake of maintaining niceties. He gave the excuse of another meeting he needed to be present for. And they were gracious enough to give them their thanks again and to wish him well.

“Take the Audi back to the Tower, Steve. Harv’ll take care of you. Just try to wait about another half-hour after I leave before you leave, too. I don’t expect you to stay long. I know you also have places to be,” Tony expressed with a quick grin as he opened the door to the hospital’s rooftop.

“How’re you getting to the meeting then?” Steve asked, looking around the space to see if there was a chopper coming to spirit the billionaire away.

“I’ll fly, of course!” Tony smiled mischievously, held up his arms in front of him, perpendicular to his torso and then clicked his thumb using this other fingers, much like conducting an imaginary orchestra. Bending his arms at the elbow as if calling something towards his chest, Tony looked back at where Steve was still standing on tentative legs. “You might want to stand back a bit,” Tony warned him.

It was then that Steve caught sight of several small rockets zooming toward them. And each rocket attached themselves to Tony’s body, covering his business suit and spreading into a gold, silver, red and black metallic skin faster than water cascading down a mountain-side brook. It was Iron Man, but it was nothing like what Steve had seen in action before.

“Meet the Mark XLIV prototype,” introduced Tony with obvious pride as the helmet slid into place but the faceplate remained up. “Thank you for coming here with me, Steve. I’ll catch you later, OK?” Tony winked just as the faceplate slid into position and the suit launched itself to the air in a rain of gold sparks and silvery smoke. Steve kept on watching the skies until Iron Man was no bigger than a speck in the horizon.

###

It was thanks to smartphones, lightning speed Wi-Fi, remote access to his personal servers and multi-tasking that Tony survived the terror that was another Stark Industries Board meeting. He worked on researching further into James’ mechanical arm, flagging glitches in the Mark XLIV prototype, lurking in Stem’s Marketplace for grade-A art supplies for Storm/Steve, conducting random searches of recent gossip involving him or any of the Avengers, secretly snickering at funny and sarcastic icons and memes. He had noticed the way Pepper watched him through the entirety of the meeting, which was why he had attempted to give the poor suckers in the boardroom around 18% of his attention. Tony had thought it was a generous enough amount, considering that if it were entirely up to him, neither hide not hair of him would’ve been there.

It was when he had found a particular icon/meme in a random page right in the middle of a presentation about procurement savings that he had given the first signs of life. Tony gave a choked start and actually chortled out loud. The rest of the attendees had turned to look at him and Pepper had glared thunderously. He’d slipped his smartphone under his left thigh, aligned the fingers of his hands with each other and gestured towards the current presenter with his clasped hands. “Umm, continue,” Tony had ordered with a regal nod and a contained smile.

Now, back in the warmth and coziness of his workshop, seated before huge holo-screens juggling the multifarious projects on the plate of one Tony Stark, he pulled the icon up on the holo-screen to read it again. It was in huge black block letters on a plain white field and read: I DON’T NEED TO FLIRT I WILL SEDUCE YOU WITH MY AWKWARDNESS. And Tony couldn’t help but chortle again.

It was, of course, perfect for Storm! Tony thought it could actually be the guy’s motto!

So, of course, Tony had to show it to him.

shield_storm: haha, very funny… :-P

heir2mecha.realm: WHAT! It was!!! When I saw this on the internet earlier, you were the first thing that popped into my mind. :-3

shield_storm: I’ll have you know that my brand of flirting is very subtle but very effective! :-P

heir2mecha.realm: That’s debatable… But considering that you’re the first I’ve heard who ever tried to do mass flirting, you have my respect. :-D

shield_storm: I actually have something to show you, too!

heir2mecha.realm: it’s not a meme about the brotherhood of flirting gods having a vacancy I can apply for, is it? *duckface*

shield_storm: you won’t be qualified; you’d just be wasting your time. ;-)

heir2mecha.realm: That offends me! :-P You’ve hurt me, Storm… :-P Why won’t I be qualified?

shield_storm: You’ve never tried mass flirting before, have you? That means, *I* have more chances of getting admitted compared to you. :-3

The billionaire cracked up with that. He actually bent over in his seat, clutching his side at the cheeky comment from Steve Rogers—no less! He was clearly a bad influence on the man.

heir2mecha.realm: Oh cheeky! Cheeky=Sexy! :-P~~

shield_storm: No really, I have something to show you. Hang on, I’ll have to figure out how to take a picture of it and upload it here…

Tony folded his arms across his chest, leaned back on the office armchair where he was currently seated and waited patiently for whatever it was that Storm wanted to show him. He didn’t want to have to guess what it could be. But at the back of his mind, Tony hoped it wasn’t something that would get him thinking about what he was embroiling himself into when it came to the Storm/Steve situation. It had been a while since he had last thought of it—what he was, in effect, doing by maintaining this Mecha persona.

That while everything he had told Steve about who Mecha was was also the truth about Tony Stark, he knew that the subtle things he consciously concealed from the Captain made all the difference, made this—whatever this was—a form of deception. A form of deception that someone as morally upright as Steve would detest.

Tony knew that the longer he kept this up, the more betrayed Steve would feel once the whole truth came out. That it would matter jack shit that Steve Rogers and Tony Stark had become friends. What Steve would be focusing on was that Tony carried on a farce for months and months, staring him in the face and knowing who Storm was the entire fucking time. It was a near guarantee that they’d be back to how they used to be when it came to dealing with each other. If not worse.

And another problem was beginning to crop up: the longer that Tony hid behind Mecha’s persona, getting to know Steve as Steve and as Storm, the more he felt this indescribable pain inside him—right where his miniaturized arc reactor used to be—at the thought of having to give all of this up. Just thinking about not being able to talk to Storm, laugh at his understated quips, watch movies and discuss books with him, share fears with him, was driving Tony mad with dread. And of course, it wasn’t like Storm was all he was going to lose. Tony would lose Steve, too and what little connection the two of them were able to establish. And that, too, was making Tony hurt somewhere in his chest he couldn’t quite place.

Was it possible that Steve had furtively moved in that room in Tony’s heart that Pepper had vacated, and Tony was not—didn’t want to be—aware of it?

A pencil drawing appeared on the holo-screen of a man sitting behind a grand piano with his face just barely visible behind the propped up piano lid. The shading, the contours, the perspective—they were all perfect. Tony knew who it was supposed to be. Of course, he knew. Storm had asked for his description precisely for this endeavor. Except that the man in the drawing looked nothing like him.

Except. Except for the eyes. Upon closer scrutiny, Tony realized that Storm, achieving the nearly impossible, captured his eyes perfectly—not the color because the drawing was rendered in charcoal pencil, but the shape, the luminosity, the arch of the eyebrows and the frame of the eyelashes. Even the tell-tale twinkle of amusement. It was uncanny!

But as to the rest of the features, the drawing was a bit off. And of course his signature ‘tache and goatee were missing, which made the face resemble him even less.

Tony’s eyes were drawn back to the eyes of the man in the drawing and he shook his head, disbelieving that of all the features that Steve could get right based on mere descriptive words, it was the eyes. His eyes. Tony Stark’s eyes.

shield_storm: So…

shield_storm: How is it? Warm or cold? :-1

heir2mecha.realm: My mouth is thinner than how you’ve drawn it. And somehow it’s a bit less heart-shaped, too.  My nose is supposed to be just a tad wider. The hair is a fair representation. :-) My face shape is more oblong than square… My chin is a bit pointier. The jaw is too strong…

heir2mecha.realm: But you got my eyes right. :-D

shield_storm: I did?! :-)

heir2mecha.realm: yeah. The shape is pretty much spot-on. The eye folds are alright. The brows should be just a *tiny* bit less bushy. But yeah… I’d say you got the eyes right!

shield_storm: I did, huh?

heir2mecha.realm: Great job. It’s very beautiful. :-DDDD

shield_storm: My subject was fairly beautiful, too, Mecha.

Tony smiled wistfully to himself, but his face degenerated into a worried scowl too quickly. He had to stop doing this! He had to come clean to Steve. He wanted to come clean to Steve. He wanted to be able to stand in front of Steve and let the latter draw him, as he was, not as he was limited by his vocabulary of descriptions. He wanted Steve to call him by his name and not by a pseudonym. He wanted Steve to value him as Tony Stark and not as some person Steve thought he was.

heir2mecha.realm: Storm.

he ir2mecha.realm: how long has it been since we started talking like this?

shield_storm: I think… I sent you that first Privy a little over four months ago. Why do you ask?

heir2mecha.realm: That’s a fairly long time to be talking to someone you’ve never met or whose face you’ve never seen. Are you ever scared that maybe I’m some kind of psycho, serial killer or something? ;-)

shield_storm: You’ve never tried to ask me something that made me uncomfortable to answer. You’ve always respected my privacy and you’ve never tried to coax information from me. I’ve never gotten any stalker vibe from you. ;-) Because if I have, I wouldn’t have kept talking to you.

heir2mecha.realm: I wasn’t kidding when I said I valued your friendship, you know. I think, somewhere along the way, I’ve begun to really consider you as someone important to me.

shield_storm: Same here. :-)

Knowing that Steve, himself, was not going to bring it up again because Mecha had asked him not to and Steve was courteous like that, Tony braced himself to be the one to suggest something that once set in motion, couldn’t be taken back anymore.

Because he knew he owed Steve that much.

heir2mecha.realm: I *really* want to meet you in person, Storm. I want you to see me as I really am. I want you to see for your own eyes what I look like.

heir2mecha.realm: No more code names. No more artist renditions based on general descriptions—see if it’s a hit or a miss. If you think I’m not some kind of psycho and you’re ready to meet me, then I am, too.

shield_storm: Mecha, I don’t want you to think that I’m only befriending you solely for that end—of meeting you in person one day. Because I’m not. If you’re uncomfortable with the idea, we really don’t have to. I’m ok like this. As we are.

heir2mecha.realm: I *was* uncomfortable. But that was only because I was afraid of things changing when you meet me and I somehow don’t live up to your expectations.

heir2mecha.realm: I’m not afraid anymore. There’s no more doubt. I want to meet you in person. If you also want to. Meet me, I mean.

shield_storm: Of course I do! So… when and where are we going to do this?

heir2mecha.realm: I was thinking—on the roof deck of the Hayden Building. Exactly 30 days from now. At sunset.

Tony inhaled a deep breath. He was slightly shaking and he had not noticed. He’d set an expiration date for the one thing that was going right in his life at the moment. It was going to be the most grueling 30 days of his life. But there was no going back on his word. He was the one who brought it up; he had to man up.

heir2mecha.realm: Are you OK with that? Storm?

shield_storm: It’s perfect. I will see you in 30 days then, Mecha! And you promise not to disappear on me this time?

heir2mecha.realm:  ;-P I promise…hey… You should get some rest and I’ll talk to you tomorrow, OK? Good night… :-)

shield_storm: Good night, Mecha! Talk to you tomorrow!

Chapter Text

There seemed to be a scent to the very light breaking through the gaps in the foliage. The extra vivid colors to the sky, the grass, the canvas roofs of the food kiosks, the clothes of the people walking past him swirled in his vision, making him heady. He was leaning on his arms at an angle behind him, on a picnic mat laid out on a grassy incline in Central Park, and remnants of a picnic lunch were strewn around his legs. He was just about to turn his head when another plopped playfully down on the mat beside him, brandishing two caramel apples on sticks.

It was none other than the subject of his most recent drawing projects, the man who had played the piano to lull him back to sleep, the man Steve had just made a pact with to meet in 27 days’ time. Steve knew it was Mecha because he looked exactly like the man Steve had been drawing over and over these past few days. But what really gave him away to be the man Steve knew he was fast becoming obsessed about were his eyes.

Because Steve had gotten those eyes right.

“Hey!” Steve greeted the man back.

“I come bearing caramel apples,” Mecha said in a voice that Steve couldn’t understand how he knew about. It was a voice Steve had never heard before and yet it was a voice that was vaguely familiar. Like something he had heard in a faraway dream and never forgot.

“Thanks,” said Steve with a wide smile, accepting a caramel apple from his companion. They sat there in companionable silence, eating their dessert and watching people play with their dogs, Frisbees, kites, baseballs. For exactly how long they sat there like that, Steve couldn’t tell.

He turned to stare at Mecha, faintly licking the caramel glaze off the corner of his mouth. He intended to do it surreptitiously, too, but he was jarred out of an otherwise Zen calm and contentment when Mecha covered Steve’s lips with his own in a hungry and electrifying kiss. The blonde, in his surprise, dropped his stick of caramel apple. Where it landed, Steve didn’t give a damn anymore. Blue eyes widened with shock before closing in rapture that beggared description.

Kneeling and moving closer to Steve, Mecha raked one hand through the side of Steve’s head, tangling with his blonde hair, while his other hand cupped the back of Steve’s head for a better angle to deepen the kiss.

Steve thought he was going to have a heart attack with the way his heart suddenly started doing somersaults in his chest. Tongues of fire crawled up and down his limbs, but electrifying cold erupted from his chest to his stomach, back and neck. The contradiction of equally pleasurable sensations nearly short-circuited his brain, and he felt so giddy that he momentarily forgot who he was, where he was and what he was doing before this onslaught of exhilarating feelings happened.

Everywhere that Mecha’s hands touched—Steve’s neck, shoulders, chin, cheek—burned and froze, pained and pleasured, lifted and dropped, saved and assaulted Steve all at the same time! Mecha’s tongue explored Steve’s mouth so thoroughly, it was indistinguishable where Steve ended and Mecha began. Every nerve ending in Steve’s lips and tongue blazed with the fury of wanting to drink Mecha in and never letting go.

Steve shook with the ferocity of his craving; he didn’t care anymore that they were supposed to be in a public place. Toes curling, Steve seized control of himself, leaned forward into Mecha’s kiss and invaded the latter’s mouth with his own tongue. And Mecha let him. With moans and groans that would have shamed newly-weds making love in the privacy of their bedroom, Steve and Mecha shamelessly made out in the middle of Central Park on a picnic mat.

Blinded by fierce desire, Steve abandoned all propriety, dignity and coyness and devoured every surface of Mecha’s mouth, tasting caramel on him or on Mecha—Steve didn’t care any longer, stroked every inch of Mecha’s exposed skin—his arms, neck, throat, tangled his fingers in Mecha’s fine hair. Fueled by his newfound daring, Steve broke the kiss, moved to Mecha’s throat and licked a stripe from the nape to just below the chin. And Mecha awarded Steve with an arousing groan that hummed against the latter’s tongue.

“Steve,” Mecha murmured sensually. Steve gave a start, and moved his head back to stare into the face of the one he was kissing.

It was Tony Stark. Somehow, in the heat of the moment, Mecha had morphed into Tony. The latter’s warm brown eyes burrowed deep into Steve’s blue ones as if probing into his soul. Mesmerized and aroused beyond all words, Steve licked his lips and primed himself to lean back to Tony’s face to meet the latter’s lips and continue where they’d left off.

It was then that Steve shook awake with a violent exhale and wide, shocked eyes. His eyes roamed  around his bedroom that was bathed in very feeble light as he listened to the thundering of his heart. What the—? Where did that dream come from?

Wetting his dry lips and swallowing the huge lump in his throat, Steve slowly sat up in bed, swung his legs to the side to plant his feet on the cool granite flooring of his bedroom. He was trying—and failing—to get a handle on his thoughts and feelings. Where did that damn dream come from?!

He wasn’t surprised that he’d had a dream about Mecha—Steve had been absolutely consumed with thoughts of his Stem friend since he had found out what Mecha sort of looked like. His sketchbook was filled with drawings after drawings of Mecha that he’d done these past few days. He just couldn’t contain his excitement that he was going to see Mecha in 27—no, 26 days—when they would finally meet on the roof deck of the Hayden Building at sunset.

But dreaming about kissing Tony Stark?! Sure, they were hanging out more these past several weeks; Steve was beginning to overcome all his previous negative impressions about the engineer-billionaire and maybe, possibly, finding particular appreciation for Tony’s finer qualities he hadn’t known about before. Steve had also grudgingly admitted to himself that Tony did have a certain appeal to him—well, because he did!—and Steve had eyes that can see… and had physical reactions in response to… to visual stimulation! He knew he was rambling in his mind, trying to find some sort of reasonable explanation for why his dream turned out the way it did.

But, boy, did it feel good! It creeped him out beyond words, but the high the dream left in him was throwing him for a loop. It had been a long, long time since the last time he’d felt something like this. He thought he’d already forgotten the feeling of having butterflies in his stomach, being so charged like he could bash his head against a wall of reinforced concrete and he wouldn’t even feel a damn thing. But here he was again, nurturing that feeling and not wanting to let go.

Steve touched his bottom lip with his fore and middle finger like he could still feel the warmth of another’s lips there, the taste of another against his own tongue. Whether it was Mecha or Tony that Steve could taste in his mouth, he didn’t know and, frankly, he didn’t care. What was smothering him that very moment that absolutely refused to think about the peculiarity of his dream was that feeling—that high.

His body was so awake and so aware of everything like nothing he had ever felt before. Not a thousand hours of gym time, not a thousand miles of running could make him feel like this!

He flushed at the thought that he was so sexually repressed as to have dreamed of such a wonderfully arousing kiss in a wonderfully public place. He had only been kissed five times in his entire life: three of those kisses happened before 1946; and two since. But none of them—none!—had ever left Steve so aroused and craving for more as much as this dream kiss did.

He clearly needed to get out more, clear his mind of thoughts about Mecha and Tony Stark or he would be driven insane. He didn’t know his mind was capable of being so kinky; it scared Steve shitless! Yes, this was what lack of a proper social life would do to a person.

Then it occurred to him: Steve had only been kissed five times in his entire life. His first was with a schoolmate in high school because she really pitied him and thought he was sweet; the next one was with that aide in the SSR offices only because she was so impressed that he had pulled off the impossible feat of rescuing nearly a thousand soldiers from the HYDRA camps; the third was with Peggy just as he boarded the plane that would take him on suspended animation for the next 70 years; the fourth one—his first since he’d come back to the land of the living—was with this drunk girl he helped into a cab outside of this bar in the fringes of D.C. as the good Samaritan that he was; and the fifth, of course, was with Natasha in that mall just as they were trying to fly under the radar of a SHIELD tac team. Evidently, his was not a good track record as far as kissing went.

He was yet to kiss another guy, for one thing.

Unfortunately, there was only one person he could ask for advice or even just talk to about that: Mecha. It was a good thing that he and Mecha only talked behind a veil of anonymity because Steve knew that it would be really excruciating to talk to his Stem friend about this otherwise, considering that he was the subject of Steve’s disturbingly sexual dream.

But Steve filed a note-to-self at the back of his mind to psych himself up to talk to Mecha about it—kissing. Kissing another man. Kissing another man Steve was quite attracted to.

But for now, standing up from bed with a resigned sigh, Steve was going to have to settle for a really, really, really cold shower.

###

shield_storm: I’m really curious about something, Mecha. Unfortunately, you’re the only one I can talk to about it. :-(

heir2mecha.realm: oookaaay…. What is it about then?

shield_storm: here goes…

shield_storm: What does it feel like to kiss another guy?

Tony actually felt his eyebrows disappear to his hairline due to massive curiosity and intrigue. Why would Steve be curious about the feeling of kissing another guy all of a sudden? It was something that had never come up in their online conversations before even after the mutual confessions about their bisexuality. So why now?

The billionaire didn’t want to read anything into it as he wasn’t the assuming type, but he couldn’t help it—the flutter in his stomach that maybe, just maybe… Steve was feeling something decidedly more than friendship for him? Was it possible?

Then again, who was it that Steve was really attracted to, if he was even really attracted to anybody and Tony was not just leaping to unrealistic conclusions: Tony Stark or Mecha?

And also, why would it matter to Tony that Steve was interested in knowing the feeling of kissing another guy?! It wasn’t like Tony was attracted to Steve or something… was he?

heir2mecha.realm: If you don’t mind my asking, Storm… Why all the interest? :-)

Tony congratulated himself for the neutral ring of the question. The last thing the billionaire wanted was to exude an aura of having a huge personal interest in what Steve’s motivation was for asking him this question.

shield_storm: I’ve never kissed a guy before. But seeing as I’m bisexual and can be potentially attracted to another guy, it sort of poses a problem. :-S

heir2mecha.realm: No it doesn’t! You don’t need to know what something feels like based on past experiences for you to act on what you may be feeling in a present situation. Translation- you don’t need to know what kissing another guy feels like for you to act on a current attraction you may be feeling for a guy cos if you’re attracted to him, you just lean forward and kiss him- doesn’t matter if you’ve never kissed one before.

shield_storm: Well, that makes sense. So the guy won’t really mind if I don’t know what the hell I’m doing because all the people I’ve ever kissed in the past were females?

heir2mecha.realm: Nuh-uh, I mean… If it were me, I won’t mind. :-)

shield_storm: So if I caress your cheek or encircle my arm around your waist to pull you closer, much like what I would do to a girl—you wouldn’t mind?

“Ooooh, kinky Steve!” Tony said, wolf-whistling to himself in his otherwise empty workshop. Thank god JARVIS and his bots didn’t judge. What was Steve playing at? Tony shifted in his seat to find a more comfortable position and pulled the holo-screen and –keyboard even closer to him.

heir2mecha.realm: Well, maybe you’re right… There *is* a completely different dynamic to kissing another guy than kissing a girl. A girl will be more interested to be caressed and cared for and nurtured. But a guy… wouldn’t mind a little power play. It makes for more interesting sex.

heir2mecha.realm: Shit, I hope I’m not making you feel uncomfortable, Storm. I’m sorry.

heir2mecha.realm: I’ll shut up now.

Tony tried to recover as soon as he saw what he had typed about sex. He really didn’t want to freak Steve out. Storm and Mecha still technically didn’t know each other, and it was still plenty creepy for them to be discussing something as intimate as sex given their current circumstances.

shield_storm: No, it’s OK. I mean, we’re both adults here. And I need all the insight I could get about something I barely understand.

shield_storm: Hmm… power play huh?

shield_storm: Can I ask you something, Mecha? Which you’re under no compulsion to answer. You can choose not to answer because it’s really personal…

heir2mecha.realm: Go for it. :-)

shield_storm: How many guys have you kissed?

Tony scrunched his forehead in thought. That was a difficult question. It wasn’t like he could remember every single one of the people he’d kissed because—well—sometimes he was just too plastered and pissed-drunk to really be aware of what was happening around him. He wasn’t really a slut—he could give probably seven really good arguments in his defense about such an allegation. But he’d been around. He’d played the field, especially back in the day. He’d mellowed down when he became Iron Man and even more so when he started dating Pepper. But—sure—he’d been around.

heir2mecha.realm: Hmmm….. maybe about 15, 16?

shield_storm: 15, 16?!?!?!?!?!?!?! That’s a lot!!! Holy hell!!!! 8-O

heir2mecha.realm: In my defense, I’ve only ever slept with seven.

OK, so maybe that was too much information. Steve wasn’t even through with processing the information about him kissing 15 or 16 guys. But that was 15 or 16 guys for Tony’s entire life—all 41 years of it. It wasn’t like it was a yearly average or something!

heir2mecha.realm: Sorry about giving too much information. :-1

heir2mecha.realm: Storm? You, uh, still there?

shield_storm: Yeah yeah. Sorry I spaced out a bit. That’s a lot…

heir2mecha.realm: Well, I *am* older than you, so it can be safely assumed that I’ve been around longer.

shield_storm: in those kisses, were you always the one who initiated it?

heir2mecha.realm: 75% of the time. But I do appreciate surprises. And I happen to be more attracted to assertive, confident guys.

shield_storm: oh I see… does it feel hugely different from kissing a girl?

heir2mecha.realm: Anatomically, no… There’s a bit of an issue with facial hair though. But other than that, not much different from kissing girls. But-

shield_storm: But what?

heir2mecha.realm: I’m debating whether I should tell you about this next bit. I don’t want you to think I’m a pervert or something.

shield_storm: just tell me. Like I said, we’re both adults here. I can take it, Mecha. :-)

heir2mecha.realm: Well there’s the difference in that when the… encounter gets to second base, girls have breasts and guys have something else entirely.

heir2mecha.realm: But let’s not get ahead of ourselves here. Let’s stick to kissing.

shield_storm: Yeah… I agree…

Tony could almost feel Steve’s discomfort through the holo-screen. It wasn’t like Tony thought Steve was a prude. But Steve was the guy who joined Stem to ask for bloody book recommendations and that in itself spelled to Tony that Steve wasn’t as comfortable about sex and sexuality like he was. Rather than resenting Steve for that, Tony just sort of felt… protective of his teammate. Tony didn’t want Steve to be kissing assholes left and right. Steve, with his earnestness and kindheartedness, should not have to deal with what Tony had dealt with all his life: meaningless, no-strings-attached, purely physical relationships.

heir2mecha.realm: I still maintain my position that you don’t need previous experience on something to spur you to act on what you’re confronted with at present.

heir2mecha.realm: Don’t overthink things. Just let the moment take you and you’ll know what to do.

shield_storm: Confidence is key, huh?

heir2mecha.realm: Correct! But if you’re really so worried about how you will do, you can always practice. :-D

shield_storm: And that’s on top of practicing flirting… :-S

heir2mecha.realm: Hey- these things happen to follow the maxim ‘practice makes perfect.’

shield_storm: It’s still another one of those things I’ll try to practice and suck at.

heir2mecha.realm: Don’t pre-empt it… :-) Have a little faith in yourself, Storm!

heir2mecha.realm: But you know, I’ve always believed that the number of people you’ve kissed or how good you are at kissing will hardly matter to the right person…

shield_storm: I like it how you put it. :-)

heir2mecha.realm: Because I’m always right? Say it… :-3

shield_storm: Yeah you’re right… :-D

heir2mecha.realm: But you know, if you’re really so interested about this, there are some movies you might like to see.

shield_storm: Yeah? Hit me…

heir2mecha.realm: Well there’s Brokeback Mountain, Maurice, Kill Your Darlings, among others… You know, just something on the subject of guys kissing guys. If these straight guys can kiss each other to make the movie, then you can do it, too. With the right circumstances, the right feeling/urge and the right person, what to do’ll come to you like magic…

shield_storm: I believe you. Alright. I’ll check these movies out. Thank you, Mecha.

shield_storm: Thank you for always patiently putting up with my crap.

heir2mecha.realm: I did promise to help you, didn’t I?

heir2mecha.realm: You’ll be alright. :-D

Pursing his lips, Tony put up another holo-screen beside the one where his online conversation with Storm was. He needed to do something else to occupy his mind—take it away from the thought of Storm—Steve, and the nagging feeling in his subconscious that he was on the brink of something that once acknowledged would change not only Storm and Mecha’s world, but Steve and Tony’s as well.

###

It nearly gave Steve a coronary when Tony had walked in on him on the common floor while watching Brokeback Mountain just when the characters of Ennis and Jack where doing some tonsil hockey in the side shed of Ennis’ house after not having seen each other in a while.

Steve had to keep himself from diving for the remote and stopping the movie. Steve inwardly tried to convince himself that there was absolutely nothing wrong with him watching movies like this. It happened to be a critically-acclaimed and tastefully done movie. But Steve had fought to keep his composure when Tony, drinking his late night fix of metal-corroding coffee, had stood behind him on the couch and watched a bit more of the movie, wordlessly.

The Captain hadn’t realized that he’d been holding his breath, waiting for Tony to make an offhand observation about the movie that Steve had deigned to watch that night, until Tony mumbled a casual ‘good night, catch you later’ and disappeared from the common floor.

