Archive of Our Own ^beta

Tony walks into the kitchen, squinting at the change in light from his workshop, as he beelines to the coffee machine and chugs down a cup black before refilling his mug and taking a seat at the dining table, ready for Bruce’s usual Thursday morning pancakes. It takes him longer than he would like to admit to realize there is no one else in the kitchen, which is very unusual.

They have breakfast together. They have now for 41 days. Tony likes his routines. He does not like that there aren’t any pancakes.

Begrudgingly, he heads towards the common room, hoping to find someone to explain why there are no pancakes and no Thor yelling to pass the orange juice while Clint tosses pancakes to Natasha like it’s a game of ultimate frisbee. He finds he likes the comfort of their chaos.

He hears the television as he gets closer, figuring that something on the news has Bruce, and probably Steve, with their eyes glued to the screen, distracting them from their usual routine. Everyone else is probably still asleep, their mission had ended late last night, and most of them only rose to the smell of Bruce’s cooking anyway (Tony is pretty sure Jarvis sends it through the vents somehow).

Instead, he finds the entire team spread out across the living room, even Pepper and Coulson are standing off to the side. Every one of them a tense line, their eyes volleying between Steve, who actually looks like he might be sick – and the screen, where a reporter for a right-wing news channel is nearly tomato red in the face, ranting about a charcoal drawing shown on the side panel of the screen.

From his vantage point, Tony can tell the drawing is something Pepper would call “fine workmanship” and even he can appreciate the detail and obvious affection put into the lines of the young man. He is lounging in a bed, apparently nude from the blankets curled lowly around his hips with an open book resting in his lap, a soft smile on his face as he looks directly at the artist with something like a private joke in his eyes. The man is handsome, although his haircut is a tad old-fashioned, looking a bit slicked back, but for a few pieces falling into his face. The reporter is suddenly muted, cutting off some rather un-journalistic ranting – the subtitles running his diatribe across the top of the TV, as Bruce sets down the remote.

“Steve?” Bruce asks warily, and Tony notices that for all that Steve looks like he might throw his cookies at any moment, he also looks a little like him and Bruce might have switched powers. Tony has never seen him this absolutely pissed.

Steve doesn’t respond. Simply continues to sit in the center of the huddle the team has formed around him, tense and pale and staring with a blind rage at the reporter, now joined by two other people weighing in, his breath coming in shallow gasps that Tony can guess was how he breathed for his first 23 years.

Tony steps fully into the living room, coming to stand beside Natasha who is behind the sofa Steve is on, looking like she is going to pull out a knife at any moment.

“What is going on?” Tony asks her quietly.

“That’s mine.” Steve is the one who responds. Throwing his hand up towards the screen.

The room is still tense, and Tony can’t help but joke, “The art? It’s good. He’s a pretty handsome catch, Cap. Where did you find him?”

It seems like everyone inhales as Steve finally turns away from the screen to look at Tony as he responds, “The first time? In an alley off of East 34th Street in 1925. I punched him in the face for telling Ernie Neward to pick on someone his own size.” Steve takes a breath, like he’s gulping for air and continues, “the second time, tied to a metal table in a Hydra base in Europe. He told me he thought I was smaller. That time, he was right.”

Tony could swear the air in the room freezes. Nothing moves, not even the dust shining in the morning light coming through the windows.

Tony swallows, all eyes now lobbing between the two of them and he has to make a decision here. Without really thinking about it he responds, “Sergeant James Barnes. Dad liked him. Used to say the two of you couldn’t be apart for long without something exploding.”

No one moves, but Tony can hear Pepper stifle a gasp from the other side of the room and if she doesn’t think that was a good idea, then she is probably right, and Tony is tensing, making to move back towards his workshop when Steve lets out a laugh, wet and surprised as a few tears slip quietly down his face, but he is smiling at Tony like he’d bottled sunshine.

“That was one time. And totally Bucky’s fault.” He points at Tony as he adds the last bit, as if to prove his point and Tony doesn’t want to ruin this. But he has to know. Curiosity has always been his downfall. Like that damn cat.

“You two were together?” He cocks his head to the side, hoping to show he is genuinely curious and not trying to be intrusive.

Steve shakes his head. “I drew that in the summer of 1937. I was 19. Bucky was 20. We were living in a tiny apartment by the docks.” Here Steve pauses, takes a deep breath that somehow comes out wheezy despite the serum, before he continues, “And I was madly in love with him. But it was literally illegal then and I wanted to be a soldier. So, I never said anything. And he never called me out on it. Honestly, I’m not even sure he knew.”

Clint looks like he is ready to kill someone as Steve explains. Glaring at the television, which thankfully is now onto a blonde going over the local weather.

Colson closes his eyes the way Tony noticed everyone doing right after 9/11. Like reality was too harsh to look at.

And Tony keeps pushing, doesn’t know any other way.

“How did they get it?” Tossing his hand towards the screen.

Steve lets out a huff. “I have no idea. I couldn’t take much with me obviously when I left for basic training. And this is on a decent sized canvas that Bucky bought me as a birthday present.” He lets out a choked laugh, “He was pissed that I used it on him. But I left it in storage. I assumed everything had been thrown away in the last 70 years. But apparently someone noticed my signature at the bottom and decided it was newsworthy.”

He sounds so defeated. So shamed. And Tony can see it now, the soldier from the 40’s, the hero of America. The artist who was in love with his best friend and knew it was too illegal and too illicit to even speak out loud. This was his open letter. This was his proof. This was a secret he never expected to see the light of day. And for someone to do it like this – on a national news channel without even asking Steve’s permission. And suddenly Tony is furious.

“Pep?”

She pivots towards him, knowing what that tone in his voice usually meant.

“Yes, Mr. Stark?” She smirks, and he is so glad she already knows where he’s going with this.

“Put every SI lawyer on this. I want that canvas returned to its rightful owner, and I want whoever was involved with getting it on television without explicit permission of the artist to be severely reprimanded. Throw around the word sue and breach of artistic license agreement and all that jazz. Hell, throw around the fact that the artist’s multiple enhanced or assassin trained friends are very displeased by this outright disrespect. Not to mention, that the artist in question just saved the goddamn world from an alien invasion. The man punched Hitler for crying out loud!”

Steve snorts, “Not true. That was just to sell bonds.”

Tony shushes him.

Pepper nods. “You got it.”

Somehow, Tony’s outburst seems to have balanced everything out for now. A solution seems to have been the thing everyone needed to get back to their morning routine. Bruce turns off the TV and they all begin to migrate to the kitchen.

Natasha wraps her hand around Tony’s wrist as she walks past him and somehow, he knows it means he’s done good with his crazy this time.

Steve rises last, smiling softly at Tony as he says, “You don’t have to waste all that effort on me. The damage is already done. I wasn’t trying to hide being queer in this new age, but I was just getting used to being here, you know? I wasn’t ready to be public about this. I feel like I just got my blue slip.”

“Exactly,” Tony nods, “that is why I am going to put our full force around this. No one should ever be outed without their permission. Trust me, I’ve been there. It’s never okay. There’s nothing wrong with it, never was