It was a tad harder to maintain the same composure when Tony had walked in on Steve again on the common floor, late the next morning, while Steve watched Maurice. That time, Tony actually took a languid seat at the edge of the couch, crossed his legs and inhaled his morning cup of coffee while watching a part of the film, again as wordlessly as he had been the night before. Steve tried to watch Tony out of the corner of his eye to see if there was any sort of reaction on the brunette’s face and, at the same time, Steve was doing his very best to keep his blushing in check.

Steve had just about reached the last legs of his equanimity when the scene in the bedroom played out between the protagonist, Maurice and the under-gamekeeper, Alec Scudder and Tony had begun to purr quite audibly. Steve had licked his lips, closed his eyes and gulped a calming intake of breath to hold his discomfiture down. He couldn’t believe his absolutely rotten luck that Tony Stark of all people had caught him watching movies of this genre twice!

He couldn’t understand how Tony had managed to catch him in the rec room when Steve had never known Tony to be on the common floor during these times of the day or night! But somehow, it was like fate had it in for Steve that, of the numerous Tower residents, it was Tony Stark who had caught him with his hand quite literally in the cookie jar.

The Captain had noticed, though, that Tony had seemingly restrained himself from making any comments, derisive or otherwise, to the Captain about his current taste in movies. After the second time that Steve had seated himself there beside the engineer-billionaire while the latter chugged down his usual keg of coffee and Steve literally fought to keep his face in the lighter shade of salmon pink instead of exploding in an unbecoming crimson, Steve had noticed that Tony was uncharacteristically without his usual quip about the movies that he’d recently caught Steve watching. If anything, that caused Steve more discomfort. Teasing, smart-aleck Tony, Steve could deal with but a silent, pensive Tony absolutely drove Steve barmy!

That second time, Tony also deigned to leave before the film was through with a straight-faced ‘enjoy the rest of the movie and I’ll catch you later!’

Steve had nearly convinced himself, too, that of course, there wasn’t anything peculiar about him watching these movies. They happened to be really good, quality movies. Of a certain persuasion—true, but there was nothing wrong about it! So Steve wrestled the suspicion of Tony’s unspoken judgment out of his mind and decided that he was going to put off watching the third movie that Mecha had suggested until such time as he thought he was already out of Tony Stark’s radar.

The Captain waited three days before he claimed another late night in the rec room to watch Kill Your Darlings. He was blissfully relaxed, dressed in his usual sweats and too-small night shirt, and parked in front of the TV, gorging himself on root beer and crisps.

When right in the middle of the damn movie, who should walk in on the common floor but Tony bloody Stark, himself?! Steve didn’t swear; he tried to avoid it as much as he could, but—fucking hell!—really?! Really?! Someone must have really had it in for him!

“Hey Steve!” Tony greeted enthusiastically, heading straight for the coffeemaker in the kitchen and pouring himself a huge mug of his usual poison. Steve wanted to scream, but held himself back. He debated with himself internally if he should paw the remote and stop the film before Tony could have the opportunity to see what it was.

But if Steve did that, he would look guilty and Tony would ask him anyway what he was watching and why he had to turn it off. So Steve clenched his hands into fists on his lap, scrunching the foil bag of crisps. The sound seemed to rise above the dialogue in the film like it, too, was poking fun at Steve.

“What are you watching?”

Steve breathed a deep inhale before replying, “Kill Your Darlings. It’s a story about the beat poets when they were in college.”

“Oh, I think I’ve seen this before. This is an entry to one of them indie movie festivals,” Tony contributed, parking himself on the edge of the couch—coffee in hand—without waiting for an invitation from Steve and tucking his legs underneath him.

They watched in comfortable silence after that initial exchange. The common floor was quiet save for the movie’s dialogue, the occasional scratching sound of Steve’s packet of crisps and the intermittent slurps of warm coffee.

At least until that scene where Allen and Lucien started making out on the lawn. Steve’s eyes must have widened as round as saucers, taking in the scene, because Tony leaned forward, placed his coffee mug on the center table and cleared his throat quite noticeably. Raising a hand towards the TV and inhaling as if preparing himself to ask a question, Tony looked at the Captain at about the same time that Steve turned to look at him, too.

The billionaire actually looked hesitant to ask a question. Seeing as Tony had never been the type to hesitate in telling others exactly what he was thinking, Steve braced himself for the onslaught of Stark-trademarked ribbing. “Is it just me or do these movies you’ve been watching lately have a common thread to them?” Tony finally came out with it, pointing a forefinger at the television where the film was still playing.

Steve decided to play the Blissfully Ignorant card and hoped for the best. “Huh?” Tony stared back like he was giving Steve a chance to try to make a different play. “Well… they’re all period movies, aren’t they?” Steve changed his tune.

“Aside from them being period movies, there seems to be a more apparent common theme. You haven’t noticed it?” asked Tony with a smirk. He was baiting Steve. Steve was going to bet all his worldly possessions that that was what Tony was trying to do.

“N—o,” Steve replied, keeping to his chosen course of action. He knew it was too good to be true when Tony didn’t grace Steve with any of his observations in the previous instances because he was arranging to lay it on thick tonight.

“They seem to involve—like—guys kissing… guys. What—you really didn’t notice?!” Tony stretched out what he wanted to say while drawing patterns on his distinguishing goatee.

Steve shook his head with a shrug, but inwardly praying for the onslaught to be over. “Maybe it was just coincidental?”

Tony narrowed his eyes and smiled his ‘are you for real?’ grin at the Captain, complete with an eyebrow raise. “Where did you get the suggestion to watch these movies anyway?”

“On Stem,” came Steve’s simple reply.

Tony smiled at Steve and wet his lips, his tongue lingering on his bottom lip. “Looks like we have another reason on our hands not to trust Stem,” said the billionaire, pinching his bottom lip between his thumb and forefinger.

It was then that Steve realized that his eyes had been drawn to Tony’s lips. Completely forgetting that there was a movie playing, Steve lowered his gaze to Tony’s mouth and stared. And kept on staring. He wouldn’t have realized how intently he’d been staring had Tony not asked him: “Steve? Are you alright?”

“Wha—,” Not quite his eloquent self, Steve looked away from Tony’s lips to settle on the other man’s expressive brown eyes.

“You spaced out for a while—do I have something on my teeth?”

Steve grunted incoherently. “Nguhng…”

What was happening to him?! He was rendered completely unintelligible by Tony Stark’s mouth! If any of the supervillains found out about this new and unexpected weakness of Captain America, the Avengers were done for…

“No,” Steve finally said, nearly tweezing the word through his teeth. His dream of a few days ago washed over him like a tidal wave, and a thought came unbidden into the forefront of Steve’s thoughts: what would it feel like exactly to kiss those lips? To explore that mouth with his tongue until both of them couldn’t think about anything anymore?

What would it feel like to kiss Tony Stark here and now?

Chapter Text

Tony was so distracted that he nearly missed it—the tangential mention in the thousand-page transcript that he had decrypted from the huge tranches of seized HYDRA files from El Paso. But it was there in black and white, a possible answer to the mystery of the Mark XLIII malfunction. A pair of metahumans—twins—by the name of Pietro and Wanda Maximoff.

The male twin, according to the data, had the power to run with inhuman speed—like Roadrunner. And was codenamed Quicksilver.

While the female twin had the power to render spatial and temporal illusions, telekinesis and telepathy—to a certain extent. The female twin’s power’s manifestation was a crimson-colored mist; hence, she was given the codename Scarlet Witch.

The billionaire knew what he saw before that heart-stopping freefall. The red mist could only be caused by the powers of the Scarlet Witch; she must have been the one that wreaked havoc to the Mark XLIII. Tony rattled off a command to JARVIS to cross-match the energy signature gleaned by HYDRA in their months’ worth of research and study of Wanda Maximoff with the patterns Tony was able to lift from the satellite feeds. If there was a match, even with a 5% margin of error, Tony knew he would’ve had his answer to the question that had been bugging him for months now.

“JARVIS, while you’re cross-matching that, shoot an email to Hill and Fury, calling for a meeting regarding this new information pertinent to the Maximoff twins. I want to be directly informed of any information as to their whereabouts and I want to be involved with tracking them down and bringing them in. I want first dibs on Wanda Maximoff in particular,” Tony dictated to this silent AI, whom he knew was noting everything he was saying to compose a more formal email to the intended recipients. “I want what’s left of SHIELD to surrender any information they may come across pertinent to these two metahumans in particular, and I don’t want to hear any denial as to SHIELD’s shadowing of these extra-special subjects of theirs. I also want you to inform them of my continued piggyback to the tracking satellites I’ve been piggybacking on. And clarify with them that I don’t give a flying fuck about what they think about that. I’m telling them about my accessing these satellites; I’m not asking for their permission. Got all of that, J?”

“Every word, Sir.”

“Great! Re-configure that tracking algorithm we once used for Loki for the particular energy trail of one Wanda Maximoff. The good thing about having powers with a unique energy signature is that there’s absolutely no crevice you can hide under where you won’t be found. Isn’t that right, JARVIS?”

“Quite inspired on your part, Sir.”

 “Speaking of inspiration, where’s the good Captain right now?” Tony asked JARVIS as offhandedly as he could, plopping on the floor of his workshop to continue scanning and collating the HYDRA transcripts for anything else that was of consequence to any Avengers endeavor. It was a tedious job and quite backward because he found himself relying on good old paper and bright yellow Sharpie to trawl through the files. But the task was doing its job of keeping his mind and hands occupied. He didn’t want to even consider the alternative.

But for purposes of reminding himself how undesirable the alternative was, Tony told himself that it had everything to do with Captain Steve Rogers and Tony’s very, very recent and very, very unhealthy interest for the bashful blonde.

For the past several days since Tony had caught Steve watching Kill Your Darlings on the common floor, the billionaire had been playing host to an internal debate between his more logical self and his more reckless self on the matter of whether to ride out the rest of his 30 days of borrowed time before telling Steve who Mecha really was or just throw caution to the wind, grab Steve by the collar, stuff themselves in the nearest closet, tell him that Tony Stark and Mecha were one and the same person and kiss him—not necessarily in that order—just to get this very, very unhealthy fascination for Steve’s mouth out of the way.

It all started when Steve was staring him down for having pointed out the common thread in the Captain’s recent movie choices. The Captain’s intense—so intense, he was a very attractive shade of pink in the face—denial that there was a guys-kissing-guys common theme to the movies combined with those big, innocent, blue eyes were like a one-two punch that bludgeoned Tony to the head, making him notice every detail of the Captain’s strikingly good looking face—especially those pursed, pink, kissable lips—

He was fucking Tony Stark for fuck’s sake! He was a 41-year-old man who’d had sex with nearly every one of interest. He was literally sex on two legs. He went 12 for 12 with the Maxim cover girls, twice! There was no way in blue blazin’ hell he was obsessed with wanting to kiss Steve Rogers!

So he rationalized as he was wont to do in circumstances that defied logic: Tony was simply obsessing with something he couldn’t have! That was it! Steve Rogers was his all-American, clean-as-a-whistle teammate, leader of the Earth’s Mightiest Heroes and defender of virgins and virginity everywhere who had absolutely no romantic or sexual interest in him, whatsoever. Naturally, Steve was supposed to be off-limits for Tony. And Tony, being one for whom nothing was sacred—or off-limits—naturally began to consider that as an invitation or a challenge. So now, Tony was gravitating, quite involuntarily, towards the good Captain. He was currently putting up a good fight, but he had no idea how long he could last.

Suffice it to say, he was fucked! Thoroughly, too.

Because he had to maintain his newfound friendship with Steve for the good of the whole team and well—because he really wanted the friendship to work; he had to maintain his connection to Storm lest he pissed off the guy again; and he had to live with having to stare at Steve’s face, neck, profile and lips whenever he found the opportunity.

Welcome to Tony Stark’s fucked-up life!

“Sir, the Captain is on his personal floor, watching an instructional video pertinent to the use of Adobe Photoshop.”

“Is he logged in on Stem?”

“Not at the moment, Sir.”

“Perfect! Log me in on Stem, J. Oh—and by the way, I need confirmation that the Art Attack Protocol has been set up and is ready for deployment. Any feedback from Mel?” asked Tony, rubbing his palms together.

“The Protocol has been given the green light by your shopping associate just this morning, Sir.”

“Fantastic! Get ready to type up a quick Privy in my behalf for Storm.” Tony spread his legs into a more comfortable position on the workshop’s floor, tapping the Sharpie against his right thigh.

Privy to shield_storm_

heir2mecha.realm wrote:

Hey Storm!

There’s something I want you to have. If you would be so kind as to pass by Freedman Luggage Storage Facility on West 37th on your morning run tomorrow, you will find something for you in aisle C, locker number 8708. The lock’s combination is 4465.

Let me know as soon as you have them, OK? Oh and bring something to carry them with. Once you have them, make something nice for me. ;-D

Me

“Right. Hit Send, J. And keep your fingers crossed,” joked Tony to try to ignore the furious pounding of his own heart. He had never tried to give Steve anything before. Tony hoped the Captain would like what was waiting for him in the rented locker. Though the billionaire would gladly give his right nut to be there to see Steve’s reaction to Mecha’s gift, Tony resigned himself to the fact that neither he nor Steve was ready for the big reveal and Tony would just have to make do with learning about Steve’s reaction to the gift belatedly.

The engineer-billionaire’s logical self seemed to have won this round, and he settled into letting things unfold in their own good time. They had already set the big reveal in less than three weeks’ time anyway. There was no need to hurry Steve’s anger and disappointment along. Tony convinced himself to just enjoy this while it lasted.

And enjoy it, he would.

###

Steve was hardly breathing deeply when he stopped in front of the luggage storage facility as named by Mecha in his Privy. It was his usual morning run, but because of Mecha’s advice, he tweaked his route a bit so as to pass by the place his dear Stem friend mentioned.

The Privy from Mecha had come at a very opportune time, if Steve was going to be honest with himself. Because these past couple of days, Steve’s found himself harboring a most virulent physical attraction to Tony Stark. Steve couldn’t really understand it—Tony’s appeal. Maybe it had everything to do with the fact that Steve had gotten to know Tony so much better these past several weeks. And Steve had to admit that the Tony Stark he’d been privy to lately was so extremely likeable that, along with the brunette’s God-given physical attributes, made for a captivating specimen of the male gender that was exceptionally difficult not to like.

He had almost, almost completely lost it when they were watching Kill Your Darlings. Steve had wanted to just grab Tony by the collar and bury his tongue in the brunette’s mouth, follow Mecha’s advice and get some quality practice time, but he was able to contain himself in the nick of time. Now that would have been one helluva of a mortifying mess to explain! Flirting with a table full of Avengers was one thing, but physically assaulting Iron Man by tonguing his tonsils out was quite another.

Steve was just too relieved to have to think about other things—like Mecha’s gift—than just having his wicked way with Tony Stark.

He expected to be questioned about his purpose by the person manning the front desk, but the young woman just waved him along on his way with a soft, knowing smile. Like she knew something he didn’t. Which she probably did, and Steve wondered if maybe Mecha himself had talked to her to arrange the locker’s rental until a person of Steve’s description pulled whatever it was that was stored there.

Steve found locker number 8708 in aisle C without incident and noted the simple 4-number combination padlock that sealed the door to what looked like a bit-wider-than-your-average school locker and whatever it was that Mecha had wanted to gift him with.

Keying the provided number combination, Steve pulled the metal door open and his breath caught in his throat.

It was an art materials treasure trove: there were easels of different kinds—dark wood, light wood and even a titanium one; different sizes of canvases; sketchbooks of different sizes, thickness and kinds of paper; flat case after flat case of pristine charcoal pencils, colored pencils, watercolor pads, tubes of oil and acrylic paints in all known shades of the color spectrum; pouches of erasers; portable tubs of paint thinners, boxes of crayons, oil pastels, colored pens; a literal sack of art tools, implements, accessories, and paraphernalia. The locker haul would have made Michelangelo weep big, fat, noisy tears.

Though it took Steve a bit of ingenuity and muscle to haul the lot back to the Tower, he couldn’t help but be excited and grateful for the absolutely beautiful gift from Mecha. Steve thought it must have taken Mecha a lot of effort, not to mention—money, to gather all the art materials that comprised his gift. Steve had never been given anything so precious in his life—except, perhaps, Bucky’s rehabilitation…

The Captain set about to make a colored drawing of a majestic mountain landscape he’d once seen during the war as soon as he got back to his personal floor. Mecha did request for Steve to make him something nice using the presents.

After he was satisfied with what he was able to create, Steve logged in on Stem to thank Mecha and to give him what he had just drawn.

shield_storm: Mecha!!!!!! Oh my God!!! THANK YOU VERY MUCH!!!!!

heir2mecha.realm: Easy, easy. :-) You’re very welcome, you know. I hope that you love them. :-D

shield_storm: I don’t just love them! I ADORE THEM!!! I was speechless for, like, five minutes when I opened the locker. At first, I couldn’t believe my eyes. I couldn’t believe that all those things were really for me!!!

shield_storm: I WAS SO HAPPY when I saw them! :-D

shield_storm: But they must have cost a FORTUNE! You shouldn’t have, you know… I was happy, but it was probably a LOT of effort and money on your part, and you shouldn’t have!

heir2mecha.realm: Don’t worry about it! Money’s not an issue. I just wanted you to have them because you deserve them. Someone with your kind of talent deserves nothing less than the best materials money can buy.

heir2mecha.realm: I’m only sorry I couldn’t give them to you in person or see your reaction when you saw them. I would’ve wanted to. Very, very much. :-)

shield_storm: You could’ve waited a couple more weeks to give them to me when we meet at the Hayden Building in 19 days, you know…

heir2mecha.realm: You’re actually counting to the very day?!?!?!?! I’m impressed…

shield_storm: Well, it’s because I’m excited. :-D

heir2mecha.realm: me too. ;-)

heir2mecha.realm: But I thought the gift couldn’t wait that long. I just had to give them to you already!

shield_storm: Hey—can I draw you? When we meet at the Hayden building, can I persuade you to sit still for a couple of hours or so, so I can draw you?

heir2mecha.realm: We’re meeting at sunset, Storm! Don’t you need good light to be able to draw?

shield_storm: Hm, I guess you’re right, but can I draw you? You know, maybe on another day after we meet?

heir2mecha.realm: sure. If you’ll still want to…

shield_storm: Why wouldn’t I want to?

heir2mecha.realm: Oh you know… just in case, I don’t quite meet your expectations…

shield_storm: :-S Don’t be like that! Of course, I’ll still want to draw you after I meet you.

heir2mecha.realm: Alright, alright! I’ll shut up about that. ;-)

shield_storm: I have something for you, too, btw…

heir2mecha.realm: Oh yeah? What is it?

Steve pasted a snapshot of the mountain landscape drawing he had done for Mecha to see and waited with bated breath for what the other man thought of it.

heir2mecha.realm: Fuck! That’s BEAUTIFUL!!!!!!!!

heir2mecha.realm: How do you do these drawings? The details are amazing!!!

shield_storm: I commonly draw from memory.

heir2mecha.realm: What kind of monster memory do you have?!?! You drew this from memory? How the bloody hell is that possible?!?!?

shield_storm: I guess I have a good memory ;-)

heir2mecha.realm: I’ll say. It’s really amazing, Storm. :-D

shield_storm: Thank you. You gave me really good stuff to work with…

heir2mecha.realm: So I hope it wasn’t much trouble bringing the stuff home?

shield_storm: I managed. I was too excited and stupid happy to mind about taking the lot home. :-)

heir2mecha.realm: I hope it didn’t take the whole day to haul them back to your house! I’d hate it if I wasted your day!!!

shield_storm: It didn’t. And you didn’t. This went down as one of the best days of my life, I’ll tell you that!

shield_storm: So what about you? How was your day?

heir2mecha.realm: It was great. I went to this medical installation to visit a friend of a friend—he’s also fast becoming a friend of mine, though, and we talked about his quick recovery. I’m making him a specialized machine to help with the therapy of his limbs for more fluid movement. The project is doing well…

shield_storm: What happened to his limbs? Is he an amputee or something?

heir2mecha.realm: Yeah, he is.

shield_storm: It’s like that friend of mine from the army!

heir2mecha.realm: Really? I thought you said he’s being treated for the brainwashing? I don’t remember you mentioning he’s also an amputee!

shield_storm: The brainwashing was more distressing than his amputated limb, though. So he’s really being treated more for the former than the latter.

heir2mecha.realm: I see. :-) How is that friend of yours, seen him lately?

shield_storm: Not recently, but I’m planning to visit again next week. He’s making good progress. We’re really hoping he could be out of the med-facility by next month, but nothing’s very definite on that matter.

heir2mecha.realm: Oh I’m sure it’ll work out. :-) Just keep giving him the support he needs, and he’ll be alright before you know it!

shield_storm: I told him about me being bisexual.

heir2mecha.realm: How’d he take it?

shield_storm: He was really very understanding about it. I’m glad I told him.

shield_storm: You were right, as always…

heir2mecha.realm: I don’t remember giving you any advice to actually go ahead and tell him… ;-)

heir2mecha.realm: But I did know that you’d do the right thing. :-)

Steve bit his lips between his teeth, and his mouth was reduced in a tight line. He could almost hear Mecha tell him that last statement. In Mecha’s own voice. Did it perhaps sound as playful as Steve could almost imagine it was?

Even though Steve didn’t want to have to bring it up again, because he knew how touchy Mecha was about it before, Steve could barely contain the craving. He really, really wanted to hear Mecha’s voice. Steve wanted to hear Mecha tell him a story, an anecdote. Steve wanted to hear Mecha chuckle, laugh. Steve wanted to hear Mecha play the piano again.

shield_storm: Play me something.

heir2mecha.realm: Storm…

shield_storm: Please? I always try to imagine colors and light and shadow to the way you play the piano. It calms me. Very much. Please, Mecha? Can you play something for me?

Steve was almost dreading Mecha’s rejection. He didn’t mean to sound so needy. But he was. Very much so. He needed to hear Mecha’s playing. Even just that. He could restrain himself for 19 more days until he could see his friend in person—hear him laugh and talk. But Steve prayed to the divinity he had always believed in for Mecha to indulge him his request just this once.

heir2mecha.realm: OK. :-) Alright. Hang on…

Steve almost stood up from bed to do a crazy jig in his excitement!

The blonde accepted the voice chat request almost as soon as it appeared on his smartphone’s screen. And was rewarded with the mellifluous notes to a piano song.

Adjusting the Hands-free volume on his phone, Steve gently placed his phone on the pillow beside his, laid himself down on his bed on his side so he could stare at his phone. He surrendered to the calm washing over him because of Mecha’s playing.

The Captain could almost see an explosion of colors and sparkles, light and shadow, corners and curves, lines and shapes behind his eyelids like only Mecha’s playing could inspire in him. It was amazing how Steve’s Stem friend could calm and ignite his soul at the same time.

He didn’t think it was possible but then there was no other justification to what Steve was feeling in the depths of his heart: while he was physically attracted to Tony Stark, it was Mecha that Steve was undoubtedly emotionally attracted to. He was attracted to two different people at the same time! What was he doing? What in blazes was happening? Was he really this forlorn, not having had a proper relationship in almost a hundred years, that he was trying to catch up with what he’d been missing by being attracted to two different people at the same bloody time?! Was Natasha going to label him a slut now?

Should Steve say something to Mecha then? How was he even going to say it? How was Steve going to tell this person he’d never met or seen before that he was attracted to him? It sounded absolutely insane!

“Mecha?” Steve called, clearing his throat and interrupting Mecha’s playing. “Mecha? Can you hear me?”

The piano stopped playing, but there was no acknowledgment that the person at the other end had heard Steve.

“May I hear your voice? Please?” Steve requested softly. He was still immersed in his incredible realization of a couple of minutes ago, and he couldn’t contain the curiosity about Mecha’s voice any longer. Maybe if he had more about what Mecha was like, he could forget about his unhealthy fascination for Tony Stark and just devote all his emotions to Mecha.

Steve was uncomfortable with the thought of being invested in two different people at the same time; it felt like a betrayal to both and fickle-mindedness on his part. Steve Rogers was not a player; he was never going to be one. If he was finally going to welcome the possibility of romance, it sure as hell was not going to be with two people! If only Mecha could annihilate all thoughts of Tony Stark from Steve’s mind…

“I’d like to be able to put a voice to the face I can imagine in my mind. Please Mecha?” Steve asked again. He didn’t like begging, but he was going to damn well beg if it meant he could get what he’d always wanted.

Steve wanted Tony Stark out of his system, and right now, Mecha was the only one who could do that for him.

###

Red warning lights were flashing at the back of Tony’s mind. Danger! Danger! Tony bit his lower lip, considering every permutation and combination of what to do and how to deal with the possible fallout. It was too dangerous to talk to Storm. Steve’s hearing was as sensitive as a cat’s. It was highly probable that he could identify the voice as Tony’s. And the jig would be up. Steve would probably never talk to him again—as Steve or as Storm.

But if Tony didn’t indulge Storm—and he did request so nicely—Storm was going to be disappointed, and both of them were going to have to live with that disappointment for the next 19 days, giving any further conversations about this as wide a berth as they could. And Steve was still going to hate him anyway, in 19 days’ time, when they would meet at the Hayden Building roof deck. Steve would probably never talk to him again—as Steve or as Storm.

Wow. Didn’t feel like much of a choice there for Tony. So what was he to do now?

Clicking the Mute button on his holo-screen, Tony asked JARVIS, “J, I need you to mask my voice; change the pitch and timbre by about 2.4 points lower than my normal. Adjust the loudness by making it 0.75 decibels softer but keep my usual cadence.”

“Akin to your bedroom voice, Sir?”

Tony raised an eyebrow at no one in particular and folded a leg underneath his thigh on the piano seat. “Fine. I don’t think the Captain can identify my bedroom voice. So let’s go with that.”

He made several but quick test runs of his new voice, and satisfied that it sounded different from his normal speaking voice, he clicked the Mute button off, breathed as silent a sigh as he could muster and began to speak: “hello Storm.” Tony closed his eyes with a grimace, steeling himself for the possibility of Steve’s detection.

“Mecha? Oh my God… That’s how you sound like,” Steve murmured from the other end of the voice chat channel. Tony could hear that Steve was breathless with awe that he was finally able to actually talk with his Stem friend.

“Not quite what you expected?” Tony asked with an amused smirk, wrapping a hand around his ankle as his leg was still folded in front of him on the piano seat.

Chuckle. “I didn’t have any expectations. Your voice sounds nice.”

“Thank you. So does yours,” complimented Tony.

“This is going to sound really weird but your voice sounds familiar,” Steve stated; Tony could almost hear the smile in the blonde’s voice.

But the statement killed the amusement on Tony’s face. He was toeing a very fine line indeed by letting Steve hear his voice. Of course, it was going to sound familiar to Steve; they always talked through the comms on missions, and lately, they’d been talking more than they usually did. Tony couldn’t quite understand himself why he was risking his neck out here. But he knew, deep in his gut, he couldn’t have denied Steve this.

Steve was talking again. “I can’t place where and when I’ve heard it, but it is.”

“Maybe you’ve heard it in your dreams?” Tony joked. He could hear the breathlessness in his own altered voice. And he chuckled at the boldness of his quip. So Tony thought, why stop there? “Because I’m sure in mine is where I'd heard yours.”

“So this is what Mecha flirting actually sounds like? I must say it has its appeal,” Steve bantered back.

“You should be taking notes for future reference, you know,” replied Tony. He was inwardly glad that it didn’t feel peculiar at all, taking Storm and Mecha’s friendship from regular chats to a voice chat. They still sounded like themselves. And Tony hoped fervently that it was a portent of things to come—Tony hoped this meant that he and Steve could remain friends despite Tony’s deception these past few months about Mecha’s real identity.

A part of the billionaire remained doubtful, however. But he could still hope. No one could take that from him.

“Tell me a good story,” requested Steve.

“What—like a bedtime story? What do you want to hear about?”

“What is your fondest memory of your parents? Make it good,” teased Steve. It occurred to Tony how tell-tale Steve’s voice was when it came to how he was feeling. He filed the realization away for future reference.

“Well, my mom, as I have told you, was the one who encouraged me to learn how to play the piano. She was a sweet woman. I was an only child, you see, so I was the apple of my mom’s eyes, growing up. She used to sit me down in our kitchen after everyone’s gone to bed to make me a cup of hot coco. She used to always add extra spoonfuls of whipped cream to it, and whenever it was too hot for me to drink, she would blow over it with a soft smile on her face until it was cool enough for me. I used to think my mom was an angel. And maybe she was.

“My dad, on the other hand, was a mere presence in my life until the day he died. He wasn’t affectionate and I used to think he hated me. I was pretty sure he would’ve denied fathering me if I didn’t look so much like him. But there was one night, when I was six years old and I was sick with fever, that he came to my room, touched my forehead and my neck. An expression of rare worry crossed his face that I thought I might have just imagined it. He was so angry at my mom, at my nanny, for not minding me enough that I got sick. Before that, I’d gotten used to him being angry at me, so when he got angry for me, it felt strangely good—like I could feel, for the first time, that he actually cared about me. I was in and out of it all night—there was even a time I woke up with him clutching my arm while he put a cold towel on my forehead. But when I woke up the next morning, there was no sign he was even in my room at all. And barely a year later, as soon as I turned seven, he had shipped me off to a Swiss prep school, and I only ever got to see him and my mom on breaks.

“I don’t know if that memory was even real or if I had just imagined it because I was delirious. But I hope it was real. Because that was the only time I ever felt like my dad actually gave a damn about me And I can remember, clear as day, how he had never looked at me like that before… or since…,” Tony recounted, looking at his greasy denim trousers and picking at loose threads on it. He was surprised at his own pensiveness, recounting that tale for Storm’s ears. He had never told anyone that… not Pepper, not Rhodey. No one. No one but Storm—Steve.

“I’m certain he loved you in his own way. Fathers are rarely showy about their affections. Mine was no different. But I knew—I know—my dad loved me in his own way, and so your dad did, too,” Steve murmured. “It’s a beautiful memory of your parents, Mecha. Thank you for telling me the story.”

 “You’re welcome. I should let you get some rest now. Bedtime story’s over,” Tony joked again to mask another wave of disquiet that was beginning to overwhelm him again.

“Talk to you tomorrow?”

“On regular chat?"

"Or we could do this again, if you want," Steve offered.

"Let's try not to overuse the feature, yeah? You don't want to get addicted to my voice,” teased Tony.

“On regular chat's fine, then. There might not be any medication or rehabilitation facility available if I do get addicted to your voice,” joked Steve as well.

“Are you perhaps flirting with me, Storm?”

“I am learning from the best,” came the Captain’s amused reply. “By the way, any new recommendations for me?”

Tony licked his lips pensively. “You’re done with Sue Grafton?! You really are a fast reader. Well, you might want to look into Robert Galbraith novels—The Cuckoo’s Calling and The Silkworm. I think you’ll like them.”

“Robert Galbraith. Got it. Any movies?” asked Steve.

“How about Good Will Hunting? That one’s really good,” suggested Tony. “Go get some reading and movie-watching done and I’ll talk to you again soon, OK? Good night, Storm.”

“Thanks and good night, Mecha…”

Tony waited for the tell-tale click that Steve had disconnected the voice chat on his end before he commanded JARVIS to cut the connection on his side. He wordlessly pulled the piano keys guard down and propped his elbows atop it. The waves of disquiet were back in full force. He tried to swallow his misgivings down his throat, but a bitter taste was, nonetheless, left on his tongue. He didn’t want to have to think again about how none of Tony’s self-imposed rules seemed to apply to Storm—Steve. But he was thinking about it. And he was frightened about what that implied.

It would appear that contrary to his better judgment, really, Tony had begun to trust Storm—Steve—with his secrets, his friendship, and his heart.

Chapter Text

Steve was whistling to himself as he bent over the stove to check on the underside of the pancakes he was trying to cook. He was in a very good mood for a variety of reasons: he got a call from Bucky’s doctors the night before, saying that Bucky could now receive guests for extended visits or sleepovers, so he invited himself for a sleepover in the med-facility for that night—so excited he was that he had already packed a small overnight bag that morning, ready to be hauled and stuffed at the back of his motorcycle later on; he had also finally gotten what he’d always wanted—to hear Mecha’s voice, that though the voice chat was already a week old, the memory was still so vivid in his mind and Mecha’s story was etched deep in his heart that Steve was not inclined to forget that very soon; Steve also seemed to have forgotten, for the time being, his raging physical attraction to Tony Stark because he actually had not seen Tony at all for almost two days now.

Hopefully, his infatuation followed the maxim ‘out of sight, out of mind’ so he could finally get over it and focus on Bucky and Mecha—and their fast-approaching meeting. Only 12 days to go, and Steve could barely contain his excitement. Natasha had already noticed it and confronted him about it once—how he was always nurturing this knowing smile on his face as if he knew a secret that the whole world knew nothing about. He didn’t know what he could tell Natasha that wouldn’t sound completely bat-shit crazy, so he just shut his mouth and kept on smiling. Let Natasha work it out for herself, but she sure as hell wouldn’t hear about it from Steve!

The Captain was so absorbed in flipping pancakes and frying bacon that he didn’t hear the elevator arrive with a ding.

“Smells wonderful. What’s for breakfast?” Tony asked, strolling into the kitchen in low-riding, form-fitting Levi’s and a V-necked orange sweatshirt that only he could pull off.

Steve couldn’t believe it—how he noticed things like that about Tony Stark when barely a couple of minutes ago, he was busy convincing himself that his fascination for the billionaire was nothing but a passing fancy. Narrowing his eyes because of irritation directed at himself, Steve hummed in acknowledgment of his teammate.

“Choco-banana pancakes and bacon,” Steve answered, swallowing his growing trepidation. He absolutely didn’t want to think about the last time he was left alone with Tony. When he had come so close to losing his cool and ravishing the man whilst seated on his expensive designer couch. The last thing that Steve needed that morning was to lose his composure now and do something nasty to Tony on top of the dining table. Where he and the rest of the team ate. Goddamn it!

Another thing he hated about this unhealthy physical attraction to Tony Stark was the multitude of cuss words that were now always floating around in his head. He really, really hated swearing, but if he didn’t think about something—anything!—he was going to end up doing something to Tony that he would absolutely regret.

Or not regret. Depending on the perspective.

Steve really wanted to take the high road here and just not invite any opportunities where he could possibly lose his hard-fought and precarious handle on things when it came to one Tony Stark.

“You need eggs. I think I’ll make an omelet,” Tony volunteered, coming to stand next to Steve in front of the high-tech stove and puttering around for supplies he was going to need to assemble the promised omelet. “I make a pretty mean omelet because that’s about the only thing I can cook without blowing up the entire kitchen,” continued Tony, reaching this way and that for another frying pan, a spatula and the box of spices and seasonings. In the process, Tony accidentally grazed Steve’s bicep, lower arm and lower back. And it nearly drove Steve mad with frustration. He guessed he had spoken too soon regarding forgetting about his physical attraction to the engineer-billionaire because judging by his body’s responses to these inadvertent, small touches, forgetting was definitely not part of the picture.

“So any plans for today?” Steve asked, desirous to change the topic before he did something monumentally stupid. Like tearing that orange sweatshirt off Tony’s body.

“Nah. I’ll just immerse myself with work in the shop. I have a ton of emails to read and upgrades to start, further tests on Loki’s scepter to get through before I relinquish possession of that thing to Thor and secondary tests to run on James’ arm based on the new set of data,” Tony enumerated, cracking eggs over the sizzling pan and mixing them every which way to make Tony Stark’s version of an omelet.

Steve turned to look at Tony. “New set of data?”

“I went to visit James a few days ago; didn’t I tell you?”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Are you sure? Because I could’ve sworn I told you about that,” said Tony quizzically.

“I’m pretty sure you didn’t mention anything to me,” Steve answered, tipping a fresh batch of cooked bacon onto the plate that was fast heaping up with cooked meat.

“Well—I visited James a few days ago to get some more data on his arm, conduct a few more tests. JARVIS and I are all over it like ants in a picnic. I will let you know if we’ve found anything. But so far, I’m just trying to pinpoint the exact sensitivity of the arm’s reflex. I’m also trying to compile a list of possible troubleshooting mechanisms in case of glitches,” said Tony, reaching out across Steve’s front to get a plate, and, in the process, grazing Steve’s torso. “I hope you don’t mind that I went and visited him by myself.”

“Of course, I don’t. You also have business with him. And there’s no need for me to always watch over you guys like a hawk,” replied Steve.

“What about you? Any plans for the day?” The billionaire casually asked, pressing the stove button off on the burner he was using. He lifted the pan over the fresh plate, tipped the lot onto it, and scraped the pan for egg morsels.

“I’m going to go visit Bucky later today and I kind of invited myself for a sleepover in the med-facility. He’s been cleared for extended visits. So I thought I’d spend the night—maybe watch some movies, shoot some hoops, hang out—that sort of thing,” Steve elaborated, ladling cooked pancakes onto a big oval dish.

Steve completely missed the troubled look on Tony’s face at the mention of sleeping over with Bucky. It was a good thing that he did, too, because he wouldn’t have been able to understand it.

The Captain laid out the serving dishes of breakfast food he had prepared on the table before fixing the table up with the necessary place settings with Tony’s help. The billionaire placed the dish of omelet last on the center of the table, got a teaspoon from the rack and spooned some egg into his mouth for a taste.

“Hmm, give this a taste,” suggested Tony, proffering a teaspoon-full of omelet to Steve. “Go on. Does it taste bland to you?” Tony asked, putting the teaspoon close to the vicinity of Steve’s mouth.

Staring with wide blue eyes at the teaspoon being offered to him and then at the billionaire, Steve felt his right eye twitch quite involuntarily. Was Tony teasing him? Did Tony know something about Steve’s physical attraction to him? What the devil was happening?! Things like this never happened to Steve because—well—they just didn’t!

Squarely meeting Tony’s brown-eyed gaze, Steve closed his lips around the teaspoon-full of omelet. He took pride in that his blue-eyed gaze never wavered as he chewed on the omelet. Licking his lower lip, Steve reported, “tastes good. It’s not bland at all.”

Tony smirked.

That nearly did it for Steve if Pepper had not walked into the kitchen at that precise moment.

“Tony, when are you going to learn to—“ Pepper trailed off when she noticed the scene she had just walked in on. “Oh, I’m sorry… Did I interrupt something?” The new arrival’s eyes volleyed between Steve and Tony like she was watching a really intense tennis match.

It was Steve who broke his gaze first to grace the new arrival with a smile. “No, you didn’t. Hi Pepper; how’re you?”

Tony tossed the used teaspoon at the sink before rearranging the setting of the omelet on the dining table with an inscrutable face. “What am I supposed to be learning, Pepper?” The billionaire raised his eyebrows at his former assistant to prompt her on what she was going to say.

“I went to the workshop first; I thought you might have gone there directly. It was a total mess, Tony. When are you going to learn to pick up after yourself? That junk covering your workshop floor aren’t going to pick themselves up, you know,” Pepper scolded him, crossing her arms across her bath-robed chest. “Oh and hello to you, too, Steve! I’m great… I’ve been in town for a couple of days, but I’m flying off to Berlin tonight,” Pepper explained, tucking loose strands of auburn hair behind an ear.

So that was the reason why Tony was a no-show these past couple of days—because Pepper was in town.

“Are you guys—?” Steve gestured towards the former couple, unsure of how to ask if they’d gotten back together.

“No! Of course not. We didn’t get back together. We’re better off like this. Much more low maintenance this way,” Pepper replied, immediately understanding what Steve wanted to ask but couldn’t as he didn’t know how to politely inquire about it without appearing nosy.

“Is the idea of getting back together with me that detestable to you, Pep, really?” Tony asked with a hint of amusement in his carriage as he led Pepper to take a seat on the table for breakfast. “See—I helped Steve cook breakfast by making my world-famous omelet and this is how you show your appreciation—by denying a possible rekindling of our relationship so vehemently?”

“I’m just stating a fact, Tony. We haven’t rekindled anything because we’ve both come to realize how we’re much better off as friends,” Pepper bantered back, getting her silverware off the table and beginning to fork food onto her plate. “You should’ve discouraged him from helping you cook, Steve. That could’ve been disastrous,” Pepper said, turning to Steve with a slight wink. “But I am mighty glad to see you getting along enough to cook breakfast together without blowing the kitchen—or each other—up."

Oh blowing each other in the kitchen! What a scene that would’ve made! Goddamn it!

Steve blinked away the wayward thoughts with an imperceptible shake of his head.

Tony reached for the other breakfast fare and heaped Pepper’s plate with them, helpfully. “Steve and I do get along now. I followed your advice, see? I’m not as incorrigible as you think, Pep. I can be trained to change my ways,” he joked, looking at Pepper sideways and winking.

Pepper only responded with a genuinely wide smile. She and Tony tucked in while talking about Stark Industries affairs. And Steve watched the former couple’s usual interaction with what he hoped was a neutral expression.

Steve noted the openness to Tony’s face. The billionaire seemed truly relieved and happy to have Pepper back in his life. Steve watched as the two made little affectionate gestures here and there, little fond touches and doting looks at each other. There was even an instance that Pepper wiped at a morsel of something on the corner of Tony’s lips with a slight smile. And Steve couldn’t help but be envious of what the two still obviously had. They may have ended the romance between them—true—but the love and affection still remained.

Steve wished he could have that, too. Someone to dote on at breakfast, cook food for, stare at adoringly and just… love and care for. He stared at Tony, inwardly willing the engineer-billionaire to look at him, smile at him with his characteristic Tony Stark smile. But the latter never did. That morning, all he had eyes for was Pepper.

By the middle of the meal, just as everyone else was beginning to make their way down to the common floor, gravitating towards the smells of a hearty breakfast, Steve got into thinking: was he jealous of what Tony and Pepper still have or was he jealous that he wasn’t the one to have the same thing with Tony?

Steve was frightened of the answer so he forcefully thrust it to the very back of his mind.

###

Taking a seat on the very edge of the landing pad with his feet dangling over the side of the Tower, Tony buzzed with excitement as he logged in on Stem on his smartphone that night. There was something he needed to tell and show Storm.

The events of breakfast were just far-off memories now—there was no use wishing that he could take them back. He had volunteered to help Steve cook breakfast, nearly molested Steve with small—hopefully, unnoticeable—touches, spoon-fed Steve with omelet, flirted with Steve, and then completely ignored Steve for the rest of breakfast.

Tony was such an ass!

But he didn’t know what to do; he was even, at some point, afraid of meeting Steve’s eyes again in fear of what he would find there. Tony didn’t know what possessed him to be so bold as to do all those things during breakfast. He never learned! He’d never gotten it through his thick skull to his genius brain that just because he was suddenly attracted to Steve didn’t mean that the latter shared the same sentiment with regard to him! Tony’d never gotten it that it was useless to indulge himself on these little flirtatious signals directed at Steve because the latter only saw Tony as a friend. Nothing more.

Just because Storm was a little attracted—maybe—to Mecha didn’t mean that Steve was also attracted to Tony. Because Steve didn’t know that Mecha was Tony!

And that near blunder about James! Of course, it had completely slipped Tony’s mind that it was Storm he had told about visiting James, but his supposedly smart brain completely mixed everything up and thought that it was Steve he had informed of the visit! How he was thought to be a genius, Tony didn’t know!

He was starting to fuse Storm and Steve together. Granted, they were one and the same person, but Tony and Mecha weren’t—at least to Steve, they weren’t. So Tony would do well to remember that, and not dig his own grave by mixing them all together. He had built a persona; he needed to live with it—for the next 12 days at least.

And then he needed some kind of strategy to be able to explain everything to Steve that wouldn’t sound malicious or callous. Tony cared enough about Storm—Steve to try to break it to him as gently as he could. Tony didn’t know how Steve would take it, but he hoped that the latter would, at least, give him a chance to explain.

The Avengers quinjet was silent and hulking in the recesses of the landing pad. The night was clear, cool and quiet enough to appreciate what it was that Tony was waiting for. He hoped Steve was logged in on Stem and not occupied with Sergeant James Barnes; Tony didn’t want to acknowledge it, but he was beginning to feel unmistakable stirrings of jealousy whenever Steve talked about James. He wanted to believe Storm when he said that he was no longer attracted to his oldest friend from the army, but Tony couldn’t help but feel resentful that Steve cared so much about James.

Tony knew he absolutely had no right to resent Steve and James’ closeness; it wasn’t like he was in some sort of competition for Steve’s affections! Tony was just attracted to Steve—there was nothing to it! He just needed to put his tongue deep in Steve’s mouth—get a taste of him—to get this uncalled-for attraction out of his system. That was it, surely!

But a part of him recognized that this… this—thing—for Steve ran deeper than just satisfying himself with a quick, no-strings-attached make-out.

heir2mecha.realm: hey Storm! Hope I didn’t catch you at a bad time

shield_storm: Nope. I’m good. :-) What’s the matter?

heir2mecha.realm: Are you home right now?

shield_storm: I’m sleeping over at a friend’s place. Why?

heir2mecha.realm: I need you to go outside right now. Make sure you have a view of the night sky, and make sure it’s not too bright so you can see.

shield_storm: see what?

heir2mecha.realm: I’ll explain later. Just get yourself somewhere you can see the sky and make sure it’s not somewhere bright. Can you do that for me?

shield_storm: I’m curious, but yeah. Hang on. I’m trying to go outside right now.

heir2mecha.realm: As fast as you can, OK?

Tony looked up from his smartphone at the night sky, thankful that the skies were clear enough and the city’s lights were actually more subdued than they usually were. It was going to be a beautiful evening, and even if Steve was several kilometers away, Tony was sure he could see what was going to transpire. The news feed guaranteed that it was going to be visible in the New York-New Jersey area as far as the Long Island Sound.

shield_storm: OK Mecha. I’m outside already. What am I supposed to be looking at?

heir2mecha.realm: wait for it.

shield_storm: Wait for what?

heir2mecha.realm: Just give it a couple of minutes. Make sure you’re looking up at the sky, OK?

Several more heartbeats later, it began. The promised meteor shower that astronomers in the entire eastern seaboard had been on the lookout for. The dark blue firmament commonly only dotted sparsely with stars lit up in fluttering pale white sparkles. The meteors trail blazed through the skies in the most awe-inspiring natural fireworks display that Tony had ever seen. There were so many of them as what was hypothesized in the circles of astronomers found in social networking sites. It was as if a legion of angels was taking flight in the sky and their trails of light were slicing through the darkness of the heavens.

Tony’s phone chirped loudly in the silence of the landing pad, and tearing his eyes away from the heavens, he found a message from Storm.

shield_storm: Oh my God… It’s so beautiful!

The rain of light continued for about a couple more heart-stopping minutes and then the night returned to its regular darkness. The light from the remaining stars seemed to have dimmed a smidge like they, too, were mourning the end of nature’s fireworks. Tony closed his eyes to savor the image he knew was already emblazoned in the forefront of his memory. The holo-lights and multitude of sparks in the workshop were nothing compared to the beauty his eyes had just witnessed. Though he was a self-confessed atheist, being a man of science, it was events like this when he could almost believe that there was a Divine Engineer who oversaw how the universe worked.

shield_storm: Wow… that was AMAZING!

heir2mecha.realm: It was, wasn’t it?

shield_storm: I didn’t know there was going to be one. Was there any talk about it on Stem?

heir2mecha.realm: I believe there was. Talks about that meteor shower have been raging in the internet for a couple of days now.

shield_storm: Must have missed it. Wow… Really, that was… wow.

heir2mecha.realm: I know what you mean… :-)

shield_storm: It’s been a while since I’ve seen a meteor shower. Can’t even remember the last time I’ve seen one…

heir2mecha.realm: me too.

heir2mecha.realm: how’s that for a Storm-Mecha movie night extravaganza?

shield_storm: best ever. ;-)

heir2mecha.realm: You will never guess where I am right now.

shield_storm: You’re sitting beside me; we’ve just watched the best fireworks show ever! :-)

heir2mecha.realm: Hahahaha!!! Can’t argue with that. But try to guess, come on…

shield_storm: You just said I’ll *never* guess, so why don’t you just tell me? ;-) :-3

heir2mecha.realm: I’m in the exact place where my ex rejected my marriage proposal and broke up with me.

heir2mecha.realm: But there’s no more pain. There’s just awe and gratitude. Awe at the beautiful, beautiful thing I’ve just witnessed. And gratitude because I witnessed it *with* you.

shield_storm: I’m happy for you. That you’ve found the peace to move on already. I knew you would.

heir2mecha.realm: I owe it to you, you know.

shield_storm: of course not. I refuse to take credit.

heir2mecha.realm: No you should. Because it’s true. Thank you, Storm. For being there when I needed a friend, when I needed someone to get me through possibly one of the most heartbreaking moments of my life.

Tony only smiled wistfully. It was true; there was no more pain because of Pepper’s rejection. There was only gratefulness and warmth. That he was sent another amazing person—just like Pepper was—in Steve… to pull him through and be his friend, his rock, his safe haven, his home, his new beginning. That was what Steve had become to Tony.

And he was suddenly overwhelmed by a tide of emotions—gratitude, happiness, guilt, longing, fear and melancholy. Nothing could last forever. And he knew that his borrowed time with Steve was ending. He only wished it wouldn’t. He wished Steve would be able to look past Tony’s charade of the past few months to the truth behind and find it in his heart to forgive.

Because the truth was Tony had fallen in love with Steve without meaning to. It just happened. Somewhere along the way from hate and discord through the excruciatingly clogged-up bridge of heartbreak and rejection, until the crossroads of acceptance and the busy thoroughfare of friendship, Tony had discovered Steve—the one whose blushing endeared rather than irritated, whose earnestness chipped off the firewall to Tony’s heart—one small chunk after another, whose understated wit made Tony smile when he’d thought he no longer had any reason to, whose drawings reflected back to Tony his own worth and self-respect, whose care and thoughtfulness calmed Tony when he was at his most vulnerable, whose quiet confidence made Tony want to become better than he was.

shield_storm: I have a lot to thank you for, too, you know.

shield_storm: My life is so much fuller with you in it, Mecha.

shield_storm: Thank you for everything. I told myself I’m going to thank you when I see you in less than 2 weeks. But I guess it can’t wait any more. So thank you. For everything you’ve done and for everything you’ve become to me.

heir2mecha.realm: It’s my genuine pleasure, Storm. :-)

shield_storm: My real name’s Steve.

Tony’s jaw dropped. Shit.

His breath seemed to be stuck in his throat. Steve had already revealed his real name. What was he supposed to do now? He wanted to tell Steve who he was, too. He really did. But fear gripped his heart in a vice. “Just tell him, Tony. Just tell him who you are. Goddamn it!” He told himself out loud. He looked up at the night sky for guidance. For anything! He couldn’t understand why it was so damn difficult to just tell Steve who he was.

His vision started to spin and he crawled away from the ledge to the safe distance deeper into the landing pad. He couldn’t believe he was PTSD-ing again—over having to tell Steve who Mecha really was! He was going to have to sooner or later anyway…

But he really preferred it to be later rather than sooner. He wanted to stretch this out for as long as he could just in case there was going to be a complete breakdown of everything afterwards. He had already crossed that border where it wouldn’t have mattered to Steve if Tony was Mecha. They were past that. Way past. Where they were right now, Steve was going to mind—and very much so—that Tony had kept his identity a secret for as long as he did.

If Steve was going to feel deceived in any case, Tony decided he was going to ride the train to the end of the line. Have Steve in his life in any way he could for as long as he possibly could.

Before he could devise something to take Steve’s attention off Mecha’s real name, his phone chirped aloud again.

shield_storm: You don’t have to reveal anything, you know. I hope this information about me doesn’t pressure you in any way to tell me what your real name is. We’re meeting in less than 2 weeks anyway. I’ll know all about you then. I just want you to know mine—well—because I want you to. :-)

shield_storm: And since I’m being candid with you, there’s something else I want you to know.

heir2mecha.realm: Go ahead…

shield_storm: It’s just I’m afraid that it might make you uncomfortable.

heir2mecha.realm: No, go on. What do you want to tell me?

shield_storm: I think I might be falling for you.

Tony’s intake of breath would have shamed a drowning man. Storm—Steve was falling for him. They felt the same way about each other! Tony was so overjoyed that he wanted to get up on his feet and dance around the empty landing pad. Steve felt the same way for him! He wanted to scream at the top of his lungs in elation.

Then Tony’s happiness evaporated as quickly as it materialized. Steve, of course, was not falling for Tony Stark! Steve was falling for Mecha—the fucking persona that Tony had hidden behind all these months. Steve was falling for an ideal, an imaginary person all because Tony had been a fucking coward and a fucking prick.

And that tore through Tony’s heart like shrapnel—like Afghanistan—all over again because the most terrible part of it all was that while Tony had fallen in love with everything that Steve was, Steve had only fallen for a lie. And Tony had no one but himself to blame.

But a tiny shred of hope fought for purchase in his crumbling world. That maybe—just maybe—Steve could have a place in his heart for Tony Stark, too. Tony clung to that hope like a man in the middle of inky darkness would to the dying flame of a fast-melting candle. Because it was all he had left.

###

Steve watched the words in black and white on the back-lit screen of his smartphone. Well—nothing he could do now! The words were out, and out there floating in the ethers of Stem. He was falling in love with Mecha. Of course, he was. Here was a guy who was thoughtful, funny, supportive, smart and patient. Only a moron or a mindless troll would not fall in love with someone like this guy!

He had waited too long with Peggy because of cowardice and self-doubt; he wasn’t about to make the same mistake twice in his lifetime. So he seized the bull by the horns and just spat it out. He steeled himself for Mecha’s reaction.

heir2mecha.realm: I’m not uncomfortable.

heir2mecha.realm: Because I think I’m kind of also falling for you.

heir2mecha.realm: But I’m afraid of what it means. I’m afraid that it’s just going to be like my last relationship. I’m afraid that I might fuck this up, too. I’m afraid everything’ll change when you meet me or that you will make a complete about-face when you see me.

shield_storm: Why would I? I’m *so* excited to meet you. I can barely hold myself together because I want so much to see you smile and hear you laugh. And watch your eyes twinkle when you tell me a story or be mesmerized by your sexy smirk. :-3

shield_storm: What’s the first thing you’ll do when you meet me?

heir2mecha.realm: I will come up to you and introduce myself, and then I will kiss you…

shield_storm: Just like that? So straight-forward?

heir2mecha.realm: Just like that. :-D

heir2mecha.realm: What about you? What will you do when you first see me?

shield_storm: I will kiss you back. :-D

heir2mecha.realm: After that?

shield_storm: I will make you blush with my awkwardness.

heir2mecha.realm: :-DDDDDDD hahahahahaahah!!!!!

shield_storm: Then I’ll want to hold your hand and maybe walk with you to dinner and maybe go to a movie after?

heir2mecha.realm: I’d like that. :-3

heir2mecha.realm: I’d like that very much, Steve.

And Steve smiled. So widely it made his face ache. But he was excited. In less than two weeks, he was going to meet the man who made this century all the more special for him. He looked up one last time at the still darkening firmament with a wistful sigh before making his way back inside the med-facility to rejoin Bucky.

Chapter Text

It was a Friday when Col. James Rhodes arrived from India, landing War Machine on the Avengers Tower’s landing pad without any sort of prior clearance whatsoever. Tony welcomed his oldest friend with a barrage of questions the answers to which were classified, a mug the size of a child’s head filled with coffee that made Rhodey gag, and a mandatory and much-needed Boys’ Night Out scheduled for the following night.

Rhodey always got on well with the rest of the team, especially with Steve because they were both army boys. So it was easy to integrate Rhodey into the dynamics of the Tower residents. Rhodey played with Thor on the Wii, discussed recent grenades and explosives technology with Clint, gossiped about international intel stuff with Natasha, talked science with Tony and Bruce, and discussed whatever the hell it was he and Steve always talked about.

Tony was so desperate to get Rhodey alone to confide in him regarding his present fucked-up predicament with Steve; the billionaire was nearly foaming at the mouth like a rabid animal. He needed to talk to someone or he was going to self-destruct.

He couldn’t talk to Storm about his worries because—well—Storm was very much the subject of it. And he couldn’t avoid Storm to take the complication out of his life because he had promised not to disappear on the man. Tony had tried to hide out in his workshop, mainly to avoid Steve, but Bruce was having none of it. The good doctor had taken it upon himself to fetch Tony for meals and subsequently refuse to fucking leave the workshop unless Tony accompanied him to the common floor to eat with the rest of them.

Since there was no hiding from Storm or Steve, Tony, with quiet resignation, bore the suffering with as much grace as he could muster. But he was nearing the end of his fuse. So he needed Rhodey. Because he badly needed someone to rant to or he was going to spiral into oblivion and fucking choke the life out of some unlucky sonofabitch!

And he needed alcohol to drown out the terrible combination of dread, guilt, exhilaration, physical arousal, self-loathing, hope, and vulnerability that was wreaking havoc in his system. He couldn’t even remember the last time he had felt this much at once because he had always believed that he had the emotional range of an eyedropper.

They decided to go to their favorite hang-out of old in Lower Manhattan, The Hippie Jibbee, where it was quiet enough for them to talk and hopping enough for some distraction when they needed it. They ended up ordering a couple of bottles of whiskey, nachos, fries and cheese sticks.

“By the looks of you, we’re probably gonna be here all night,” Rhodey assessed, narrowing his eyes at Tony.

“What—can’t a guy miss his best buddy?” Tony tried for false cheer.

“Pepper’d told me about the night you proposed. How’re you really holding up, Tony?”

“Oh I’m so over that—like—fifty-five years ago! You’re so behind, Rhodey,” snorted Tony. It happened to be true, too. And compared to the mess he was currently in, having had his marriage proposal snubbed was a fucking picnic!

“You can’t be over that this quickly. You hold a grudge like nobody’s business. Pepper was convinced for a while that you’d engaged a witches’ coven to curse the living daylights out of her,” joked Rhodey. “I told her it was not possible because you didn’t believe in witchcraft. Now, reconfiguration of nuclear missiles coordinates during test launches was more your thing.”

Tony mockingly laughed at the gibe. “Seriously, I’m not even remotely bothered by all that anymore. I’ve also sort of realized that Pepper and I are better off as friends. If we’d gotten married, there was only one way to go: divorce on the ground of irreconcilable differences. Ending things was for the best.”

Rhodey threw back a shot of whiskey, grimaced and stared Tony down with his piercing glare. “There’s something hair-raisingly eerie about you being so agreeable,” the Colonel stated, pursing his lips. “When you’re all calm and in control like this over something, there’s usually something else—something much bigger—catching on fire somewhere else because of you.” He poured a finger of alcohol to the shot glass and slid it in front of Tony for the latter’s turn.

The engineer-billionaire hissed with an indignant look. Rhodey knew him too fucking well. “When are you people ever going to have faith in me? You, Pepper and Bruce ought to start a club,” he said.

The Colonel watched intently while Tony threw back his shot, baring his teeth as the alcohol poured down his throat. Rhodey kept staring while Tony measured out his friend’s next round of whiskey. “What?” Tony asked, self-conscious of Rhodey’s scrutiny.

“You’ve met someone,” Rhodey concluded, a sly smile blossoming on his strong features.

“What?!”

“You’re cool with having your marriage proposal rejected, like a mature adult, which is uncharacteristic of you. You’re able to move on this quickly and this unconcernedly because—why? Of course, it’s obvious. You’ve met someone new. And this person is the reason you’re being level-headed about all this,” accused Rhodey with a wiggle of his forefinger that was pointed at Tony.

Damn. It was impressive how Rhodey was able to catch on this quickly!

“Psssh!” Tony was dismissive, trying to play the I-Don’t-Know-What-the-Fuck-You’re-Blathering-on-About card.

“And you are trying to play it down because you know that I know you too well, Tony,” Rhodey teased, throwing back his next whiskey shot and stuffing his maw with nachos. The teasing smile was still on his face.

“Fine! You’re right. You know me too damn well. I have met someone.”

“What’s her name? What’s she like? Where did you meet her?” Rhodey fired off one question after another, eager for the answers that, knowing Tony’s lack of any morsel of self-control, were coming without any further need of prompting.

“His name’s Storm,” Tony answered with a yank of the shot glass and the whiskey bottle towards his side of the table.

“What kind of a name is that?” Rhodey asked, recovering from Tony’s revelation very quickly, god bless his constitution for the things about his best friend that he’d had to live with.

“I met him on Stem,” came the simple reply. Tony gulped down his round of alcohol and pushed the glass and bottle back to Rhodey’s side of the table.

“But you’re not on Stem.”

“Don’t believe everything Bruce says even if he’s a fucking genius. Of course, I’m on Stem. I helped write its programming code. You know I never do anything magnanimously,” contradicted Tony.

“So you met him on Stem…” Rhodey prompted.

“But in real life, Storm’s really Steve. Only he doesn’t know who the fuck he’s talking to online,” Tony confessed. It was off his chest finally! It felt really good except that the look of absolute incredulity on Rhodey’s face was making Tony reconsider his initial elation.

“Steve… Steve?” Rhodey asked, confused. Tony shrugged and rolled his eyes, then looked at Rhodey with wide eyes as if prompting him to make the connection. “Steve? As in Steve Rogers? Captain America?!”

“Really, do you know any other person named Steve? I know all of your friends and their social security numbers, Rhodey. Steve is the only Steve you know.”

“You’re talking to Steve online and he has no fucking clue that it’s you?!”

“And he’s alive, ladies and gentlemen,” Tony said with a mocking round of applause and a shit-eating grin. Rhodey’s only response was two successive shots of the whiskey as if he was thinking that he wasn’t sufficiently drunk for this conversation yet.

“You’re insane! You’re insane!!!”

“I’m insane. Any other more professional assessment than that or is that all you’ve got for me?”

“You’re talking to Steve online and he doesn’t know who you really are! Do you have a death wish or something? And—wait—he’s the one you’ve been romancing after Pepper dumped you? You. Are. Mad!” Rhodey said, emphasizing the last three words. He took two more shots of the whiskey. He was probably thinking that if he got really pissed he could forget that Tony ever told him this foolishness of epic proportions.

“Romancing?! You’re reading way too many chic-lit novels, man!” Tony tried to make light of his predicament. But when Rhodey had spelled the situation out for him, it seemed even more horrific.

“Maybe you should read chic-lit novels so you’d know that this kind of shit you’re pulling right here is going to blow up in your face,” Rhodey assured him, angrily plucking a handful of fries from the bowl between them and stuffing his face.

“Don’t you think I know that?! I didn’t mean for this to happen, Rhodey. It just did!”

“How long have you been keeping up this—this… ruse?”

“Several months,” was Tony’s vague reply.

“How long, Tony?!”

“Almost five months! Happy?”

“And you’re saying it just happened? You’ve been keeping up this—this… thing with Steve for five months and you’re saying it just happened?!”

“I didn’t mean for it to happen. I swear. I wanted to tell him. So many times, but I couldn’t. Because I know how he’s going to take it,” Tony reasoned, forcibly grabbing the whiskey bottle and chugging down nearly half of what was left in the bottle.

“Tony. What reaction could you possibly expect from the guy? Of course, he’s not going to be happy!”

“I’ve fallen in love with him, Rhodey. And I didn’t mean to. And I didn’t see it coming. And before I knew it, the moment to tell him who his Stem friend really was has passed us by. I… want to make it right, but I know that whatever I do… it’s not going to sit well with him,” Tony owned up to what he was feeling. He crossed his arms over his chest and took an anxious bite of his right thumbnail. “So I thought, I could just enjoy it while it lasted… If he’s going to hate me after he finds out then at least I had the time I had with him—no matter how short it was. It’s stupid; I know but…”

Words failed Tony for the first time. Sighing, Tony knew it wasn’t going to be the last time either.

Rhodey, too, seemed at a loss. The Colonel had never seen his friend so torn up about something. “You love him—well—shit,” Rhodey murmured, resignedly. “Are you ever going to tell him about you?”

“We’re meeting in a week,” Tony reported. “He’s told me he loved me, too. Me—my Stem persona…” Tony opened and closed his mouth several times as if to continue explaining or telling the rest of the story, but he couldn’t seem to find any more words. “But of course, when he finds out it’s me, everything will change.”

“What lies have you been feeding him about you? Please tell me you didn’t pass yourself off as female,” Rhodey begged, rubbing his eyelids tiredly.

“I didn’t,” Tony assured, chortling for the first time since they started this discussion. “Funny thing is, I didn’t lie to him. Not once. Except that I withheld some information about me—like… my name, my goatee, my money… But everything else was all me. Didn’t stop me from feeling guilty—like I’d lied to him about everything,” Tony spat, raising his hands to signal a passing waiter to get them another couple of whiskey bottles.

As always, Rhodey took the new information in stride. He didn’t even look fazed at what Tony had just revealed.

“You’re sworn to secrecy, by the way. You can’t tell anyone anything about what we’ve been talking about. Especially not Natasha,” Tony warned Rhodey, narrowing his eyes. And Rhodey shrugged his assent.

“Maybe you should not wait for one more week to tell him. You should tell him as soon as possible. Maybe you can still salvage this, if you explain that you didn’t intend to deceive him. Steve’s a pretty reasonable fella. He’ll hear you out. And you better hope he hears you out,” the Colonel suggested.

They were now nursing a bottle of whiskey each. They took long swigs while Tony thought about Rhodey’s suggestion.

“What you have doesn’t have to end when he finds out it’s you, you know. You say you love ‘im, so fight for ‘im. Make him see sense. Make him understand why you did what you did. The thing with you is that you’ve made this out to be some kind of struggle that comes to an end when he finds out who you are. But maybe, it’s only when he finds out that the real battle for what you’ve… built here—begins,” Rhodey rationalized, brandishing his half-full bottle of whiskey at his friend. “Don’t resign yourself to what’s coming. Steel yourself for what you have to do, man! You’re given another chance at this, Tony. Not many assholes like you get another crack at something as beautiful as this,” Rhodey slurred.

Tony could vaguely see the wisdom in what Rhodey was saying. Thank you, whiskey!

Three and a half bottles of whiskey, two plates of nachos, one plate of cheese sticks, two bowls of fries, one near argument, one shattered shot glass, seven attempts at pick-up lines, one set by the featured band, five bottles of stone-cold beer later, Tony was sprawled on his side of their booth, face down on their table, nearly pissed. Rhodey had stood up from their table to go to the bar presumably to order more drinks but he got waylaid by a girl near the bar for a chat.

Tony, bored with waiting for his friend’s return with more drinks, took his phone out of his pocket and squinted at it for the time. He wasn’t sure if Storm was still awake, but he suddenly got the gripping urge to talk to his Stem friend, reassuring himself that he was not nearly drunk enough to do something stupid like reveal his identity to Steve while he was plastered and his cheek was hammered to the booth.

He just wanted to talk to Steve for the sake of talking to Steve, asking how his day had been, knowing what he was doing at that moment, just being reassured that he was alright. Tony knew he had it bad because he was getting sappy in his old age. But Tony really craved and cherished talking to Steve because he could talk to Steve about anything.

Apparently with only one exception: who Mecha really was.

Logging in on Stem, Tony strained to see with eyes that were modified by his blood-to-alcohol ratio if Storm was online.

heir2mecha.realm: hey Steve! I’m glad you’re online!

shield_storm: Hey Mecha! How’s your evening?

heir2mecha.realm: Hopping. I’m hanging out with a friend of mine that I haven’t seen in a while. But he’s off flirting with some girl by the bar right now. So I thought I’d check if you’re alright.

shield_storm: I’m alright. :-) You say you haven’t seen each other in a while and then your friend goes off, leaving you alone, to flirt with some girl? Isn’t that a bit rude of him?

heir2mecha.realm: No doubt. ;-) But I’m used to it by now. He doesn’t get that much action with the ladies in his line of work so whenever we go out, I just let him do his thing…

shield_storm: Nice of you. :-3

heir2mecha.realm: Yeah I’m nice like that. So what about you—what are you doing right now?

shield_storm: I’m drawing something using your presents. You know me… Not very partial to going out to paint the town red or something. :-)

heir2mecha.realm: We should really do something about spicing up your night life…

shield_storm: Why? Are you going to insist on taking me out on nightly dates after we meet? ;-)

heir2mecha.realm: !!!

heir2mecha.realm: Sneaky!!! I meant, I’m still taking it upon myself to help you get a decent social life.

shield_storm: I don’t need a social life; I have you.

heir2mecha.realm: You really are on a roll right now, aren’t you?

shield_storm: Am I making you blush yet? :-P

heir2mecha.realm: Hahahahaha!!! Oh I am red in the face alright. I’ve just downed two bottles of whiskey by myself!!!!

shield_storm: Be careful… Don’t drink too much! How’re you getting home?

heir2mecha.realm: Relax… Don’t worry about me. I’m a big boy. I’ll get home alright… And I’m not driving if that’s what you’re so concerned about. :-D

shield_storm: OK. Don’t stay out too late and don’t drink too much!!!

heir2mecha.realm: Yes Mom!!! :-DDDD You sound like a proper worried boyfriend already. >[:-P

shield_storm: *shakes head* This is what I get for worrying about your well-being? You’re such a tease, Mecha…

shield_storm: I don’t want to have to see you in a week, wrapped in bandages because you got into some kind of accident due to being too drunk, ok?

heir2mecha.realm: I’ll be fine…

heir2mecha.realm: I <3 U

shield_storm: :-P You’re drunk…

heir2mecha.realm: That’s what *I* get for being sweet?

shield_storm: I <3 U 2

heir2mecha.realm: You’re a fast learner; I like that about you.

shield_storm: Chat me up when you get home, ok?

heir2mecha.realm: If I don’t, will you be up all night, worrying about me?

shield_storm: You’re impossible.

heir2mecha.realm: I do my best…

Tony was nursing his half-full whiskey bottle when Rhodey returned and slurred and blathered on about the girl he was talking to. The billionaire was only half-listening. He was almost at the border of being pissed-drunk; Rhodey might as well have been speaking to him in German.

He must have passed out at some point because when Tony came to, Rhodey was gone, There was a big wet patch of something that smelled remotely alcoholic on the crotch of his trousers and Harvey was shaking him softly, saying that maybe it was time that he took Tony home.

“Rhodey?” Tony asked, screwing his eyes shut over and over to get his swimming vision in check.

“He left about an hour and a half ago with some girl. Said he asked you if it was alright and you gave your go-ahead. He made me swear to make sure you got home in one piece,” Harvey explained, helping Tony up out of the booth. “He also said he’d already paid for everything.”

“Oh he’d better. Some friend he was ditching his bro for a ho,” Tony slurred, sliding his phone off the table and stuffing it with a bit of difficulty in his front jeans’ pocket. “Let’s go home, Harv. Everything is fucking spinning.”

Tony must have passed out again in the car because when he opened his eyes next, they were already parked in the Tower garage and Harvey was just opening the door to the backseat to help him out.

“I’ll be alright from here, Harv. You should go on home. I’m sorry to have kept you out so late. You should go,” Tony said drunkenly, waving Harvey off.

“Are you sure, sir?”

“Yeah! Yeah! I’ll be fine. Just one push of a button on the elevator and I’m home free. Go…”

The elevator opened with a ding and Tony stumbled in with a lopsided grin to reassure Harv that he was going to be fine. He blindly and clumsily pressed a button for the top-levels, waited for the elevator doors to close between him and a worried-looking Harvey before collapsing ungainly in a face-up spread-eagled position on the floor of the elevator.

With a loud ding that rattled Tony’s teeth, the elevator opened and Tony expended energy to raise his head to look at where he was.

Steve was standing before the elevator doors on the common floor, in his house clothes, carrying a flat case that, Tony assumed, contained his art materials. His blue eyes were wide open in shock at the scene that was unfolding in the elevator. “Oh my God, Tony, what happened?!”

“This isn’t the penthouse!” And with that, Tony passed out for a third and more long-term time that night.

###

Steve carefully laid Tony down on the latter’s bed in his bedroom in the Tower penthouse. The brunette was still blissfully out cold, so Steve helped in spreading his teammate’s limbs in a more comfortable position on the huge bed with its sheets that looked, felt and smelled expensive.

The Captain had panicked for all of five seconds when he saw Tony sprawled on the elevator floor. But when he realized that, of course, Tony had been out with Rhodey for some long-anticipated revels, he understood that Tony was just plastered out of his wits. So Steve decided to leave his art materials in the common floor and help Tony to get to the penthouse.

Employing the fireman’s carry, Steve was able to haul Tony to the latter’s bedroom and into bed without even breaking a sweat. He was now standing over the oblivious billionaire, debating with himself whether or not to take the liberty of helping Tony out of his clothes, especially his drenched pants—what caused the wet patch right on the crotch area of the man’s pants, Steve was unsure whether he did or didn’t want to know.

“What to do with you?” Steve asked out loud to no one in particular in the room, seeing as he was the only conscious life form around. “JARVIS?” It occurred to Steve to enlist the help of the AI.

“What can I help you with, Captain?”

“I’m planning on changing Tony’s clothes because they’re wet. Can you tell me where his clean night clothes are?”

JARVIS directed him where to get what he asked for.

“OK. Is it alright, JARVIS, if I—“ Steve trailed off in his question, when he was already prepared to do what he had planned on doing at the outset—to take Tony’s dirty clothes off and dress him up again in clean pajamas.

“Of course, Captain. I’m sorry but I am unequipped to physically help you out in changing Sir’s clothes. You’re going to have to do this next part without my help. I’m certain that Sir won’t mind.”

Steve gingerly unbuttoned Tony’s cardigan, took it off, made quick work of the light blue shirt underneath, exposing Tony’s bare torso. Before Steve could be aware of what was happening, he had exploded into a ferocious blush as he noted the billionaire’s toned body and the faint scars on his chest where his miniaturized arc reactor had been. Steve noted that Tony wasn’t overly muscular but his was a body akin to the statue of David that Steve had once seen on the internet—toned in all the right places, not too bulky but not too thin, perfect as a sculpture subject. Turning his attention to the wet pants, Steve visibly gulped down his nervousness. He unbuttoned the pants, undid the zip and yanked it down through the legs, exposing Tony’s sexy red silk boxers and fit, drool-worthy legs. Steve had to consciously stop himself from whimpering.

The thumping of his heart was interrupted when something distinctly heavy fell out of the pocket of the jeans: Tony’s smartphone. Steve picked it up and placed it on the bedside table with care. He worked as efficiently as he could given his shaking fingers, flaming face and stinging lower lip—because he’d been biting it the entire time since he undid the very first button, to put the black pajamas on Tony’s prone body. He thanked his lucky stars that the boxers were mercifully dry because he was dreading—and at the same looking forward to—having to take it off, too. So he just dressed Tony as quickly as he could.

It was while he was folding Tony’s soiled clothes that he thought of Mecha and wondered if the latter had already made it home himself from his night out. So he took his phone from his pocket and checked. Mecha was still online; he did promise to chat when he’d already made it home. But since there was no message, Steve thought it best to send one to Mecha just to have his bases covered.

shield_storm: Hey… Are you home already?

Steve nearly jumped out of his skin when, barely three heartbeats after he’d pressed Send on his phone, a loud chirping interrupted the tomb-like silence in Tony’s bedroom. It was the billionaire’s phone on his bedside table. The Captain didn’t pay it any mind and went back to folding Tony’s clothes and placing it neatly atop a vacant armchair.

After that, he went into Tony’s bathroom, looking for some aspirin or any headache medication because he was sure that Tony would be looking for it first thing the next day. Steve marveled at the sheer size of Tony’s bathroom.

He was busily going through the meds in the overhead cabinets, ears peeled for his phone’s announcement that Mecha had messaged back, but there was nothing.

shield_storm: Mecha. Are you ok? Why are you not answering?

Again, almost as soon as Steve pressed Send on his message, Tony’s phone chirped out in the bedroom. What were the odds of that kind of impeccable timing happening twice?

“JARVIS? Where’s Tony’s aspirin or Paracetamol?”

“On the top drawer of his bedside table, Captain. The one where you just placed Sir’s phone.”

Steve made his way back to the bedroom and carefully yanked the named bedside drawer open. Inside were bottles of various medicines, tubes of lubricant and boxes of condoms that would’ve shamed a convenience store counter.

OK! Steve started to blush again and gingerly ran his fingers through the medicines but avoided touching—or even looking at—the lubricants and condoms. It wasn’t his business what Tony got up to in his spare time or his alone time.

The contents of the drawer were so extensive that Steve thought it was a good idea if he could already lay out the medicine that Tony might need the next day. He wanted to help however he could. So he placed a full mat of Paracetamol and a covered glass of water on the bedside table for Tony to find and make use of the next day.

It was just as he was rearranging the things on the bedside table that he checked his phone again for any sign of Mecha. Was there perhaps something wrong with his phone or the internet connection? Was there perhaps something wrong with Mecha? Maybe something had happened to him!

shield_storm: You’re scaring me, you know that?

As what had happened twice before, Tony’s phone chirped just a couple of heartbeats after Steve had pressed Send on his. The screen on Tony’s phone lit up as well. So Steve couldn’t help but look who could be texting his currently indisposed teammate. And his quick eyes caught a message on the phone’s screen just as the backlight faded and the phone went dark once again. He wasn’t sure if what he saw was right because Steve thought he saw the word STEM.

But Tony wasn’t on Stem. Bruce had said so and even Tony himself had confirmed it multiple times. Was Steve hallucinating?

Turning to the immobile form of Tony on the bed, Steve checked that Tony was still out cold. Then, the Captain tried to access Tony’s phone but he was obstructed by a number key pad, asking for a 7-digit access code.

Also, what were the odds that in the three times he’d sent a message to Mecha without a reply, Tony’s phone had also chirped at the exact same time that Steve had sent his messages and their recipient would’ve received them? It was too much of a coincidence to just let it pass. Steve didn’t want to think anything of it, but the drum roll in his chest refused to let up. He had to be able to discount what had always been a nagging thought at the very back of his mind about Mecha’s real identity.

Taking Tony’s phone from the bedside table and holding it with his left hand, Steve slowly typed a new message for Mecha on his phone with his right. His thumb was uncertain and uncooperative as he hovered over the keys on the touchscreen panel.

shield_storm: Please answer me.

Steve pressed Send on his phone and waited with bated breath for three interminable heartbeats—willing Tony’s phone to chirp in his hand, and at the same time, willing it to stay silent. He could hear the pounding of his heart in his ears. And then Tony’s phone chirped and vibrated in Steve’s left hand. On the backlit screen flashed a message that made Steve’s vision swim and his heart momentarily freeze in his chest.

New Message in Stem Application_

shield_storm: Please answer me.

The backlight to Tony’s phone faded fast once again, but the words that Steve had seen for that one brief moment were clearly emblazoned in his mind’s eye. Steve kept staring at the phone’s dark screen, disbelievingly.

Tony Stark was Steve’s Mecha. All this time. All this time?!

Again, Steve turned to look at the figure of Tony Stark that was prostrate and oblivious on his bed. All this time, Tony was Mecha and he never said anything to Steve. Not when Steve revealed that he was bisexual, not when Steve had told his fears, described his nightmares. Not when Steve had told Mecha of his feelings for the latter.

What was Stark trying to prove? What was he trying to pull? How could he have done it—make a fool of Steve and then stare at him straight in the eye every damn time? And all this time—

Steve returned Tony’s phone on the bedside table, restraining himself to do so gently and not bang it against the wood as he was fueled by all the anger and hurt that were beginning to fester in his system. Stuffing his own phone back in the pocket of his sweats, he turned to look at the unconscious form of Tony Stark one last time. He wanted to wake the man up, shake him until his teeth rattled and look into Tony’s brown eyes so the latter could recoil in the immense pain and betrayal that was sure to be blazing out of Steve’s blue ones. But everything would be futile, because no matter how much pain Steve inflicted upon Tony, it couldn’t take back the god-awful truth: Tony Stark was Mecha. His Mecha… His Mecha that was nothing but the progeny of concealment and deceit.

Shaking, clenching his jaw and balling his hands into angry fists on his sides, Steve left Tony’s bedroom without another backward glance. 

Chapter Text

Tony was hunched over in his seat on the dining table, flanked by Clint and Thor while Bruce was puttering around the kitchen, assembling his preferred drink of lavender-infused chamomile tea and a simple breakfast. The billionaire had his head in a vice-like grip between his hands as he fought the urge to gag for the fourth time since he had woken up. His vision was still swimming even after he had downed three Paracetamol capsules at once, that were mysteriously but blessedly left on his bedside table, after he had puked his weight in stomach fluids. The person Tony was supposed to be thanking for what infinitesimal comfort he had was still notably absent from the common floor.

JARVIS informed Tony, just as the billionaire was noisily retching something positively vile in his toilet, that it was Steve who helped him to the penthouse, changed his clothes and left him the medication on his bedside table. With every intention of thanking Steve and putting something else in his body in the way of sustenance apart from the alcohol that was still coursing through his system, Tony dragged himself out of bed, showered, changed and hauled ass to the common floor. JARVIS had sounded like there was more he wanted to tell Tony, but in the billionaire’s hurry to get to the common floor, Tony had cut his AI off. He was impatient; he had to get to where he needed to be and talk to the person he needed to thank.

But Steve wasn’t in the common floor when Tony got there. Only Bruce, Clint and Thor were lounging about preparing to eat a slow-going meal in the dining area.

“Don’t hunch. Your vision won’t stop spinning unless you sit upright,” Bruce advised, placing a big-ass mug of coffee on the table before Tony.

“Don’t you think I’ve been hung-over enough times to know what to do in situations like this, Banner?” Tony snapped and then groaned, fighting the urge to dry heave again. He was trying to put off drinking coffee because he didn’t want to have to throw up something so precious down the drain.

“Fine. Puke all over the table, for all I care, Stark,” Bruce snapped back with a huff and a shake of his head, returning to his chore of making a humble breakfast for the team members that were already in attendance around the table.

“I care; I care! Don’t puke all over the fucking table, Tony, please,” admonished Clint, doing what help he could by lousily putting place settings on the table.

Tony inhaled some coffee and when he was satisfied that he could keep it down, took deeper gulps of it, unmindful of its scalding temperature. “Where’s Steve? Isn’t he usually the one who likes making breakfast?”

“Haven’t seen him yet. He wasn’t in the gym this morning. Maybe he’s still out on his run?” Clint volunteered information.

Tony was worried that Steve might have stayed up all night, waiting for a message from Mecha, which Tony, in true Stark fashion, completely forgot about. In his defense, he was out cold, but forgetting about it after he had teased Steve was a dick move as far as dick moves went. So he had sent an apologetic Privy to Storm just as he was on his way down to the common floor, but Tony was still worried because of the vexed tenor of Storm’s messages the night before. He remained logged in on Stem, waiting for Storm to make contact, but there was radio silence. And his distress was multiplying with every minute that Steve was a no-show in the common floor for breakfast.

Tony stole a glimpse at the time on the wristwatch he remembered to put on that morning. “But it’s already 9:30. He can’t still be out,” he reasoned, massaging his temples with one hand and forking some Spam slices on his plate with the other.

“Since when are you an authority when it comes to Steve’s schedule?” Bruce asked with a raised eyebrow, mimicking Tony in forking Spam slices on his own plate.

“Nothing goes on in my turf without my knowing about it,” came the billionaire’s snarky reply, thumping the side of his head with an enclosed fist to try to remove the scratching pain in his brain.

After a couple more minutes of tinkling cutlery, small talk, groans of pain from Tony and rustling of the morning broadsheets from Clint, the common floor reverberated with the sound of the elevator’s ding. Everyone turned to look as Steve strode in with a shockingly uncharacteristic scowl on his striking face.

Tony didn’t know if it was his brain-splicing headache, but the scowl on the Captain’s face seemed to him to have darkened further when the latter noticed that Tony was among the breakfast diners. But Tony couldn’t be sure because Steve averted his gaze too quickly.

“Good morning, Steven,” Thor greeted with a toothy smile. Thor, like Steve and unlike Tony, was a morning person. Steve greeted back with just an expressionless and curt nod.

It was an atypical Captain Steve Rogers greeting that even Tony, who rarely joined in team dynamics like meals and movie nights, took notice, narrowing his eyes. He wasn’t the only one who thought that was weird because Tony noticed Clint and Bruce exchange a pregnant look of incredulity at Steve’s coldness.

Steve stiffly took a seat as far away from Tony as possible, wordlessly heaped food on his plate and started eating without any attempt to engage the others in morning niceties. The wrinkle in his forehead and the tightness in his jaw never left his face the entire time that he was shoveling food in his mouth. Even the chink of silverware against ceramic as Steve wordlessly ate was shriller and harsher than usual as if he was holding himself back from spearing his plate with his fork.

To Tony, it was unmistakable; Steve was fucking pissed. And Tony could guess why. The engineer-billionaire masked his grimace with a furious squeeze of his head between his hands.

Steve ate mechanically for all of three minutes while his teammates watched him surreptitiously. Subsequently, the Captain stood up from the table, rinsed his used utensils, banged them into the dishwasher—so hard, his glass cracked, and left the kitchen without a word or even a backward glance.

Everyone on the table was stunned and unconvinced that what had happened even happened at all. Steve was never—never—in this kind of mood before. Not even when the Captain had just moved in to the Tower and he and Tony were barely speaking to each other. Not even after a particularly disastrous mission where everything that could go wrong actually went wrong.

Tony was always the temperamental one of all of them, who had moods that would have shamed a woman suffering from PMS. And of course, Bruce had anger management issues like you wouldn’t believe. But Steve never had moods. He was rigid and stern, yes, but never hot-tempered.

“What do you think is wrong with him?” Clint asked the rest of the bewildered men on the table.

“Someone should probably approach Steven—converse with him—to determine what is amiss,” Thor conjectured, giving his attention back to a neglected piece of Pop tart on the edge of his plate.

But none of the Earth’s Mightiest Heroes then present on the breakfast table made any move to stand up and do just what Thor had suggested. Since Steve had never been in a mood like this before, everyone was naturally wary to be the one to approach the Captain and possibly incur his wrath of presumably epic proportions.

“I can’t get involved in any physical conflicts. We don’t want the Other Guy to mess the Tower up, do we?” Bruce warned, looking at each of the men sitting around the breakfast table.

“Yes, leave it to the man who is hung-over to see what the problem might be,” Tony muttered, sliding his chair back to stand up. He inwardly prepared himself to confront Steve. “Where were you when they were distributing testicles?”

Thor choked, sputtered and nearly upchucked the juice he was imbibing. “They do that here in Midgard?! What—can you get more than two?” Thor asked, turning from Bruce to Clint for enlightenment. Tony, walking towards the elevator with a chortle, was only too glad to have to pass on that conversation!

But the conversation he was walking towards was also potentially challenging.

He stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for Steve’s personal floor. Before he got there, though, the elevator stopped at Natasha’s floor and opened with a ding, revealing the Black Widow herself with her arms folded menacingly across her chest. She stared at Tony like she had been expecting the elevator to bring him to her. She stepped into the elevator, waited for the doors to close and, as soon as they were, without preamble, swiped at the controls for Emergency Stop.

“If you’re going to murder me because of something you think I’m responsible for, can we not do this in the elevator because it’d be too damn messy?” Tony asked sarcastically.

“What are you trying to pull, Tony?” Natasha asked with a piercing stare. “What you have to say had better make sense to me or it’ll take the authorities years to find your body.”

“What the fuck are you talking about, Romanoff?” Tony was too fucking hung-over for this.

“I’m talking about heir2mecha.realm—your Stem username, persona—whatever the bloody fuck it is. You’ve been in communication with Steve for months and he has no clue, whatsoever, that it’s you. Care to explain? Make it quick and comprehensive or you will be leaving some of your organs and appendages in this elevator,” Natasha threatened, flexing her fingers by slowly balling her hands into fists.

Tony was actually surprised that Natasha had found out. He had thought he was being extra careful in covering his tracks and keeping his mouth shut and his facial expressions in check.

“How did you—?”

“Spy/assassin, remember? Nothing happens around me that I don’t know about,” replied Natasha, tilting her head at an angle to look at Tony. The gesture was commonly one that showed amusement but on Natasha, it just looked like she was considering the best and most efficient way to maim him. It was also funny that what Natasha had said sounded awfully similar to what Tony’d also told the rest of the team during breakfast.

“I didn’t mean to conceal my real identity from him. I was trying to determine the best time to come clean to him, but… I didn’t notice it when it passed us by. So before I knew it, I’m in too deep, and… I can’t… I can’t tell him anymore who Mecha really was because… I was scared,” Tony admitted through gritted teeth. He was too damn hung-over for this! He couldn’t believe that he was having the same conversation with a different person for the second time in a row. He hated it that he was starting to sound like a broken record—

And damn if the admission didn’t still hurt like a motherfucker!

“You were scared so you propagated a lie?!”

“I didn’t lie to him… O—K, so maybe I did… About my identity. But everything else I ever told him was the truth,” Tony defended. Tony took positively the fact that Natasha was yet to lay a hand on him. He hoped it was because Natasha could detect a semblance of sincerity in what he was saying.

“As the foremost authority when it comes to deception and concealment, what—you think there are minor deceits that are... justifiable? You think just because you lied only about your identity but was truthful about everything else, you didn’t actively deceive Steve?!” Natasha asked, anger flashing in her eyes. “He doesn’t have a fucking clue that he’s been talking to you, Tony! And you think that’s alright?!”

“It’s not alright! I know it’s not! I don’t think I’d feel this guilty if I thought it was! Jesus—it’s like fucking déjà vu! I’m too hung-over for this shit. Pepper does more than enough mothering and scolding for seven consecutive lifetimes. I don’t need any more of this shit,” Tony yelled back, clenching a hand into a fist to rein in his frustration. He wanted to punch something, but he didn’t want to have to put Natasha on the defensive because Tony knew he wouldn’t survive a fight with her. So taking a deep breath, Tony continued, “I care about him. And I was scared that if I told him who I was, I’d lose him.

“And then it became only too clear to me that I’d lose him anyway. So I thought I could just…” Tony shrugged, looking for words to express what he was feeling. “…run with it for as long as I possibly could. I mean, nothing lasts forever anyway, right? So…” Tony licked his lips, pensively. That space in his chest where his arc reactor used to be was beginning to feel heavy. “…if I lose him because I was a fucking coward, then at least, I get a keepsake—no matter how small,” finished Tony, biting his lower lip.

“So that’s it then? That’s as far as you go? When Steve finds out and hates you, you’d just fold… walk away with your little keepsake and barricade yourself in your penthouse suite like a wounded animal?” Natasha asked, assuming a challenging tone of voice.

That was his default response, sure. “What’s my alternative?”

“I don’t know. What else can you do?” Natasha took a step closer to him to stare deeper into his eyes. “But I guess the real question is: how far will you go for someone you say you care about?”

Tony could vaguely make out through the haze of his hangover that Rhodey seemed to have given the same advice, too. What was he prepared to do for this—this… feeling he had for Steve?

Then, he realized he had been lying—to Steve, to Rhodey and to Natasha. When he said he was afraid of things changing once Steve met Mecha, or of losing Steve when the latter found out about Mecha’s real identity, he wasn’t really afraid that Steve would hate him. Tony was afraid that he, himself, would destroy this—whatever amazing thing this was that he had with Steve.

Because he was like a grenade. His last relationship was a testament to that. Tony Stark sucked at love and at relationships. He was meant to be alone. Being alone meant he couldn’t hurt the one he loved. And he couldn’t be hurt, too. He would be able to spare himself from the pain of another Pepper.

Because he could very well fight tooth and nail for what he was feeling for Steve today only to destroy it himself at some other time. So why bother at all, really?

“You’re supposed to be the genius one, Tony Stark. So figure it out,” dared Natasha. “But, for starters… Stop. Lying. To Steve. If you really care about him, then you’d tell him who his Stem friend really is. Right now. I’m giving you the courtesy of telling him yourself. Trust me when I say it’d feel less of a betrayal if he gets it straight from the horse’s mouth,” finished Natasha. She punched the button for Clint’s floor, deactivated the Emergency Stop and got off when the doors opened, sly as smoke.

Tony wanted to laugh hysterically. Tell Steve himself who Mecha really was? There was only six days left anyway. He could just keep to the program and wait it out, but he knew that every day that he didn’t tell Steve the truth brought the latter one more step away from being able to look past everything that had happened and forgive Tony for the deception.

Natasha sure spoke the truth when she said it would feel less of a betrayal if he told Steve himself. Now. Right fucking now. Didn’t mean it was going to be easy.

###

The Captain was still trying to access his inner peace. He could feel his breakfast sitting in his stomach like an indigestible organic lump. He wasn’t expecting Tony to be around for breakfast because of his dead-drunkenness the night before, so he was momentarily thrown off-guard when he saw Tony, sitting there and looking completely hung-over. But Steve couldn’t bear to look at the engineer-billionaire without feeling shattered on the inside.

He thought he had gotten to know the real Tony Stark this past couple of months. But it turned out that it wasn’t Tony at all. It was all just one grand, elaborate charade. For the purpose of making Stark feel less guilty about toying with him, like Stark toyed with all his robots and hare-brained inventions.

Steve was too wired, too shocked, too hurt to fall asleep after his discovery the night before. Tony Stark was heir2mecha.realm. Tony was Mecha. Steve’s Mecha—the person that Steve was so convinced he had fallen in love with because of Mecha’s patience, his thoughtfulness, his wit and his sensitivity. But all this time, Mecha was Tony Stark.

The time that Steve was wide awake during the interminable night was devoted to trying to make sense of the situation. He so wanted to give Tony the benefit of the doubt—like maybe, Tony also didn’t know who Storm was or something. But of course, there was absolutely no way that Tony Stark didn’t know who shield_storm was because Steve himself had revealed to the rest of the team what his Stem username was. And Steve could also distinctly remember having mentioned Mecha to the team during breakfast with Tony, himself, seated right next to him. Not to mention that Steve had also already told Mecha what Storm’s real name was.

And all that time… All that damn time… Tony was Mecha, and he didn’t say anything to Steve—not in person during all those damn times that they were alone, not online, nothing. Steve visibly flushed in anger and embarrassment again when he remembered all the things he had revealed to Mecha, like the pathetic, love-starved, innocent idiot that he was. Steve couldn’t help but imagine how Stark must have laughed at him and all his pathetic secrets!

Tony must have thoroughly enjoyed Steve’s absolute gullibility. And Steve was gullible—so gullible that he had fallen for everything Mecha had fed him—hook, line and sinker. So gullible he had fallen for Mecha and everything Steve thought he was.

Funny thing was Steve was supposed to have sharp instincts. He had always prided himself for being perceptive and intuitive; he should have smelled this ruse at the earliest onset, but it was like, with Mecha, he just threw caution to the wind, and screaming ‘fuck all,’ completely abandoned his natural intuition.

And now, here he was—feeling like an absolute ass for thinking he had finally found something worth fighting for in this life that he had never really owned—at least until he’d met Mecha. But Mecha, as it turned out, was just a big, fat lie. Conceived by a self-absorbed, arrogant, deceitful prick…

A knock on his bedroom door interrupted his angry self-loathing. Looking up, he found himself staring into the warm brown eyes of Tony Stark, who was peeking through the gap in the door that stood ajar.

“Hey Steve. Are… you OK?” Tony asked, tentative. Steve wanted to scream at the billionaire’s face that no, he wasn’t OK. He wasn’t OK, and he would never feel OK ever again—because he got played by someone he thought he’d fallen in love with. It was stupid; he was stupid. For thinking it was real.

Steve’s lips curled in distaste. He couldn’t help the white-hot anger coursing through every blood vessel in his body. He stood up from his bed, clenched his hands into fists at his sides and felt a sneer unusually blossom on his face. “You want to know if I’m OK,” Steve said, keeping his voice as even as he could.

“Yeah—Bruce, Clint and Thor were taken aback by your disposition during breakfast. I thought I should go see if anything’s wrong,” Tony stated matter-of-factly. He let himself into Steve’s bedroom absent any invitation from the latter, leaning against the door jamb.

“You want to know what’s wrong with me, do you?”

“Yeah—oh and I came to thank you for helping me out last night. I’m sorry that I got really hammered and I didn’t mean to be a pain. JARVIS told me how you… came to my assistance. So thank you for that,” Tony said, shrugging and pursing his lips.

Steve didn’t bother gracing those thanks with a fitting response. He was too busy staring into Tony’s eyes to see if there was even a whisper of guilt in them for the billionaire’s months-long con of him. But there was nothing. Steve laughed coldly at that. “I’ll tell you what’s wrong with me, Stark.” And with that Steve turned to grab his phone from his bedside table.

Logging in on Stem, Steve sent a Privy to the currently online Mecha, willing himself to rein in his emotions and not crack the screen of his phone with the force of his typing fingers. He was so pained; he could feel pinpricks behind and at the corners of his eyes. The message was simple and unmistakably direct, too.

Privy to heir2mecha.realm_

shield_storm wrote:

I know it’s you.

A shrill chirp echoed through Steve’s bedroom. It was Tony’s phone. Steve had committed the sound to memory; he could’ve sworn he could hear it chirping mockingly through his sleepless night. “Go on. Read it,” Steve commanded, his blue eyes flashing and boring into Tony’s brown ones. He watched while Tony slowly pulled his phone out from his front trouser pocket and keyed in his access code.

He watched the blood drain from the billionaire’s face when the latter read the four words in the Stem Privy. Tony’s head snapped back up to meet Steve’s gaze again. This time, Steve couldn’t help but notice the pain and wordless entreaty there.

Steve laughed contemptuously with a mean smile that he knew must look peculiar on his face. “You must have had quite a laugh at my expense. A real hoot, right? Pathetic Storm, who’d told you he was bisexual, who’d told you he didn’t know anything about flirting, who’d told you his perfectly wretched fears, who’d told you he was falling for you… And all this time, you knew it was me. You must have nearly died, laughing,” he said, accusingly. His eyes stung. His mouth was dry. His palms ached from his fingernails he knew were digging painful half-moons into the skin. He ached so badly somewhere inside his body that he couldn’t place.

“Steve—“

“Stop. Stop right there. You had five months—five months—to explain, to tell me who you were, to come clean and you never did. You’ve gotten really good at it, too—at keeping your silence about things that mattered. So keep your silence. Because I’m tired of being lied to, so I’d rather not hear any more,” Steve said quietly, looking at everywhere—every crevice, nook and cranny in his bedroom, but at Tony. He couldn’t bear to look at Tony because he couldn’t stand to be reminded of what he’d thought he had and what he’d now lost. But could he lose something he’d never had to begin with?

Mecha was just a figment of Steve’s hopes and dreams. Mecha was just a product of Stark’s calculating mind and Steve’s lost and lovelorn heart. Nothing more.

“Just get out, Stark,” Steve commanded, resigned. He fell back down on his bed, dejected. He hunched over, planting his elbows on his knees and staring at the floor through the sting of unshed, painful tears in his eyes.

“Steve, please. Just let me—“

“Get out,” Steve ordered, much harsher this time. And when Tony was still unmoving, yelled, “Get the fuck out of my room, Stark!”

From out of the corner of Steve’s eye, he thought he saw Tony flinch and touch the spot where his miniaturized arc reactor used to be before the billionaire turned on his heel to do what Steve had asked.

“Was any of it even real?” Steve asked softly just as Tony was about to pull the bedroom door closed behind him. Steve knew he was only torturing himself, but he wanted to know. He needed to know—even just that one bit of information.

“Every word. At least, for me, it was,” Tony murmured before disappearing from the Captain’s bedroom.

Steve rubbed at his eyelids with his right thumb and forefinger, pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled a pained whimper. He wanted to believe Tony; he really did. But he was wary. He had always believed that trust was the foundation of every relationship. He had trusted Mecha; and look where that took him. Right now, Steve really didn’t know if he trusted Tony at all.

###

The city below was starting to come alive in the twilight. Tony didn’t know how long he’d been standing in front of the ceiling-to-floor glass windows of the penthouse, overlooking the bustling business district of New York. He looked down at the scotch swirling in the stout glass in his hand. The ice had melted, and he hadn’t noticed at all.

Tony had put the penthouse and the workshop in total lockdown—again—the moment he re-entered his personal living space, having just come from Steve’s floor to confront the latter after a tense breakfast. And the billionaire hadn’t left the penthouse since.

To a casual observer, Tony looked deadpan… disinterested… just lost in his thoughts. But he knew that if he went under closer scrutiny, his eyes were glassy and dead; his posture was oddly hunched; his face was drawn and tired; his skin was of a sickly pallor. He had not showered since the morning after his night out with Rhodey. He had barely eaten anything apart from what he could scrounge in the cupboards of his penthouse kitchenette. He had barely moved from the windows. He’d not gotten any work done. He had barely spoken—even to JARVIS. He had not been answering calls, texts or emails.

He was devastated. It was as if he had got his marriage proposal rejected once again. Only, this time he felt a hundred times more miserable.

Throwing back the remnants of his scotch, Tony grimaced at the weird taste the alcohol left on his tongue. If only he could hide in the penthouse forever and not have to deal with anything or anyone, but he knew that sooner or later, he was going to have to come out of his hidey-hole and face the world.

And face Steve. Tony acknowledged that he would probably have to live the rest of his life with the memory of the pain and accusation he had seen in those angry blue eyes. Every word out of Steve’s mouth that morning of their confrontation was like a punch to Tony’s gut. Though it hurt him immensely that Steve dashed all attempts of his to explain, Tony knew that he couldn’t really blame Steve.

Because Tony was an asshole! A spineless, sadistic, selfish sonofabitch.

Tony moved away from the window, banged his empty glass angrily on the first available console table and strode purposefully towards the door. He had to stop punishing himself like this! Had he not primed himself for precisely this outcome anyway? Wasn’t this the exact reason why he’d put off telling Steve about Mecha’s real identity. He should have been plenty prepared for this so there was absolutely no reason for him to hide out, licking his wounds.

It was good—great—while it lasted. But nothing could last forever; had he not said so himself?

Bruce was waiting for him in the atrium outside the penthouse suite. Tony could only guess how long Bruce had been camped out there, waiting for him.

“’Sup?” Tony asked casually, as if he hadn’t just had the penthouse and the workshop under total lockdown again—presumably for a couple of days—for the second time in so many months.

Bruce looked at him, a mixture of incredulity and pity in his deep brown eyes. “Oh Tony…” Bruce trailed off ambiguously, in the way of a greeting.

“If you’re going to tell me I’d gone insane or lost my marbles, or threaten me, or yell at me to explain myself, don’t waste your breath, Bruce. Natasha and Rhodey’d already covered that,” Tony sardonically said, rethinking his initial decision to rejoin the world and turning around to return to the comfort of the penthouse with Bruce right on his heels.

“Natasha told me about the situation. She asked me if I knew anything about it,” said Bruce, taking a tentative seat on the arm of the nearest couch.

“I don’t know why she thought you would have anything to do about it. What—like she didn’t trust me enough to make stupid decisions on my own?”

“Steve’s also been in a dark mood for the past couple of days. You’ve put the penthouse and the workshop on total lockdown—again. That’s why we were all clued in that something had happened,” reported Bruce, changing the subject. He folded his hands together on his lap. “What are you going to do now?”

“The shit’s hit the fan. What can I do? I’m an engineer, not a miracle worker,” came Tony’s sarcastic reply. “I fix things, but… there are some things that just… can’t be fixed, you know?”

“Have you tried talking to him? To explain yourself?”

“I have. Couldn’t get a word out though—he torpedoed it. He doesn’t want to hear what I have to say and I can’t blame him,” Tony said, returning to his spot by the windows with his back turned to Bruce. “It was a shitty thing to do, and he’s well within his rights to hold a grudge until kingdom come,” the billionaire stated, dismissive.

Bruce cleared his throat, stood up and walked to stand beside Tony in front of the windows. “This is so unlike you, Stark. I would think that you, of all people, would do more than just… take the punishment. Here I’ve always thought you’re the type to never give up until you’ve made things right,” observed Bruce with a ghost of a smile on his unassuming face.

“I know what you’re trying to do, Banner. But sometimes, you just have to know when to tap out, when to keep fighting. Who says I’m not making things right by giving Steve space?” Tony murmured, looking in the distance. “Steve—he… deserves something more. Something more than what I can offer. I have too many issues, too much baggage; I’m too high-maintenance. I’m self-destructive. I’m sure you saw what I did to my relationship with Pepper. Someone like me is meant to be alone. And someone like Steve… well… someone like Steve deserves more than someone like me.” Tony explained, turning towards Bruce and meeting his friend’s eyes for the first time since their conversation began.

“You can’t mean that, Tony. I’ve seen what Steve was like when he was talking with you online and when you became friends. I’ve seen what you were like during that time, too,” Bruce argued. “What if someone like you is exactly what someone like Steve deserves?”

Tony laughed at that, but it rang hollow throughout the empty penthouse. “What you’ve seen—was nothing more than a farce. A relationship based on lies. Something like that is always meant to fail.”

“Steve might have mentioned to Clint about looking for a new place,” Bruce reported again, obviously saddened by the recent turn of events between his friends.

Tony just nodded without any discernible expression.

“So that’s it? You’re just going to avoid him like nothing had happened. You’re just going to let him leave the Tower. It will affect the team, you know,” said Bruce. He sounded like he still wasn’t done with trying to change Tony’s stand.

“The Captain is a professional. I’m certain he’s not going to let anything personal affect how he does his job. And if he can be professional about it, so can I. We already worked well before when we barely knew each other,” Tony defended. Bruce obviously hated it when Tony had a sure response to everything he was trying to throw. “If he wants to leave the Tower, that is, of course, his prerogative. We can’t force him to keep living here if he’s no longer comfortable.”

Recognizing when to tap out in this particular discussion, Bruce placed a reassuring hand on Tony’s shoulder, squeezed it and with soft reminders of ‘take it easy’, ‘you’ll be alright’ and ‘things will come around’, left the penthouse and Tony to his tumultuous thoughts again.

Once again, Tony stood for an inordinate amount of time before the windows until the darkness of the night sky was as deep as the one in his soul. Without a word, Tony turned towards the direction of his walk-in closet.

The closet was looking barer than it used to be when he’d shared it with Pepper. There were still boxes of Pepper’s things strewn around. Pepper had boxed yet more stuff the last time she was around; Tony even helped her sort stuff out. It was another one of those things that made both of them realize that they’d already indeed moved on and that there was already no reason for Pepper to worry about how Tony was holding up.

Tony needed a distraction for his wayward mind and his restless hands, and this was it. Because work, sleep or even goddamned Stem was out of the question.

He got down on his knees and busied himself with boxing more of Pepper’s stuff, sorting his own junk from Pepper’s things and boxing some of his own stuff for future donations. It kept him occupied and plenty distracted for goodness knew how long. There were old clothes, broken watches that he set aside to fix, yellowed papers, even a couple of loose sheet music that he used to practice with, several musty books.

He was routinely flicking through the thin, musty paperbacks from a tattered box that he’d transported from their Lower Manhattan mansion when he found his very old, and worn copy of The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint Exupéry. He, of course, remembered the book. It was given to him by a particularly-loved nanny and it was one of his all-time favorites. He had read it when he was seven, when he had been most homesick after having been shipped off to Switzerland to attend a prep school for young, rich children who, like him, had parents that were too busy with the business to care for them—with just a nanny and a chauffeur for company.

Folding and crossing his legs before him on the closet floor, Tony scanned through the yellowing, much-thumbed pages of the thin volume. He stopped at the pages with passages that were underlined with red crayon, read and reminisced:

‘My life is very monotonous,’ the fox said. ‘I hunt chickens; men hunt me. All the chickens are just alike, and all the men are just alike. And, in consequence, I am a little bored. But if you tame me, it will be as if the sun came to shine on my life. I shall know the sound of a step that will be different from all the others…’

‘One only understands the things that one tames,’ said the fox. ‘Men have no more time to understand anything. They buy things all ready made at the shops. But there is no shop anywhere where one can buy friendship, and so men have no friends any more. If you want a friend, tame me...’ ‘What must I do, to tame you?' asked the little prince. ‘You must be very patient,’ replied the fox. ‘First you will sit down at a little distance from me — like that — in the grass. I shall look at you out of the corner of my eye, and you will say nothing. Words are the source of misunderstandings. But you will sit a little closer to me, every day...’

‘It would have been better to come back at the same hour,’ said the fox. ‘If, for example, you come at four o'clock in the afternoon, then at three o'clock I shall begin to be happy. I shall feel happier and happier as the hour advances. At four o'clock, I shall already be worrying and jumping about. I shall show you how happy I am! But if you come at just any time, I shall never know at what hour my heart is to be ready to greet you... One must observe the proper rites...’ ‘What is a rite?' asked the little prince. 'Those also are actions too often neglected,' said the fox. ‘They are what make one day different from other days, one hour from other hours…’

So the little prince tamed the fox. And when the hour of his departure drew near — ‘Ah,’ said the fox, ‘I shall cry.’  ‘It is your own fault,’ said the little prince. ‘I never wished you any sort of harm; but you wanted me to tame you...’ ‘Yes, that is so,’ said the fox. ‘But now you are going to cry!’ said the little prince. ‘Yes, that is so,’ said the fox. ‘Then it has done you no good at all!’ ‘It has done me good,’ said the fox, ‘because of the color of the wheat fields.’  

And then he added: ‘Go and look again at the roses. You will understand now that yours is unique in all the world. Then come back to say goodbye to me, and I will make you a present of a secret.’ The little prince went away, to look again at the roses. ‘You are not at all like my rose,’ he said. ‘As yet you are nothing. No one has tamed you, and you have tamed no one. You are like my fox when I first knew him. He was only a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes. But I have made him my friend, and now he is unique in all the world.’ And the roses were very much embarrassed. ‘You are beautiful, but you are empty,’ he went on. ‘One could not die for you. To be sure, an ordinary passerby would think that my rose looked just like you — the rose that belongs to me. But in herself alone she is more important than all the hundreds of you other roses: because it is she that I have watered; because it is she that I have put under the glass globe; because it is she that I have sheltered behind the screen; because it is for her that I have killed the caterpillars (except the two or three that we saved to become butterflies); because it is she that I have listened to, when she grumbled, or boasted, or ever sometimes when she said nothing. Because she is my rose.’

By the time he finished reading the marked passages, Tony’s eyes were stinging and his chest felt like it was going to burst. Every word of the passages he had read reminded him of Steve and how he was ‘tamed’ by Steve. How Steve had broken through his armor, took hold of his heart and possessed it.

And he went back to meet the fox. ‘Goodbye,’ he said. ‘Goodbye,’ said the fox. ‘And now here is my secret, a very simple secret: It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye. It is the time you have wasted for your rose that makes your rose so important. Men have forgotten this truth,’ said the fox. ‘But you must not forget it. You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed. You are responsible for your rose...’

It was the time they had spent getting to know each other, without the spectacles of their misconceptions and biases about one another, which eventually bound them. They needed that time to change their views about the other. And now Steve had tamed Tony and Tony had tamed Steve. And they were responsible forever for what they had tamed.

It was like a dark veil was lifted off Tony’s face. He needed to explain to Steve; he needed to make Steve understand. He needed to justify why he did what he did. Rhodey, Natasha and Bruce were all correct. The struggle was only now just beginning because there was no distance far enough that he wouldn’t go to fight for this. Because maybe, just maybe, he was Steve’s rose and Steve was Tony’s Little Prince.

If Steve didn’t want to hear Tony’s explanation, Tony was just going to have to employ every shred of his ingenuity to be heard. And for that, he needed James ‘Bucky’ Barnes.

Chapter Text

Steve was still in a pretty foul mood, but it certainly helped that he hadn’t seen the reason for his wretchedness in three days now. He knew that the rest of the team had already pretty much pieced together what could have happened between him and Stark, but none—bless their souls—have yet to try to talk to him to get his pulse on the matter. He knew that Natasha had something to do with how the rest of the team found out about the Storm-Mecha debacle, but even she’s been giving him some space to cool off.

He was nursing a cup of tea in the dining area while staring off into space when Natasha, like smoke, appeared out of nowhere and without any forewarning. Or maybe there was some sort of forewarning only that Steve was too out of it to notice.

“Have you decided if you’re really going to start looking for another place to live?” The redhead asked, peeling a banana she had plucked from the fruit basket. “That would be strategically unfavorable to the team dynamics, on top of it being a security nightmare. If there’s a call to assemble, we’d be losing vital minutes in coming together as opposed to if we’re all just found in one place,” Natasha discussed, appealing to Steve’s tactical nature. She took a languid bite of her fruit while she waited for Steve to consider the points she had just raised.

Steve rolled his eyes and shook his head with a tight-lipped smile that still didn’t quite reach his eyes. “What are you trying to do, Tasha?”

“I’m trying to convince you to reconsider your initial position,” came the straight answer.

“You do know the reason why I’m considering moving out, right?” Steve fished.

“Yes, of course. Tony. You’ve been talking to him on Stem for five months and you had no idea it was him. You think he betrayed you, toyed with you and acquired information from your personal life, which you would not have given him otherwise, using trickery and callousness. Did I miss anything?” Natasha asked with a playful sneer.

“I also sort of told him that I was falling in love with him—with his Stem persona,” Steve filled in with every intention of shocking his teammate with his revelation.

Which he didn’t quite achieve because Natasha just shrugged, taking everything in stride. Steve didn’t know what fazed the woman, really. “So you told him you love him. What—you’ve stopped loving him now that you know that he’s really Tony Stark?”

“I don’t know who he is. I don’t know who Mecha really is and who Tony Stark really is.”

“Did you even give him a chance to explain his side?”

OK, so that stung. He was so much blinded by anger and hurt, disappointment and shock that he didn’t even let Tony get a word in edgewise when the billionaire had come to his bedroom to ask if he was alright. And of course, since Tony was steering clear of him for the past few days, there hadn’t been any opportunity to really hash things out and talk like reasonable adults.

“How do I know if he’s telling the truth? He’s proven himself a quite capable liar. He’s been conning me for five months, Tasha. What explanation could possibly be forthcoming to justify that?” Steve challenged his friend, completely neglecting his mug of tea.

“Oh I don’t know. But then neither do you. Because you didn’t let him explain,” Natasha argued, taking a series of irritated bites of her banana. “I haven’t seen Tony in three days. The penthouse and the workshop are in total lockdown—again. For all we know, he’s killed himself with alcohol poisoning. And you will never get to hear any explanation. You will never know if it’s any good or if it’s utter bullshit.”

“I don’t care. I don’t care if he never comes out of his suite. I don’t care if he never tries to explain to me. We’re better off this way. Trying to improve relations with Stark was a bad idea from start to finish,” Steve spat, pushing his tea mug away from him in annoyance.

“So you’re not curious at all? If maybe he meant everything he might have told you in your chats? Maybe, with the exception of his real name, he actually told you the truth about himself that you would not have otherwise cared to discover if you had known from day one that it was Tony Stark you were talking to?”

Steve narrowed his eyes at Natasha. Damn if the woman knew to push the right buttons and voice the appropriate points!

“You should talk to him, Steve. At least, give him a chance to explain. To make things right. Because you and he were so much better when you were trying to be friends,” Natasha said before standing up and leaving Steve to his thoughts.

Rebelling against Natasha’s sage advice to seek out Tony for a much-needed talk, Steve performed his morning ablutions in record speed and left the Tower on his motorcycle to go visit Bucky in the Long Island med-facility.

Bucky, as always, was quite thrilled to get another visit from his best friend. They played several games of chess, ate lunch, watched a movie, talked about books, and then Bucky showed him some websites on his laptop.

All the while, Steve was barely paying attention so Bucky walloped him in chess over and over; he couldn’t remember what they actually ate for lunch; he barely paid any mind to the movie and didn’t even understand the ending; he always asked Bucky to repeat questions or statements when they discussed books; and he was so out of it while surfing the net, he kept on clicking the same link that always ended in a 404 Error message.

Somehow, Steve’s plan to get Tony Stark out of his mind was not working. At all. If anything, Steve found himself thinking about Tony even more so than usual. And this fact unnerved him. But he shook it off. There was absolutely no point in giving Stark the opportunity to feed him more lies. A clean break was what they needed, no matter what Natasha said.

He didn’t miss Mecha or Tony Stark at all. And he wasn’t at all disturbed by the fact that he kept on seeing wide, pleading brown eyes like a projected image behind his eyelids every time he blinked!

He had not noticed that he was staring off into space with a rather blank look to his otherwise clear and piercing blue eyes until Bucky snapped his fingers right in front of Steve’s nose, yelling, “Steve!”

“Huh? What?”

“Are you alright, Stevie?”

“Y—yeah, I’m fine. You were saying something?” Steve asked, raking a hand through his blond locks and blinking his eyes over and over to shake off the image that was making him stare off into space like a loon.

“I asked you if you have a Stem username,” Bucky repeated, animatedly pawing the navigation pad on his laptop and going to Stem’s homepage. “Because I just got my membership confirmation. And I’m thinking I’d like to add you as a Chum. My username’s child.of.genesis_1917,” Bucky announced rather proudly.

Not Stem again!!! Steve wanted to tear his hair out and roar like a crazy-ass son of a—. When was he going to be free of bloody Stem?! He suddenly and quite fiercely regretted ever signing up for that blasted social networking site. If he hadn’t signed up for bloody Stem, he never would have sent that request for book recommendations, which Mecha had replied to. And he never would have seen Mecha’s reply, read that first book recommendation and sent that first Thank You Privy. This deception would not have happened, and he wouldn’t be feeling so miserable right now!

But if he had not signed up, he wouldn’t have met Mecha and the past five months—when, for the first time since he’d woken up in this century, he had felt like he actually belonged—wouldn’t have happened. It was like his bliss and his misery went hand in hand; one couldn’t exist without the other. Because both could trace their origin to one source and one source only: Tony Stark.

“Earth to Steve Rogers! Steven Grant Rogers!!!” Bucky hollered again, clapping his hands together. An irritated but worried expression laced his face. “What is the matter with you today, Stevie?”

“Nothing—umm, nothing. St—Stem, right. Umm, my username’s shield_storm, but I’m thinking about deactivating it,” Steve admitted. It caused more trouble than it solved, so he was seriously considering deep sixing it where the sun didn’t shine.

“Does it have something to do with The Avengers—whatever it is that’s bothering you? Because when Tony was here yesterday, he also seemed deeply troubled and distracted as hell. Is something happening out there?” Bucky demanded, genuinely concerned. The former Sergeant momentarily diverted his eyes away from the Stem homepage that was loading on his laptop and gave Steve his full attention.

The Captain turned to meet Bucky’s eyes at the mention of Tony’s name so fast; he nearly had a crick in the neck. “Tony? Tony was here? Wait… he was here yesterday? What was he doing here?”

“Well, he visited me. He gave me an update about the developments of his research on my arm. He has several designs on the drawing board for a possible upgrade. He gave me some more books and movies. We talked about the advancements in technology since the last time I was out of cryostasis. He’s good company,” recalled Bucky. “But yesterday, he was a bit out of it. He sometimes looked deep in thought and there were also times he looked…” Bucky trailed off, searching for the appropriate word.

“He looked what?” Steve prompted, but immediately regretted it. He wasn’t supposed to give a damn anymore about Tony Stark. Even if Stark had looked like he was dying, Steve wasn’t supposed to care. Steve was supposed to be too hurt and angry to care!

“He looked incredibly sad. Like someone important to him had died. Stevie, what the devil is happening out there?!” Bucky demanded again. “I try to read internet news reports and watch news programs as often as I can, but is there something going on out there that they’re not reporting in the news?”

Steve shook his head to try to calm his friend’s distress. “Nothing of import is happening. It’s just that…” He trailed off, debating with himself whether he should tell Bucky anything about the Storm-Mecha business. He wanted to tell Bucky because he badly needed another perspective on the matter. And he trusted Bucky’s judgment. But he didn’t know how and where to begin.

“What?” Bucky opened his eyes wider at Steve to prompt the latter on what he was about to say.

“It’s about Stem,” Steve began. “I kind of met someone on Stem about five months ago,” and Steve told his friend the whole sordid story, up to and including finding out that Mecha was really Tony Stark. Bucky nodded and narrowed his eyes at appropriate times in the course of the story. He looked shocked and then disappointed when Steve told him about the inadvertent discovery. And then became disturbingly inscrutable as the story came to a close.

“Now, I don’t know what to do. I’m actually thinking about moving out of the Tower to just give everybody some breathing room because I know that it’s going to be detrimental to the team if Tony and I can’t deal with each other. I can’t have that; I can’t be responsible for ending the team only because I can’t deal with the fact that… he’d lied to me even after I’d told him I loved him,” Steve confessed. He kept his gaze on his hands because he didn’t want to have to look at Bucky and see something he was in no way prepared to see—like pity, because he was so gullible, or disappointment, because he’d let himself be conned for so long, or revulsion, because he had been so superficial as to proclaim his love and devotion to someone he had never met before.

“O—K. Who exactly are you in love with again?” Bucky asked.

“That’s the problem. I don’t know. Because I thought I was in love with Mecha, but Mecha was just a lie crafted by Tony Stark.”

“Was he?”

“Was he what?” Steve asked Bucky, confused.

“Was he a lie crafted by Tony Stark? So everything he said to you in the guise of Mecha was a complete and utter lie, was it? He wasn’t a real engineer who had just broken up with his girlfriend. He wasn’t a 41-year- old bisexual with warm brown eyes, who liked chocolate and flirting. He really couldn’t play the piano and didn’t have nightmares of falling into an abyss. He also lied about growing up in Lower Manhattan and being sent to a Swiss prep school at the age of 7. And Tony Stark and Mecha are nothing alike, too, are they? I mean, from your description, Mecha was supposed to be thoughtful, witty, uncommonly kind and charming, and Tony Stark is nothing like that, ain’t he?” Bucky asked with intermittent upward curves of the corners of his mouth as Steve’s expression grew continuously darker.

“What are you trying to say, Buck?” Steve inquired, annoyed.

Bucky’s shoulders rose as he took a deep inhale. “Of the two of us, you’ve always been the more perceptive one. You can read people and see through bullshit better than I can. When we were young, I even thought that was your superpower. And to a certain degree, it is your superpower. It’s what makes you such a great tactician in the field because you can read your people well and, at the same time, you’re not the type to fall for false trails or red herrings,” Bucky argued, folding his arms across his chest as he sat there in front of Steve on his small dining table.

“You’re being ruled by your anger and your pain right now. You’re convinced that you’ve been betrayed; you’ve been conned. It sucks to be lied to; I know. But if you can look beyond your anger, you actually have in your hands the power to know what’s real and what’s not in the things that your Stem friend had told you.

“You have to realize, Stevie, that you’re at the cusp of something… something special… something people devote their lives looking for, but, sometimes, never find. We’re old men, Stevie. Things like this are no longer supposed to happen to us. But you’re being given something splendid here. Another chance, if you care to take it. Are you really going to let your anger rule over you? Or are you going to use that power of yours to determine the truth?” Bucky urged Steve.

After which, Bucky gave a start as if he just realized something in the advice he had just given his oldest friend. “’It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye,’” the former Sergeant recited, as if recalling an old saying. But it wasn’t an old saying because Steve had never heard of it before. So he looked quizzically at Bucky.

“It’s a quote from the book The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry. It was supposed to have been first published in English right at the time when we were in the thick of the fighting with the Howling Commandos,” Bucky explained, standing up to begin digging in a box filled with books and CDs. Lighting up, he fished a thin, very worn volume from the box and showed it to Steve. “It is one of the books that Tony brought for me yesterday. He said this is one of his all-time favorites. So I read it and finished it quickly. And it’s good… it gave me a lot to think about.”

Steve studied the outside covers of the thin volume. He flipped through it quickly and saw red crayon underlines in some pages as if a child had eagerly marked favorite passages on it.

“Take it. Read it,” Bucky encouraged. “Maybe it’ll give you something to think about, too,” said Bucky, winking with both eyes at Steve and smiling lop-sidedly. He raised a hand to Steve’s shoulder and squeezed it with affection.

###

Tony had made a back-up therapist out of James ‘Bucky’ Barnes when, yesterday, the former had gone to the Long island med-facility to visit James. And Tony must say that James was not so lousy in the listening department. The former Sergeant had been pissed at first that Tony had the gall to deceive Steve the way he had, but unlike Steve, James had given him the benefit of the doubt and actually listened to what he had to say. It didn’t hurt that the former Sergeant still had a debt of gratitude towards Tony for his recovery; it was a huge contributing factor to why the ex-soldier even bothered to listen to the billionaire’s explanations.

The billionaire knew that James wanted to offer him some advice as to what to do with Steve. After all, James was the Captain’s oldest and closest friend, but Tony respectfully declined any advice. He just asked James for a favor to read The Little Prince and then to pass it along to Steve, confessing that the book was an all-time favorite of his. For his part, James didn’t bother asking for an explanation from Tony regarding passing the book along. He just nodded his assent and promised that he would do as Tony asked.

Now, two days before Storm and Mecha’s scheduled meeting in the roof deck of the Hayden Building, Steve was still resisting anything that had to do with Tony. Steve, according to JARVIS, was also absent from the Tower for the entire day, yesterday, creeping back up to his personal floor only at the wee hours of the morning—Tony, of course, had asked JARVIS to keep his eyes peeled for the Captain’s return because the billionaire got worried. That morning, the Captain had turned on his heel, exhibiting his enhanced reflexes, the moment he saw Tony in the kitchen, pouring himself a mug of coffee. And now, Steve was again gone from the Tower, and Tony couldn’t even track his phone because the Captain had gotten wise to that technique of Tony’s and had shut his damn phone off.

This was what they’d been reduced to, playing a complicated dance-cum-cat and mouse chase. Tony didn’t want to have to force himself on Steve not because of his ego, but because he knew Steve wouldn’t appreciate it. Besides, Tony had a plan, and he was going to stick to it. Steve needed to read The Little Prince first, and Tony hoped Steve would understand the first message. Problem was he didn’t know when Steve would’ve already had the book. Tony was fairly certain that James would not have had the opportunity yet to pass the book along to its intended recipient since their talk yesterday. And with Steve still quite obviously angry at Tony’s concealment, the latter had no other choice but to be patient. Though patience was never a virtue of his, he forced himself to acquire it, much like a machine’s upgrade. He’d decided that he was willing to go to great lengths for Steve, and go to great lengths he would.

He’d also had to completely let go of any illusions whatsoever that the meeting on the roof deck of the Hayden Building was still on. It wasn’t like Steve still needed to be there to discover Mecha’s identity. There was no longer any conceivable purpose for that roof deck encounter apart from an opportunity for further tongue-lashing, blame-throwing and jaw-clenching as if Tony didn’t feel guilty enough already. Of course, it was always a possibility that they could talk during the roof deck meeting, but with the way that Steve was still resolutely holding a grudge, that talk wasn’t likely to happen anytime soon.

“Sir, there is an incoming call from former Director Fury on your secure line.”

“Yeah—patch him through, J. Make sure to record the call for our files,” Tony ordered, standing up from where he had been seated for the longest time: behind the grand piano in the workshop. He really needed to reconsider the proper disposal of this instrument, especially if he failed in sorting things out with Steve; he didn’t want to have to set such a beautiful thing on fire out of alcohol-induced rage or something.

“Stark,” Fury drawled from the other end of the secure phone call. Though the former Director’s voice sounded teeny, it didn’t sound any less commanding or confident.

“Nick,” Tony drawled back. At least, he was still a cheeky bastard when circumstances called for it.

“I got a fascinating email from you a while back about your interest in the Maximoff twins,” said Fury. “I think you will be interested to know that they have been sighted a little over 24 hours ago—“

“Where?” Tony interrupted, eyebrows furrowing.

“Always were in a hurry…” Fury observed, as if sensing Tony’s agitation. “Eastern Europe, near the Russian border. Take your pick of one of the former SHIELD operatives on the team to go hunting with you—Barton, Romanoff or Rogers. But get your titanium-alloy ass to Europe within the next 10 hours if you want to catch up to them before the trail gets cold. This is an under the radar, no casualties, tag ‘em and bag ‘em operation, Stark. Don’t attract attention to yourself unless you want this to be an international issue. I sure hope you have a holding cell ready in that Tower of yours,” Fury languidly said while what sounded like a sheaf of papers rustled in the background.

Like hell he was taking Steve or someone else from the team! He wasn’t going to endure a cross-continent trip with one of them only to be stared at accusingly, because of the shitty business with Steve, until he keeled over. “I’m going alone, Fury. I’ll be my own back-up. And if you’ve got a problem with that, you can take it up with the team’s financier, which is—whoa! Would you look at that—me,” Tony sardonically retorted, summoning holograms to him to apprise himself of the mission location’s terrain, and to integrate schematics of what additional firepower he thought he was going to need.

“Not a good idea, Stark. We only have a ball park estimate as to what the twins are capable of. You’re going to need back-up,” Fury insisted, raising his voice a bit.

“I can get there in less than 10 hours in the suit, Fury, but if I take someone else with me, we’re gonna lose ‘em,” the billionaire pressed. Tony was in the zone again, one hand gesturing this way and that for hologram schematics with the other tapping freakishly over a holo-keyboard to compose emails and last-minute orders for Hill to sort out.

“Need I remind you of the last time you came within the radar of Wanda Maximoff? You don’t want that to happen again, do you?”

“No, I don’t. And it’s not going to happen again. I can handle it. I’m going alone, and don’t you dare suggest to anyone else on the team to shadow me, Nick. Because if you do, you’d wish you were also deaf on top of being blind in one eye,” Tony threatened as menacingly as he could.

“What of the scepter, by the way? Is it still in your possession or has Thor decided to take it back to Asgard?” Fury asked, changing the subject.

“Thor’s still here. We’re still trying to figure out what other god-awful HYDRA experiments the scepter may have been used for before we really decide to haul it somewhere else,” Tony replied. “We don’t want the unhappy circumstance of sending the thing galaxies away and then having to deal with something that can be traced back to it without any viable solution. You do realize that we’re losing valuable time, which we could be using to track those punks down, by keeping me on the line talking to you, don’t you?” Tony cheekily asked.

“Still haven’t changed your mind about taking on those punks by yourself then?” Fury stalled.

“Are we seriously doing this right now?!” Tony nearly screeched, annoyed.

“Fine. It’s your funeral. Godspeed, Stark,” Fury mumbled before cutting the call.

Tony hummed as he made the rest of his preparations, rattling off one snappy command after snappy command to JARVIS. He changed into his under-armor bio-weave fiber thermal suit and reviewed for the nth time the additional schematics to the armor he was going to use and the protocols for his workshop, the penthouse, his bots and JARVIS. He sent an email to Pepper to say he was going to be on a mission and would be flying under the radar for an indeterminable length of time. And he also sent an email to Dr Mathers, requesting for assistance on initial tests for an upgrade to James’ arm. He was planning to do the tests himself but since he didn’t know when he was going to be back, he thought it was better to just have the bases covered.

This was his first solo mission as an Avenger after all. Without any sort of immediate back-up from anyone on the team. Anything could happen, so he realistically set all affairs of his that he could in order.

“JARVIS, I want you to release the beefed-up Mark XLIV from the armor vault, I’m jumping off the landing pad in approximately 3 minutes,” Tony commanded with a deep breath to psych himself up.

“Noted.”

“Oh and put up an advert on eBay and on Mel’s personal website for a slightly-used black Steinway D-274 grand piano. You know how much I bought it for, J. Try to get a good deal for it. Make sure we’re not short-changed,” Tony reminded, turning his head for a last lingering look at the instrument that was out of place in the ultra-modern engineering workshop.

“Posting as we speak, Sir. Would that be all?”

Tony could almost hear the expectant tone in JARVIS’ question as if the AI was trying to prompt him that he was yet to leave final instructions regarding more pressing matters (read, Steve).

“Hey J? If he asks after me… try to assure him—best as you can—that I’ll be fine and that… I’ll see him soon. And—“ Tony thought about what else he was going to say: that if something should happen to him, JARVIS was supposed to apologize again to Steve in Tony’s behalf and tell Steve that Tony loved him. But since Tony had never been the melodramatic type, he stopped himself from telling his AI the rest.

“Don’t wait up for me, honey!” Tony just hollered as a way of goodbye as he confidently strode out of his workshop.

“Best of luck on your mission, Sir.”

###

Steve breathed out a pensive sigh as he closed the thin volume of The Little Prince and sandwiched it in between his palms. He didn’t know what to make of books like this. It was short and sweet but packed a punch.

The most affecting of the entire book were, of course, those passages that were underlined using red crayon. Steve could and, at the same time, couldn’t imagine that this was one of Tony Stark’s all-time favorite books. He had always thought that the engineer-billionaire was too left-brained to appreciate books like this. But Steve should have guessed that his initial assessment was horribly inaccurate because had Tony not been doing exactly that these past few months, really? Shatter Steve’s misconceptions and surprise him?

It was only after he had let the message of the short book percolate in his mind that he realized that Natasha and Bucky were right. He was letting his anger cloud his judgment. Steve jumped to conclusions that, since Tony had concealed who he really was, the billionaire had also necessarily lied about everything he told Steve.

Which may or may not have been the case. Because Steve didn’t know enough about Tony to cross-reference those known facts against the things that Mecha had revealed to him. But since Steve had shut Tony out and opened merciless automatic fire on any and all attempts by the billionaire to explain himself, Steve really had no idea which was real and which was bullshit about Mecha.

With one exception: that Tony himself had said that every word was real.

But was Steve, at this point, inclined to believe Tony and what he’d said? Which would put Steve right where he started: that Tony had lied to him, by concealing who he really was. But that wasn’t the same as feeding outright false information, right? And then Steve would again be taken through the vicious argumentative circle. Round and round. So frustrating that he just wanted to pull his teeth out.

He wanted to believe Bucky. That Steve had in his hands the power to determine which was real and which was bullshit. But his intuition had taken a severe beating because of Tony’s concealment. Steve couldn’t believe that he had not seen that coming.

Or maybe he had…

Steve bolted from the couch on the sitting room of his personal floor towards his bedroom where he’d last seen his sketchbook.

Plopping back down on the couch, Steve flipped open the sketchbook to pages where his first attempts at drawing Mecha were displayed. The man in the drawings looked nothing like Tony Stark, of course.

The Captain remembered that his Stem friend had praised him for getting Mecha’s eyes right. And Steve scrutinized that first drawing. Then, flipping the sketchbook a couple of pages back, he studied that drawing he did of Tony—grinning with naked amusement during that night that they’d had dinner in Gianni’s.

The two drawings were jarringly similar when it came to the eyes of the subjects. And of course, they would be similar. Because Steve remembered borrowing Tony Stark’s eyes to render Mecha’s features when Steve realized that Tony had brown eyes, too. Like Mecha.

And then Mecha’d said that Steve got his eyes right.

How could Steve not have seen it?! How could he not have realized it?! 

Steve started laughing. It sounded shrill and hysterical to his ears, and it was pregnant with frustration and self-admonition, too. Was it possible that maybe, just maybe, he had always had a feeling in his gut about who Mecha really was?

Turning the pages of his sketchbook more slowly, Steve studied the drawings he’d done. There was one of Bucky, several of Natasha, a couple of Thor, some of Clint and yet some more of Bruce. There was the plant in the vase on the rec room table. And there were several of Tony—telling that story to the children in the shelter, driving to Long Island, standing in the middle of the children’s ward of Stanton East, watching a movie with a mug of coffee propped on his knee. There were also quite a lot of Mecha—playing the piano, eating a hotdog sandwich while seated on a Central Park bench; but mostly it was just Mecha’s face in different angles and with different expressions, as Steve had imagined it.

But as the Captain got through more and more renderings of Mecha’s face, he began to realize that the face that was looking back at him was no longer that of a complete stranger. Somewhere along the way, as Steve became more and more confident to render Mecha in charcoal, the face began to resemble Tony Stark sans the trademarked moustache and goatee, but it was unmistakably Tony.

“Holy shit,” Steve whispered, irritated that he was cussing again because of Tony Stark in just so many days.

Pausing on the last drawing in his sketchbook, the one he had been working on that night that Tony had passed out drunk in the elevator, Steve suddenly felt a most overwhelming urge to see Tony, talk to Tony and hear what the engineer-billionaire had to say. Tony may have lied to him about who he was but maybe he had not lied about being in love with Steve. Because Steve could have sworn he felt the truth in Mecha’s confession that night they watched the meteor shower together. He might not have seen Mecha's eyes or the sincerity in them or heard him speak those words. But Steve knew and believed in his heart of hearts that it was true.

He looked down at the drawing—of two men, a blonde and a brunette, with only their profiles visible, sitting side by side and gazing up at the evening sky that was raining with light. The subjects in the drawing weren’t doing anything exceptionally intimate, but it rendered Steve speechless as if he had drawn them in the middle of a heated kiss.

He had something special with Tony—whether as Tony or as Mecha. He had been so preoccupied with his misconceptions about the billionaire that he couldn’t see him any other way than how he’d always seen him. But he was given a different perspective by mystery and anonymity, wasn’t he?

“It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye,” Steve repeated the quote out loud as if he was only now understanding how it applied to their current predicament.

Giving in to his ardent desire to hear Tony’s explanation, Steve abandoned his sketchbook, strode with a single-minded purpose towards the elevator and rode it to the workshop because Steve thought that was most likely where Tony was holed up.

“JARVIS, I need to speak to Tony. It’s urgent,” Steve called out as soon as he set foot on Tony’s workshop’s floor. “Is my emergency override code still active?” Steve primed himself to punch in his codes as soon as he got confirmation from JARVIS.

“I’m sorry, Captain, but the workshop and the penthouse are in total security lockdown. I’m afraid Sir is currently out of the country on an official Avengers mission.”

“What? Why was I not informed of this?” Steve demanded, irked.

“The arrangement was made between Sir and former Director Fury. It was a time-sensitive mission that Sir had been quite desirous to participate in. It needed immediate action. Hence, the protocol to inform you beforehand was done away with.”

Steve breathed angrily and audibly through the nose, yanked his phone out of his front jeans pocket and readied himself to dial. “Then who’s he with and what’s their comm channel so I can get in touch with them—perhaps talk them through this?”

“I’m afraid, Captain, that Sir is on a private channel and he’s been sent out alone.”

“What?!” There were so many things wrong in that situation; Steve couldn’t even find the breath to begin enumerating them. No one was supposed to go on missions alone. No one. “Why was he sent out alone?! You’re saying Fury put him up to this?”

“Sir, himself, in his capacity as Stark Industries liaison to the Avengers Initiative and Chief of Operations approved of the mission on official record.”

“But I’m the Tactical Commander, and no one is supposed to be cleared for missions without the Tactical Commander’s go, especially if they’re alone!” He was going to have choice words for Tony, alright! “Who else knows about this? Where was he sent?”

“No one but Sir and Mr Fury knows about the mission as well as its details. I’m afraid the mission’s location is classified. And Sir has restricted my protocol so I cannot give any information to you or the other members of the team. I’m very sorry, Captain.”

Steve was going to kill him. Steve was going to maim Tony Stark. “When did he leave, JARVIS?”

“Sir left at 1836 hours last night.”

Steve was so dejected that he leaned on the wall perpendicular to the elevator and slid down to the floor, weak-kneed. He had a window within which he could’ve talked to Tony. But now he’d missed it. Like an idiot, he’d let his anger and hurt blindside him from what was supposed to be more important.

“Captain, if it’s any consolation, Sir asked me to let you know that he will be fine and that he’ll see you soon.”

Steve craned his neck, resting his head against the wall, closed his eyes and exhaled deeply. His heart felt heavy with regret, worry and self-blame. He was so, so stupid! Now, he didn’t even know where Tony was, when he was going to come back or if he was even going to come back in one piece.

Chapter Text

Steve knew he was in a contest he couldn’t win by staring down his ticking bedside table alarm clock. It was 12:30 in the afternoon and it was the day of the supposed Storm and Mecha roof deck rendezvous. The Captain had been boring holes on his clock’s face since 10 that morning. He’d tried making breakfast, hitting the gym and even watching vile morning soaps to get his mind off the ticking seconds to no avail. It didn’t help, too, that Tony was still off-radar in some godforsaken country, all alone and doing god-knows-what.

Agitated wasn’t a good look on Steve at all. He was distracted, fidgety and apparently he had a habit of grinding his teeth together, as pointed out by Natasha when they were both nursing mugs of late morning tea in the dining area. Steve had also discussed with her the highly-questionable mission that Tony had gone on, complaining to her about the complete disregard for established protocol and lambasting both Tony and Fury for arranging it just between the two of them. They had also brainstormed about what the mission could have been about, but it only distracted Steve for all of ten minutes. After that, he was back to tapping his forefinger against the tabletop to the rhythm of the seconds hand in the fancy silver wall clock that Bruce had insisted on hanging in the kitchen for a semblance of sophistication. The alternative had been a glowing red digital clock, counting down to the milliseconds, as suggested by Tony. Steve was only then thankful that Bruce had put his foot down on the matter of the damn kitchen clock.

When his bedside alarm clock hit 1:00 in the afternoon, Steve decided that he wasn’t going to the Hayden Building. What was he going to do there anyway but mourn for the missed window of opportunity? Besides, Tony wasn’t even in the country, so it was safe to say that the billionaire wasn’t likely to show up for the scheduled meeting.

By 2:00 in the afternoon, Steve was in the rec room, watching Thor wallop Clint anew in Wii Sports. He’d changed his mind. He wanted to go to the roof deck if only to see what was so special about it. He told himself that he was just going to take a quick peek.

When 3:00 rolled around, Steve finally settled on not going to the Hayden Building. He even changed his street clothes for his usual sweats and night shirt already because he was that resolute about not going. It wasn’t like there was still any sort of conceivable purpose to the meeting. He already knew who Mecha was and Mecha already knew him. So it was superfluous.

When his alarm clock displayed the hour of 4:00, Steve was already in bed, pawing the worn copy of The Little Prince. He knew it was too early for bed but he was so keen to convince himself that he really had no intention of going to the roof deck rendezvous that if it meant sleeping before sunset, then as God was his witness, he was going to force himself to sleep before sunset if need be.

He re-read The Little Prince, taking what little comfort he could in the beautiful and symbolic words in the novella. It was already almost 5:00 when he finished. He was just about to put the book down on his bedside table when flipping fast through the pages, he noticed something he had not seen before.

There was something written at the back part of the last page of the thin volume. It was a message. In Tony’s unmistakable hand. Steve’s blue eyes opened wide as saucers, taking in the words to the note. Then he bolted out of bed in record time, half-tripping on the sheets he had already thrown over himself, to change back into some decent clothes, muttering and grimacing.

He had a roof deck to get to before last light.

Steve engaged JARVIS’ help to plot the fastest route to the Hayden Building. And with the indispensable help of his good memory, committed the route to his mind. If only his motorcycle could fly… Steve felt like he had ground his teeth to the gums by the time he had pulled up to the parking area that was nearest the building he had to get to. It was nearly sunset already.

He didn’t know why but there was a deep tug in his heartstrings that he should get to the meeting at the designated time and place even if it was a near certainty that Tony wouldn’t be there. Steve just had to. It was possibly just wishful thinking or the disturbing gnawing in the pit of his stomach, but he also recognized that it was going to be like coming full circle at something both of them had set in motion five months ago.

When he finally got to the roof deck, he was almost breathless, not with exhaustion but with expectation. There were people of all ages, mingling around, marveling at the breath-taking design of the place and the majesty of the scenery.

Everything was bathed in golden light. The circumference of the area was framed with waist-high crystal and tempered glass balustrades, and interspersed with alternating dark gray and white granite columns, connected to each other by arches with bronze curlicues, and wrapped in bright purple and white Wisteria. Every column had green spheres of perfectly trimmed boxwood shrubs at its base. The area was dotted with flowering dogwood—that from afar looked like they were powdered with snow—with clumps of honeysuckle tucked beneath them. The dogwood-honeysuckle bunches were framed by pinkish stone benches for the guests to seat themselves on. There were also smaller bunches of lilacs and junipers in elaborate red clay outdoor vases, and stone, glass and metal sculptures scattered about the place. The walkways were of irregularly-shaped dark volcanic rock cobbled together like puzzle pieces that bisected areas carpeted with impeccably trimmed grass. And at the very center of the deck was an open-ceilinged pure white gazebo with white satiny banners, silver wind chimes and white Japanese paper origami models billowing from its beams and pillars, and at the gazebo’s heart was a humble three-tiered white marble fountain with cascading water that looked like sparkling honey in the dying sun.

Steve walked the entire perimeter of the deck, turning his head this way and that to look at the people, the outdoor sculptures, the city’s skyline, the setting sun. It was all so beautiful. Every element to the roof deck worked to make it the place of relaxation that it was supposed to be. No wonder that Mecha—no, Tony—loved it here. Steve could imagine that the place was as beautiful to him as a well-oiled and efficient machine, where every gear, cog and screw worked for the machine to function as it should, was beautiful to Tony.

Standing before a vacant stone bench, Steve plucked out the copy of The Little Prince from the inside pocket of his brown bomber jacket and took a seat. Taking a deep breath, he opened the book to Tony’s note and read it again:

Steve/Storm,

This book’s genre is not one of your areas of interest when it comes to Literature, but consider this as my last book recommendation to Storm. This book is near and dear to me. It’s one of my favorites. When I was young, I would dream of the people in this book, the Little Prince’s planet and his rose, the planets that the Little Prince goes to. I always used to think about if I, myself, will ever find my Little Prince.

But of course, when I grew up I realized that that was nothing more than a child’s wishful thinking. Because there are just some people who aren’t meant to find their Little Prince or their rose. And I could’ve lived the rest of my life believing I was one of those people, too. Then you came along.

I’m sorry for keeping Mecha’s real identity a secret from you. It wasn’t because I was afraid of your reaction or afraid that you would hate me once you found out, but because I was afraid that I’d end up ruining what we have by being the flawed jackass that I am. And that’s the truth.

I meant every word I’ve ever said to Storm. Every word.

Maybe someday you will come to forgive my deceit. I will wait for that time because didn’t the fox tell the Little Prince that ‘you are responsible, forever, for what you have tamed’?

Your rose,

Tony

Steve felt painful stings at the back of his eyes. And the words on paper and the dying golden light began to swim in his unshed tears. Rubbing the pads of his thumb and forefinger against the slits of his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose to try to regain a handle on his emotions, Steve raised his head to bask in the ambience of the roof deck again.

He hoped to God that Tony was safe wherever he was. Because Steve needed him to come back. Because Steve needed to admit that he had been wrong for letting his anger and pain overwhelm him. Tony may have lied, true. But Steve had needed the curtain of anonymity to see with his heart what his eyes had been blind to: that Tony was an amazing guy, and Steve had grown to love him with all his heart.

Steve placed the book on the bench beside him and stuffed a hand into the front pocket of his jeans for his smartphone. No more second-guessing. He needed to speak to Tony; he needed to speak to Tony now. If he had to pester Pepper, bother Rhodey, hound Hill and threaten Fury to find out where Tony was, he would do it.

As the golden light turned bloody orange, and the people strolling on the roof deck dwindled from a crowd to a mere handful, Steve looked up as the sky above filled with a jet-like whoosh and watched as Iron Man swooped in to land on the deck in his poster-esque stance.

###

Tony’s brown eyes were unabashedly staring into Steve’s blue ones as soon as Iron Man’s faceplate opened. The brunette stepped out of the suit and walked in his usual confident strut towards the Captain, who’d stood up from the stone bench, pocketing The Little Prince, as soon as Iron Man touched down on the roof deck.

“Hey,” Tony greeted with a soft, almost sad, smile.

“Hey,” Steve replied, pocketing his smartphone again and giving his own version of a timid smile. “I didn’t think you’d be here. JARVIS said you were out of the country,” Steve continued, with a one-shouldered shrug.

“Thirty days ago, I set up a meeting for today… at sunset… here. So this is where I should be. I was in Eastern Europe, tracking down what caused the incident in El Paso, but while I was getting bored out of my mind on stake-out duty, I suddenly realized that… I had a promise to keep,” said Tony, turning his head to steal a glance at Steve’s profile. “So I flew as fast as I can to get here. Place has changed a bit since I was a child and used to go here with my nanny,” Tony finished, looking around and trying to make light of the conversation. But when he stole a glance again at Steve, the latter was squarely staring at him, too. “What about you? What are you doing here? I’d thought that since you already knew who Mecha was, there was no reason for you to be here.”

Steve watched the sunset for a while, wordlessly, that Tony thought Steve was trying to avoid having to talk to him because he was still pissed.

“I guess I decided to go here to see for myself who Mecha really was—who Tony Stark really was without all the veils of mystery,” Steve finally replied, holding The Little Prince out to Tony and waiting for the brunette to take it off his hands.

Staring at the book being returned to him and then back at Steve and smiling wistfully, Tony said: “keep it. I can’t imagine giving it to anyone else but you.”

They stayed silent for a few minutes more, unsure of what to tell each other. But Tony was thankful that, at least, Steve wasn’t screeching at him or looking at him with absolute hate in his eyes. That was a start.

“Were you… telling the truth?” Steve asked just as the bloody orange light faded to light pink and purple against the backdrop of the New York City skyline.

Tony looked back at the Captain quizzically, his brows furrowed in uncertainty. He didn’t know what Steve was asking about, really.

“When you said you meant every word you’ve ever said to Storm, is that true?”

Tony looked pensive for a moment but answered without reservation, “yeah. But there was one thing I didn’t mean to happen,” the billionaire, at this juncture, hesitated a bit. “I didn’t mean to fall for you. And when I say ‘I’, I meant me… Tony Stark. Didn’t mean to fall for you. It came completely out of nowhere and I wasn’t prepared for it,” Tony explained, noticing that he was strangely beginning to ramble. “Of course, I can completely understand that it was Mecha you fell in love with and not me—well—Tony Stark. But don’t worry about it,” Tony waved a dismissive hand towards Steve as if his confession of love was a mere trifle. “I’m not expecting you to do anything about that… little confession—that’s on me—that’s my problem. If friendship’s all you can offer to Tony Stark then…” Trailing off, Tony inwardly steeled himself for being let down gently.

They could start again, sure. Tony thought that if Mecha had made Storm fall in love with him, then Tony Stark could make Steve Rogers fall in love with him. Again. Again and again, if circumstances called for it.

“I mean, I know that it was a shitty thing I did, keeping my identity a secret from you. But it wasn’t because I wanted to make fun of you or force secrets out of you. I… just didn’t know how to tell you that it was me,” Tony confessed. He stopped talking with every intention of trying to make light of the matter again. But, for some reason, he had run out of words. “I didn’t know how you’d take it that someone you absolutely detest had fallen madly in love with you.

"But… friends are supposed to forgive friends their trespasses, right? After all, nobody’s perfect; not even me…” At this, Tony noticed Steve fight a smile off his face from out of the corner of his eye. “So what do you say—friends?” Tony asked with a tentative grin, holding out his hand for Steve to take.

But Steve, apparently, had other ideas. Seizing what collar there was to Tony’s tight-fitting shirt, with a furious pull and cupping a palm on the back of Tony’s head, Steve closed his mouth around Tony’s in a searing kiss. Tony’s arms fell limp beside him and his brown eyes widened when he suddenly realized that he had Steve’s soft, warm lips against his own. Something clicked in the billionaire’s gut as if a loose piece of his soul had snapped into place, and grabbing Steve’s forearm with one hand and cupping the side of the blonde’s face with the other, Tony melted into the kiss. There was tentative tongue and heat… Heat, gentleness and sweetness. Sensations that were absolutely causing the most violent implosion in Tony’s chest, as if an invisible miniaturized arc reactor had decided to mimic a supernova and a meltdown, at the same time.

It was exactly like all his endless fantasies about Steve combined. And yet it was nothing like them. It felt familiar but, at the same time, new and uncharted. It tasted bitter with longing and conflict, but tangy and sugary with discovery and reconciliation. And full of promise.

Steve peppered Tony’s lips with little chaste kisses like they couldn’t get enough of the taste of each other, before Steve broke away from Tony with a slight but knowing smile on his face.

Tony opened his mouth, his face was a mask of confusion. “Was that—“

“Yeah.”

“Did you just—“

“Yeah.”

“So you mean that you—“

“Yeah,” Steve admitted with a soft smile, cutting off Tony’s question again.

“Are you—“

“Yeah, I am,” Steve answered without any reservations of his own. “I don’t want to be just your friend, Tony Stark. You said you meant every word you told me, and so did I. I’m your Little Prince and you’re my rose.”

Tony felt a flutter in that space where his arc reactor used to be. He had never been the sappy type; he was a realist. All men of science were. But he couldn’t help but feel hopeful and pleased with this new turn his life had taken. He was one fortunate sonofabitch. To have found something like this again after a chance at love with Pepper that ended in heartache. He didn’t know how this one would fare—if it should also go down in flames—but he knew he would give everything he had to go down in flames with it.

Tony pursed his lips, thoughtfully. “Or… it could be the other way around, right? Like I’m your Little Prince and you’re my rose?”

“I don’t think it matters which is which; do you?” Steve asked, raising a pale blonde brow questioningly.

“I’m not gonna be the girl in this relationship, Rogers. Just so you know,” Tony insisted with a smirk.

“Ah—power play, huh?” Steve commented with a chortle, looking at Tony with naked adoration in his blazing blue eyes. And Tony couldn’t help but preen.

Then the Captain’s expression turned a bit somber for a while. “I’m sorry I shut you out and didn’t let you explain your side. Now that was shitty of me,” Steve admitted, turning to look back at the now dark horizon. Tony observed the pensiveness to it in the pale pearl white lamp light of the roof deck. “More than the pain of being lied to, I was just so conflicted, I guess. Because I was already punishing myself for potentially being in love with two different people. And I felt like being in love with them, at the same time, was a betrayal to both, so I was trying to fight it—fight what I was feeling for you—for Tony—so I could focus on what I was feeling for Mecha. And then Mecha and Tony Stark turned out to be one and the same person,” Steve said, raising his hands in mock frustration. “You can imagine my dismay… that all this time I was feeling conflicted for nothing… ” Steve trailed off, boring his gaze into Tony’s again and licking his soft lips that had just, mere moments ago, nearly short-circuited the brain of one of the brightest minds of this century.

“I guess I’m just lucky like that,” Steve finished with a lopsided-grin.

It was then that Tony remembered another promise he had made to Storm in one of their later chats. So he averted his gaze from Steve so as not to give his plan away, and smiled in a way that would have made the devil nervous, cleared his throat and faced Steve again, holding out his hand.

“Hi Storm! I’m so glad to finally meet you. I’m Mecha. But my real name is Anthony Edward Stark,” Tony introduced himself with much fanfare and then licking his lips, leaned in and, with the hand he’d held out, hooked the back of the Captain’s neck, and captured Steve’s mouth with his own as he had promised.

###

Steve, for seven ferocious heartbeats, actually forgot where he was and what he was just saying to Tony. Tony’s mouth was everything he had ever imagined it would feel like. He understood how different this kiss was from the first one they’d shared: the Steve-initiated one was sweet but hesitant—virginal, if you would; that was exploratory—like it had asked ‘is this alright?’ with every small taste, every nibble; that was full of promise and hope and everything else that a first kiss should have.

But this… this second kiss. This Tony-initiated kiss was dynamite! It was scorching, branding, passionate. Tony had touched Steve’s chin to tease the latter to open his mouth and they’d been going at it since with hunger that refused to let up and at a rate that was making Steve breathless and his heart palpitate like a base drum being beaten at a merciless pace. He knew he would be feeling Tony lips on his for days afterwards.

And then the kiss slowed and then Tony cupped Steve’s face in his palms and, bringing the latter’s head down, gave feather-light kisses to his closed eyelids and the pressure point between his brows. And then Tony surprised Steve by wrapping his arms around the Captain’s neck in a warm embrace. “I never thought I’d be able to find love again until you. You saved me before I knew I needed saving. Thank you,” Tony whispered to his ear and kissed his temple before letting go with a playful but content smile.

Tingling wind blew over the now-empty roof deck that was dramatically lighted by stout lamps giving off a pearl white shine. The wind chimes tinkled in the wind and filled Steve’s soul with an astonishing calm. The fountain was all aglow with pale yellow lights from the cascading water itself and halogen lamps from the gazebo’s pillars. And he was in this beautiful, beautiful place with Tony—his teammate turned rival turned friend turned…

“You saved me, too, you know. You’re the chance at love I never thought someone like me still has.”

Steve held out his hand, wordlessly asking for Tony to take it. “I think some hand-holding was promised, too, unless I’m much mistaken?”

Tony laughed unrestrainedly, much like the laugh during their first dinner at Gianni’s, that made Steve’s breath catch in his throat. He was so fortunate to have this—the smartest, wittiest, sexiest—man in his life, who loved him and with whom he was madly in love. Tony accepted the proffered hand, and Steve, lacing his fingers with Tony’s, brought the latter’s hand to his lips to kiss a knuckle.

They just stood there, holding hands and occasionally looking fondly at each other, for some time. He must have been looking at Tony in an indecipherable way because the brunette asked him with a curious look on his face: “what are you thinking?”

“Nothing. I was just thinking how gorgeous you are, and that you’re all mine,” Steve murmured, looking intently into those beautiful, warm brown eyes and squeezing the hand enclosed in his, affectionately.

Tony raised an eyebrow at him, narrowed his eyes and schooled his face into an ‘Are you for real?’ expression. Steve tried to keep a straight face, but burst out laughing at about the same time that Tony did. “That was so sweet; I think my molars just fell out rotten,” Tony teased, throwing his head back for a good laugh.

“Shut up; I’m trying to make you blush! I said I would, and I’m the type who doesn’t give up easily,” Steve bantered back, pulling Tony’s arm that was connected to his through their hands.

“You know I haven’t blushed since the 90s.”

“Because you haven’t met me yet then, have you?”

They let their amusement run its course until Tony cleared his throat and tentatively asked: “Steve?” Tony shifted his hand within Steve’s to get a better grip.

“Hmm?”

“Do you… maybe—want to have dinner with me?” Tony asked. He actually seemed shy, probably for the first time in his life.

Steve smiled excitedly. “Yes, of course. I think dinner and a movie were also promised. I have a good memory like that,” he joked, tilting his head to the side. “But on one condition…”

“What condition?”

“I get to hold your hand all night,” bargained Steve. Tony smiled demurely, but he still didn’t blush. But Steve was nothing if not persistent. He swore to himself to get Tony to blush. And he always got what he wanted, didn’t he? Eventually…

“I did tell you that I’m not going to be the woman in this relationship, right?” Tony clarified with a mock roll of his eyes.

“So does that mean what I think it means?”

“What does that mean to you?” Tony fished, looking innocent all of a sudden.

“You said ‘this relationship’. So does that mean we are in a relationship?” Steve asked, going for cute.

“You’re too cute, Rogers. No, I think I’d like for you to woo me first,” said Tony, preening. “I would want to see Clint’s reaction for when you serenade me or give me roses or look at me with those smoldering blue eyes of yours like you’re undressing me. He’d probably be so sickened that he’d shoot an arrow through my throat,” guffawed Tony, biting his lower lip in restrained amusement.

“You’re crazy,” said Steve, shaking his head with wry humor. “So where do you want to eat? Gianni’s?” Steve asked, squeezing Tony’s hand in his again.

“Yeah sure… If you could just let go of my hand for a couple of minutes, I can send the suit back to the Tower so we can be on our merry way,” said Tony, grinning, making the crow’s feet in the corners of his eyes appear. Now that endeared Steve to no end; he wanted to go ‘awww!’ but held himself back.

He was stupid happy, watching Tony deal with the suit and Iron Man fly off towards the direction of the Avengers Tower. He was looking forward to the rest of his time with Tony. He didn’t want to be thinking in the context of forever and ever, till death do they part or something, but he was excited for the rest of his life in this crazy century all of a sudden. He had a family; he had his best friend back; he had an awesome living space in an ultra-modern skyscraper; he had a kick-ass job; he had everything he could ever need; and he had Tony.

“Ready to go, boyfriend?”

“Is that going to be another one of your weird pet names for me or what?” Steve asked with a teasing shake of his head.

“Oh you will enjoy all the pet names I have lined up. Thor is probably going to enjoy them, too. Clint and Natasha… hmmm, probably not so much,” said Tony, hooking his hand with Steve’s again, making the Captain inwardly erupt in schoolgirl squeals. He could hardly remember being this giddy with love…

They were alone in the Hayden Building elevator on the way back to the lobby when they were suddenly overcome by the same thoughts and found themselves kissing passionately again. If this was going to be a habit of theirs, Steve thought he was going to need a lot of lip balm and a helluva reserve for his self-control. For someone who’d only been kissed five times in his life before that day, Steve sure was fast getting the hang of it like he just couldn’t get enough of kissing Tony Stark.

He now understood what all the women and men and everyone else found attractive in Tony Stark. Because the man was just begging to have his clothes torn off of him, wasn’t he? And he now also understood what Tony meant when he mentioned power play when guys kissed guys. While Tony seemed to absolutely enjoy being in control—invading Steve’s mouth in wanton desire, raking fingers through Steve’s blonde hair, biting Steve’s lower lip until it stung, pushing Steve forcefully against the elevator wall, clawing red marks on the skin of Steve’s neck and shoulders—he also loved surrendering control to Steve, opening his lips to let the Captain taste him deeper, letting Steve pull his shirt up to expose his abdomen so that the blonde could slide his palms over the taut and toned skin there, craning his neck up to give Steve space to pepper the nape with kisses that would look mighty interesting in the morning.

Steve, groaning with helplessness, knew he would never get enough of this, of Tony.

The great thing also about them was that when they weren’t intimate, they turned out to be really good friends. The initial tension between them was a thing of the past. The way they’d gotten to know each other as Storm and Mecha meant that any vestiges of bitter rivalry had already been replaced by good-natured banter and tacit respect for each other.

During their dinner, seated on Tony’s usual table at Gianni’s, they talked about Stem—Tony told Steve how he helped write the coding to Stem because its founders, Kingman and Stone, used to work as consultants for Stark Industries; they talked about Bucky and the developments to the mechanical arm and the psych rehabilitation; they talked about Avengers business, about the details of Tony’s mission in Eastern Europe, about HYDRA; they discussed books and movies, video games, Pepper, the rest of the team, Tony and Bruce’s recent findings about Loki’s scepter, fresh Hollywood gossip. It was like they weren’t going to run out of things to talk about anytime soon.

While waiting for their dessert, Tony must have noticed the funny look that Steve was giving him again. “Hmm? What…”

“Something’s different about you,” Steve said, being intentionally vague.

Tony just stared at him, blinking those gorgeous eyes of his innocently, as if waiting for the observation that was coming.

“You’re not flirting with any of the staff at all,” Steve relayed his observation.

And Tony, licking his lips, leaned forward as if to tell him a state secret. “Why would I need to flirt with the staff? Have you, by any chance, seen what my boyfriend looks like? He’s drop-dead gorgeous. These people have nothing on him,” Tony answered with a straight face. Steve closed his eyes in defeat, blushing furiously. He shouldn’t bait Tony like this. He really shouldn’t “Oh! There he is!”  Tony said teasingly, noticing the bright red that Steve’s face turned into.

“You’re impossible, you know that?” Steve groaned.

Tony smiled, propping his chin on his hand and biting one corner of his lower lip and looking like he was enjoying this tremendously. “Don’t worry; we can still immunize you from this. Have faith. Though I kinda like looking at you looking like that.”

They shared a miniature Death by Chocolate cake, split the bill as insisted by Steve and took a walk to the nearest mall to catch a movie. All the while, they were holding hands or, when they weren’t holding hands, giving each other subtle touches and meaningful looks.

The movie they caught was about a hot-shot city lawyer who’d had to defend his estranged father, who was also the town judge, from a murder accusation. It was a heart-warming and riveting family drama chock-full of nicely-delivered dialogue from the protagonists, moments of light-hearted comedy and courtroom action.

But for Steve, the best part of it was having Tony beside him. The entire time, they shared a huge tub of pop corn, bumped their legs together for some contact that sent shivers up Steve’s spine as if he was a love-crazed honeymooner, and whispered comments and jokes to each other.

This was what Steve had been missing out on. For 97 years he had not had something like this. And he was so thankful and excited because he knew that this was only the beginning.

They took a cab back to the Tower, where they talked about the merits and demerits of the movie they had just seen. There was still contact, but they knew to restrain themselves from tonguing each other and turning the backseat into a brothel to keep the sanity of their cab driver.

There was no more raging intimacy until the Tower’s elevator doors closed in on just the two of them. With the Emergency Stop activated, they were groaning and moaning against each other’s mouths again. God, Steve knew that if Tony asked him to stay in the penthouse tonight, he was going to have a hard time saying no. But it was too soon, wasn’t it? They just professed their feelings to each other that day!

Well, technically, they’d professed their feelings for each other before today as Storm and Mecha on Stem. But surely, they were taking things too fast if they fell into bed already at this stage of their relationship!

“Steve?” Tony asked, breathless, his lips so close to Steve’s earlobe, sending shivers up the Captain’s spine again.

“Yeah?” Steve murmured back.

“If you think we’re going too fast, I’ll back away. Just tell me if you need space, OK?” Tony said softly, his moustache and goatee against Steve’s skin was sending ripples of blinding lust through the blonde’s entire body.

“You think we can sleep together without sleeping together?”

“Wait… I think my brain’s mainframe just got fried for a bit there—what?” Tony asked, meeting Steve’s now hooded blue eyes.

“You know… just sleep without… you know…”

“I think you’re no better than me,” Tony observed with a shake of his head and some effort to straighten his clothes.

“I want to sleep on the same bed with you. To comfort you in case you have a nightmare. But maybe it’s too soon in our relationship if we… you know… get more intimate than we are now,” Steve explained, bashfully, willing himself not to blush again for the nth time that night.

“I understand,” Tony said, smiling timidly himself. “I think we can do that. How about this—I’m giving you license to run away towards the other direction when I give you some stalker vibe.”

“You know me so well already,” Steve agreed with a satisfied smile, threading his fingers through Tony’s again and leaning in for another chaste kiss.

“So… your floor or mine?” Tony asked with a not-quite wink.

“Yours,” Steve said, the corners of his lips curving upward.

Tony stepped off the elevator first closely followed by Steve. “Look alive, J, ‘cause Daddy’s back.”

“Good evening, Sir. Good evening, Captain.”

“Stud-muffin got back OK?” Tony asked, keying in a complicated set of codes to deactivate the total security lockdown that had governed his living space since the morning after the Boys’ Night Out with Rhodey. Steve looked at Tony quizzically at the name.

“Safe and sound and undergoing necessary post-mission repair and maintenance as we speak.”

“Mark XLIV,” Tony mouthed to Steve by way of explanation. “Send all data gathered by Stud-muffin to Fury and make sure to copy Hill. I’ve had an epiphany. Re-open that project from private server 1ULT-R01\1. I think we should look at possible interfaces based on your coding, J.” Tony rattled off to JARVIS as Steve watched with barely-disguised affection. He hardly understood a thing but he loved it when Tony talked about things he was best at. Because whenever he did, Tony would get this intently shrewd but passionate twinkle in his eyes. And Steve only just realized how much he loved that about Tony.

“But work can wait because there’s this hot, leggy blonde I’m supposed to have a good time with tonight,” Tony joked, making a show of biting his lower lip and narrowing his eyes to smoldering slits at Steve.

Steve was able to convince Tony not to do any more exciting things for the night like build a fort in the living room or slow-dance in the landing pad or fly to Paris to go to the Louvre using the quinjet. They didn’t have just the one night after all because Steve assured Tony that he planned to stay in the engineer’s life longer than that—if Tony would have him.

It was when they were already side by side, their limbs tangled with each other’s, in bed that they got to talking about Steve drawing Tony.

“So you’ll let me draw you properly one of these days? Can you keep still for longer than 30 minutes so that I can draw you?” Steve asked, the fingers of his right hand strumming through the short but soft tendrils of Tony’s dark brown hair at the nape of the billionaire’s neck.

Tony chortled softly; the engineer traced patterns of electrifying swirls with his right hand on the shell of Steve’s ear and on the latter’s skin where neck met shoulder. “I’ll let you draw me any way you want—working, staying still, clothed, stark naked… any way you want…”

“How about playing the piano?”

Tony stole a kiss against the top of Steve’s head and said, “playing the piano, naked while playing the piano, naked while lying on top of the piano… however you want…”

“If I wake up tomorrow and find that all this was just a dream, I’d be fucking pissed,” Steve murmured, cussing uncharacteristically and hugging Tony tighter, which sent the latter into fresh peals of mellifluous laughter.

“Wow Cap! Didn’t know you feel this passionate about us! Yeah? Well—how do you think I’d feel?” Tony asked, jerking back his head to look into Steve’s eyes. “I could get used to this… having a big, warm, cuddly Super Soldier in my bed.”

“You better, because this is what you signed up for,” answered the blonde, meeting Tony’s lips in another kiss. Steve could get used to this, too. To the feeling of not being alone. To the feeling of loving someone and being loved in return.

Chapter Text

With a pained groan, Tony was taken from sleep to wakefulness when his bed shifted and something—or someone—was carefully and unobtrusively trying to wriggle out of his loose embrace. Tony forcefully opened his right eye a crack to find his room still cloaked in the gray light of early dawn. He tried to tighten his hold on the body enclosed in his arms, but it didn’t do him any good when the person he was trying to hold down was a Super Soldier who was considerably stronger than him.

“Wha’ssa matter?” he mumbled, tangling his fingers in the hem of a tight-fitting nightshirt and tugging lazily. His arms wrapped around a meaty bicep and he enclosed it in the strongest grip he could muster that would have given a stubborn squid a run for its money.

“I’m getting up for my jog, Tony,” Steve mumbled, trying—and failing—to pry his bicep out of Tony’s hold. Tony could tell that Steve wasn’t really putting up that much of a fight because if the Captain wanted to, he could have broken each of Tony’s fingers with minimal fuss just to break free. “You’re going to have to let go,” Steve murmured, sounding chipper and awake for that ungodly hour. Tony could feel that Steve already had half his body hanging off the bed in earnest efforts to leave it, get up and take his sacred morning run. Tony always resented Steve for being a morning person.

“Noooo… come back to bed. I’m not letting you go. You’re going to have to pry my cold, dead fingers off your arm,” Tony said, huskily, even going so far as to wrap a leg around Steve’s waist and hanging on for dear life.

Steve stopped struggling abruptly as if realizing something. “So that’s how you did it?”

“Did what?” Tony mumbled in his gravelly sleep-laced voice.

“Mecha’s voice.” Steve crawled back up within Tony’s embrace so as to put his face level with Tony’s “It sounds exactly like this voice of yours now,” Steve said, marveling at having been reminded of their relationship’s fascinating origins.

Not that it had been a long time ago because it had only been a month since they met at the roof deck of the Hayden Building and went on their first official date. One glorious, magical, fascinating, at times patience-trying month. Tony thought a relationship with Steve was going to be more challenging than normal, what with their past clashes, strong personalities, death-defying jobs, unconventional beginnings, age difference, dissimilar interests and hobbies, often diverging principles, and just about everything that made for two completely different people. But it defied both of their expectations—apparently—when everything just seemed to fall into place for them. There were no routines that were established, rites and rituals that they needed to observe, or even just ground rules for how they were supposed to deal with each other now that their relationship was on a whole new level; they just… worked. For some unknown reason, they just melded together like they’d been veterans at this ‘relationship thing’. But it wasn’t all butterflies and nectar in the Steve-Tony Rolling Fields of Love. There were arguments, too, bickering, mouthing off, blowing raspberries, silent treatments, shouting matches, hang-ups, unanswered texts and phone calls… Actually, just the other day, Pepper had recruited Steve and started ganging up on Tony about not getting enough sleep, not eating on time and concealing files and data in several private servers pertinent to the Ultron Program that Tony was supposed to have deep sixed a long time ago.

Suffice it to say that that night, Tony’d had to sleep in a cot in the workshop because he may or may not have said offensive remarks to Steve about parroting Pepper. They’d made up after barely a couple of hours and put Steve’s couch in the sitting room on his personal floor to really, really good use.

Though they were yet to go on a homerun as far as intimacy was concerned, neither was in a hurry. Steve was still experimenting, trying to gain confidence when it came to the sexual intimacy department, and Tony was more than happy to be the designated guinea pig. But that hardly meant that they weren’t getting any action! Because they were… lots of action… sometimes several times a day! And they weren’t picky about where to get some action either. Clint and Bruce had learned to walk slowly and look around corners especially in the common floor in fear of walking in on Steve and Tony doing something they didn’t have any particular inclination to witness. As for Natasha—well—she didn’t really give a flying fuck about anything. And Thor was just surprisingly supportive of every new development in his teammates’ relationship.

Tony and Steve had also agreed to keep their respective living spaces and not move in with each other. Though Tony stayed regularly on Steve’s personal floor, slept just as regularly on Steve’s bed, and Steve was also known to hang-out and sleep in the penthouse quite often. It was, Tony believed and Steve agreed with him on this, symbolic of their respect for each other’s personal space and individuality. They loved each other to bits, but they were still their own persons.

Not to mention, occasional spatial separation meant more interesting and hungrier encounters between the two of them. Tony remembered there was even one time he’d called Steve to ask the latter to help him haul the Steinway piano around the penthouse to look for the best place for it only to jump Steve as soon as the blonde strode into the room and they ended up making out for hours! Tony’d got his comeuppance barely a couple of days later when Steve had asked JARVIS to tell him that a pipe broke in the kitchenette of Steve’s personal floor and Steve literally tackled him the moment he showed up, carried him to the bedroom and tied his hands to the headboard. That… was a really, really good day!

“I’ll have you know, I had JARVIS mask my voice using a special program to achieve that,” Tony answered, lazily combing his fingers through Steve’s still disheveled hair.

“You need not have gone to all that trouble because that voice sounds exactly like this voice of yours right now and I’ve only just noticed,” Steve observed, kissing Tony’s temple. “But really, are we going to do this every single time that I have to get up earlier than you to take that run?”

“Don’t leave me all alone in bed, Steve, please…” Tony pleaded, squarely staring into Steve’s eyes in the dimness of the bedroom and employing what he knew was the best weapon in his coquetry arsenal: his wide, pleading and innocent warm brown eyes in partnership with slightly pouting lips. He knew that Steve wouldn’t be able to resist.

“Oh,” Steve groaned in mock pain. “Don’t do the eye thing, Tony! Don’t do it… You know I get all choked up and guilty when you do the eye thing…” Steve complained with an aggrieved smile. “Tony, you know I need these morning runs to exercise, right?” Steve playfully covered Tony’s eyes with a palm, probably hoping that the eye thing wouldn’t affect him.

“You don’t need exercise! You’re a specimen of perfect male musculature—and besides, we get some exercise. We exercise several times a day, in fact! Cardio has got nothing on our exercise routine. It has been scientifically proven that sex burns more calories than running anyway,” Tony argued still employing his husky voice. He seemed to have just realized that it was another powerful weapon in his coquetry arsenal against Steve.

“I’m not convinced,” Steve answered, sternly, preparing himself to leave the bed again.

“Steeeeve,” Tony whined, wrapping his limbs stubbornly all over Steve’s body again.

The Captain puffed out a forceful breath and stopped wriggling out of Tony’s embrace. “Fine. I’m not leaving you alone in bed today. And I’m not going running. But…” Steve said, emphasizing the word before Tony could celebrate his little victory. Steve continued with a naughty raise of an eyebrow, “what’s in it for me?”

Oooooh! Steve was learning, alright! Making this about sexual favors… Tony was obviously a bad influence on the man.

“I’ll do… anything… you want,” Tony whispered, leaning in to purr the words against Steve’s earlobe. “You can live out any fantasy you have. I’m all yours,” Tony teased softly, nipping at the same earlobe.

Even in the gray light of barely the crack of dawn, Tony could still make out the fiery red of Steve’s neck and cheeks. He loved it when Steve blushed. He’d been secretly hoping that Steve would never be immunized from embarrassment so he could always see Steve blush.

“Do I have your word on that?” Steve murmured back against the side of Tony’s face, finally getting his blushing in check.

“Scout’s honor, and you can collect anytime. Even right now,” Tony invited, meeting Steve’s gaze with his smoldering brown eyes.

“I think I’d just like to hold you and be held by you right now,” Steve answered, burrowing himself in the warmth of Tony’s arms and wrapping his own arms around Tony’s torso. “But you’re going to owe me big time. And I intend to collect, Mr Stark.”

The room was fully bathed in bright golden sunlight by the time that Tony woke up again, his arms still wrapped around a still snoozing Steve. JARVIS had taken the liberty of drawing his curtains and evaporating the tint on his windows to showcase the majestic skyline with a beautiful morning sky for a backdrop. This was probably one of the last beautiful mornings before the onset of early winter when there were going to be more platinum gray morning skies than blue.

“Good morning, Sir. It would interest you to know that it is 7:30 in the morning and we have the green light on Avengers Tower Protocol JB73.”

Tony half-stretched and arched his back sideways with a lazy smile, looking at Steve’s profile to admire his boyfriend’s refined features made even more refined, if it was possible, by the carefree calm of slumber. “That’s great news, J. Impeccable timing, too. And what of the planned excursion for the day?”

“Everything has been arranged. A cab will be waiting for you out front by 9:00 a.m.”

“Fantastic!” Tony beamed softly, turning on his side to lightly rouse his lover awake. “Steve? Hey… Steve…”

“Hmmm…” came the blonde’s soft moan.

“You have to wake up. We need to be out of the house by 9:00 and you have to wake up now if you want some breakfast,” Tony murmured against the soft tendrils of Steve’s blonde hair.

“Why d’we have t’be outta the hasby 9?” Steve muttered, his face burrowed half in a pillow and half in Tony’s shoulder.

“We have a meeting,” Tony answered, sliding his free hand up and down Steve’s back, pestering the blonde towards complete wakefulness. “Come on… We can’t miss it.”

“You set a meeting for today? Do you know what today is?” Steve asked with a hint of disappointment, suddenly alert.

“Yeah, it’s Monday,” Tony simply replied, pushing against the bed to sit up. “Aren’t you glad you didn’t go on that run and you were able to sleep in?”

“Still would’ve wanted to go on that run. Sleep well?”

“With the exception of this jackass attempting to abandon me at the fucking crack of dawn, yeah… I slept well,” Tony answered with a smirk. “You?”

“Yup! Good morning,” Steve greeted, his usual chipper self again, giving Tony a chaste kiss before standing up and fixing the side of the bed he’d slept in. No matter how many times Tony’d told him not to bother with that, Steve still insisted on picking up after himself like folding his sheets and stacking the pillows he’d used.

“We need to be out front by 9:00. Fancy a shower together to save time?” Tony asked, wiggling his eyebrows at Steve and winking.

As it turned out, showering together didn’t really do them any good in saving time but it did loads of good in relaxing them. So they were plenty relaxed and in good spirits when they both walked in on the rest of the team having breakfast in the common floor.

“Morning,” Tony uncharacteristically greeted with a charming smile that meant one thing and one thing only to the rest of the team: the shower had served a dual purpose. Bruce and Clint, catching on to the tell-tale signs of some early morning action between the newcomers, exchanged eye rolls.

Greetings were mumbled as Steve and Tony took their respective seats—Tony’s was between Thor and Bruce, nearest the coffeemaker, and Steve’s was beside Natasha.

“It’s official—we have a stem devoted to us under the General Interest Branch on Stem,” Natasha reported, thumbing her smartphone while shoveling oatmeal into her mouth. “The Avengers Stem. Interesting veins under it, too. Have you been, Bruce?”

“Yeah. Very interesting. I wonder who thought of putting up a stem devoted to The Avengers as if we’re not getting enough publicity or media attention already,” Bruce commented, shaking his head with a purse of his lips.

“What veins are under The Avengers Stem?” Steve asked, scooping a healthy dollop of oatmeal onto his own bowl

“Well, the usual veins are there for when well-known people or groups are given their own stems—news feeds, video footage, fundraisers, announcements, gossips, outfit of the day, quotes, memorabilia—“ Clint enumerated, as always rustling the broadsheets.

“—but the more interesting veins have to do with fan-made videos, fanfiction, fan art, and fanfiction recommendations,” Natasha interrupted Clint, fighting down a strange smile on her face. “For starters, you might be interested to know that the Gossip vein is hopping with activity. Speculations about Captain America and Iron Man are through the roof!”

“Speculations?! What speculations?” Tony asked with narrowed eyes, looking up so snappily from a huge mug of his usual poison.

“If you’re dating, sleeping together, or perhaps you’ve professed undying love for each other. People are already speculating on when your wedding is going to be set. Some people find it sweet; some people find it weird; still some people find it disturbing that Tony Stark is despoiling a supposed national icon,” Natasha detailed, reading off the screen of her phone.

Steve snorted at that, which actually earned an eyebrow raise from Tony.

“I, on the other hand, have sampled some of the fan fictions featuring the Man of Iron and the Patriotic Captain in the Fanfiction vein. And I must say, they are most titillating. That I cannot help but wonder if you are equally as daring and uninhibited in your real life sexual encounters,” Thor commented with a straight face, stuffing his maw with Pop tarts.

Clint spat out his juice all over the broadsheets while Tony completely lost his train of thought with the use of the word ‘titillating’. Steve was blushing as red as the strawberries on his oatmeal and Bruce looked slightly green—whether it was because of the mental image the statement had wrought or because he was about to Hulk out, Tony wasn’t really interested to ask.

“Ah! Those fan fictions are definitely worth a read now. Any recommendations, Thor?” Natasha asked. So enthusiastic she was that Steve looked at her, scandalized.

“Well there was Spooned and Sassed…that one had a plot, at least. But if you’re solely interested in unadulterated raunchiness with no plot to speak of, whatsoever, you can try Hard as Iron,” Thor enumerated. Steve closed his eyes and began to knead his temple in embarrassment while Tony, staring intently at Steve, fought to keep a cackle down.

Without them meaning to, their eyes met from across the table and they shared a look that was pregnant with meaning. Tony, slurping his coffee, held Steve’s gaze with intense eyes while Steve, slowly shoveling oatmeal with strawberries in his mouth, unabashedly stared back with a slight curve to the corners of his mouth. The memory of their morning shower was making a mockery of the restraint they were supposed to exhibit when in the presence of the rest of the team.

“Stop eye-fucking each other, please!!!” Clint pleaded with a pained groan, finally reaching the end of his wick and scrunching the broadsheets into a ball. It was Bruce’s turn to nearly choke on his food.

“I think it’s rather endearing. You know you have my support in this—your blossoming relationship, right?  Steven? Anthony? I should let you know that once I am back in Asgard, I will miss seeing the two of you stare so lovingly and longingly into each other’s eyes,” Thor said, giving each of them a fond and approving look. The couple gave Thor thankful smiles.

The two superheroes still, thankfully, made it out front by 9:00 in the morning. Harvey Saul was waiting for them in his NYC cab with an enthusiastic greeting and a smile to each of them.

It was when they were stuck at a stoplight that Steve reached into the inner pocket of his bomber jacket, plucked out a tightly-rolled package and gave it to Tony with a tight-lipped grin. “Happy Monthsary.”

Tony looked at Steve with a slightly surprised but pleased smirk on his face. How sneaky of the Captain because Tony certainly didn’t notice any indication of the gift. And he had always prided himself for being observant and detail-focused. “How extraordinary that I didn’t notice this!” Tony stated. Then, he leaned towards Steve and unashamedly planted a deep and thorough kiss on the Captain’s lips. “Thank you.”

Of course, he knew what they were supposed to be celebrating today. He’d been planning for this day since the night they first slept on the same bed. He was just psyched that, unbeknownst to him, Steve had also been planning for this day as well.

“Go on, open it,” Steve invited with a wave of his hand and a grin. He looked abashed that Harvey’d had to witness a rare public display of affection, but Tony wasn’t worried about their driver. Harvey’s discretion could be trusted.

It was a black, long-sleeved, V-necked shirt with gray trim, and on the nape of the neck at the back, in white calligraphy font was one word: MECHA. Tony offered Steve a wide smile. “It’s amazing! Thank you, Steve.”

Steve made to take off his bomber jacket and showed to Tony that he was wearing a similar shirt. Only that, his had STORM written on the same spot of his shirt. Steve shyly grinned at Tony again.

Tony, for his part, eagerly took off his red Iron Man over shirt at once and threw on his MECHA shirt on top of his white long-sleeved under chemise. He adjusted the sleeves of the two shirts so there was still some white fabric peeking from beneath the black. “It’s brilliant…

“Hey Harv? I’m leaving an Iron Man shirt on your backseat, OK? Give it to Calvin. It’s new. I’ve only worn it today,” Tony informed their driver. Harvey profusely thanked Tony for doting on Calvin with Iron Man merchandise yet again. And Tony just patted Harvey on the back, all the while keeping Steve within his field of vision. The soft smile on the blonde’s face, directed at Tony, tugged on his heartstrings. For the nth time that month, Tony thanked his lucky stars for sending the man seated beside him into his life.

###

Steve was looking out of the window at the passing scenery of shop windows and speeding cars when he felt pressure against his thigh. He looked at the smallish rectangular velvet box propped there.

“Happy Monthsary,” Tony greeted with a tight-lipped smile, but the crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes warmed Steve over.

“I didn’t think you’d remember what today was,” Steve admitted, a sheepish look on his face. He hadn’t counted on the fact that Tony might remember—why would the billionaire, when he must have a lot on his mind being a rich genius with half the world in the palm of his hand?

“Are you ever going to have faith in me?” Tony asked, jokingly.

Steve laughed with a sniff. Opening the box, Steve stole a glance at Tony. Inside, was a key ring with several, different-sized keys attached to it, resting on a bed of delicate tissue paper. “What’s this?”

“You’ll see,” Tony answered, looking away from Steve to gaze out of his own window.

“You still haven’t told me where we’re going, you know,” Steve reminded Tony, breaking into the latter’s thoughts. He shifted in his seat to stare straight into Tony’s eyes. To say that he was mesmerized with those stunning brown eyes of Tony’s was a huge understatement. If he could stare at them 24/7, marvel at them, drown in them, he would.

“It’s a surprise. But don’t worry—it’s the kind you’ll like,” Tony cryptically answered.

At their destination was Hunter’s House, the children’s shelter that he and Tony had gone to before on one of their first outings, testing the waters of their friendship. The reception area was bustling with volunteers and older kids lending a hand that when Tony and Steve stepped out of the cab, they were greeted with resounding hellos, how-are-yous, and glad-you’re-backs.

But the real surprise was waiting for Steve in the mess hall: Bucky. Bucky looked exactly like the Bucky that Steve knew from their younger years. The former Sergeant had deigned to cut his hair, and on his face was a contented and openly happy look—very different from the haunted, blank slate and lost look he used to have when Steve first saw him alive in this century. He was wearing a New York Yankees long-sleeved shirt, dark gloves, stonewashed denims, trainers and a back-to-front baseball cap. Though surrounded by noisy, exuberant kids, Bucky looked like he was in his element.

“Stevie!” Bucky greeted him, giving him a terse hug and a pat on his back. “This is crazy, isn’t it?” He asked with a wide smile, gesturing towards the rambunctious kids, the serving platter after serving platter of food on the long table that volunteers were trying to serve out to the House’s residents, the rudimentary posters of art works in water color or crayon pasted all over the walls.

“What are you doing here? Did you come with a medical team or something?” Steve asked, looking around for a medical team that his friend must have come with.

“I was fetched. There’s no medical team. Tony vouched for me with my doctors. He must have convinced them I was ready for something like this,” said Bucky, ruffling the hair of a kid that walked in between the two of them.

This past month, Steve and Tony visited Bucky together thrice and there were times that they visited separately, too. During the times that he and Tony visited together, Steve watched contentedly as his best friend and his boyfriend interacted quite seamlessly with each other. Bucky and Tony were actually so similar in many ways: they were both playful, naughty, occasionally—alright—frequently childish, frank, sneakily thoughtful and caring, and loyal to a fault. It was a huge, huge bonus that these two most important men in his life could get along as well as they did.

“Where’s Tony, by the way?” Bucky asked, looking past Steve to try to find the engineer-billionaire.

“He was just right behind me a moment ago. He must have just stepped out to take a call or something,” Steve explained.

“So how’re things going between you and him?”

“They’re going. We’re doing great. We still haven’t made some sort of formal announcement of our relationship, but we figured that we didn’t need to. What we are to each other is a matter best left between the two of us and our closest friends. We don’t need the media or the general public making a fuss about it,” Steve said with occasional dismissive waves of his hands.

“I don’t know how you plan on doing that with The Avengers Stem on Stem,” Bucky commented, and Steve widened his eyes at his oldest friend.

“You know about that?!”

“Tough to find a person who doesn’t know about that at this point,” Bucky mumbled with an amused grin. “I’m just wondering…”

“What…”

“Have you ever tried asking Tony if he, maybe, had something to do with The Avengers Stem?”

Steve raised his eyebrows at that statement. But before he could answer, the House’s directress respectfully interrupted their conversation to thank Steve for their presence, their indispensable aid and to regale him with stories of the kids as well as new projects they were thinking of doing. The Avengers Stem flew out of Steve’s mind.

During a rare breather in between distributing food to the kids, playing with the kids and discussing with the other volunteers, Steve felt Tony sidle up beside him. They hadn’t looked at each other or talked to each other since they’d arrived at the House because both of them had been busy entertaining the residents.

“Figured out my gift yet?” Tony asked, taking Steve from out of the depth of his thoughts.

“Actually, I haven’t really thought about it. I was surprised to find Bucky here. I wasn’t expecting it,” Steve replied, his gaze seeking out his oldest friend among the throng.

“I told you you’ll like the surprise,” Tony stated, folding his arms across his chest. “Actually, my gift has something to do with James.”

Steve turned to gape quizzically at the beautiful man beside him, waiting for a forthcoming elaboration.

“James has just been released from the Long Island facility. It was his battery of doctors and specialists that I was talking to just as we arrived here. And with his release, he’s going to need a place to stay,” Tony explained, not meeting Steve’s eyes yet and watching Bucky, himself. “So I thought… he could move in to the Tower with us. I’ve arranged for him to have a floor to himself—the 73rd floor. I’ve already had it furnished and his stuff’s being moved there right now, as we speak. The keys are, of course, for every door, cupboard, closet, cabinet and drawer on his floor, which, if I’m not mistaken, you would want to show him, yourself,” said Tony, finally meeting Steve’s eyes again with an otherwise serious expression on his features, but it was betrayed by the twinkle on those amazing brown eyes of his, which in the light of the mess hall, glowed like honey.

Oh my God. Steve was speechless. He was literally scrambling for words in his mind. Tony was the most amazing human being on the planet, and this… thing—these things that he’s done for Steve and Bucky were The. Best. Gifts. Ever.

“So… say something… You’re scaring me here, Steve,” Tony jokingly urged. “I just assumed that… James was going to… and that you wanted to have him around—I shouldn’t have just assumed all of those things—shit…” Tony muttered, near-mortified. Steve didn’t know what his face must look like to Tony.

“Are you angry? You’re angry…” Tony guessed, grimacing.

To a casual observer, Steve, with his jaw clenched and his hands balled into fists, looked like he was furiously restraining himself from punching the nearest wall. But what it actually was was that he was restraining himself, with herculean efforts, from seizing hold of Tony, dragging him, pushing him up against the nearest wall and ravishing him like he had never been ravished before.

Steve leaned forward to whisper against Tony’s ear and, in the process, to breathe in the mind-warping scent that was uniquely Tony’s. “I’m not angry. I’m actually so happy. That I really want to push you against the nearest wall and have my wicked way with you right here and now. But I don’t want to shock these kids,” Steve murmured, closing his eyes to rein in his desire.

Tony bit the corner of his lower lip as he was wont to do when he was tremendously amused and chortled once. “Yeah, let’s not do that,” he agreed. He simply squeezed Steve’s shoulder and started to walk away with a knowing half-grin. “You can make it up to me later, sweet cheeks. And I can tell that it’s gonna be real good!” Tony called back to Steve with a wink.

Steve tore his eyes away from Tony’s retreating figure with an amused shake of his head and a deep sigh, sought out Bucky in the crowd again and smiled at him. Bucky gave a small mock salute, beaming.

Taking his phone out from his pocket, he went to the appropriate app and typed:

shield_storm: I <3 U beyond words.

Steve pressed Send, a wistful grin, gracing his face. He must have done something really nice in his last life for him to deserve this.

Before he could stuff his phone back in his pocket, it chirped.

heir2mecha.realm: I<3 U more *girlish squeal* :-3

Steve, laughing, returned his phone to his pocket and walked towards a bunch of kids to chat them up.

===== THE END =====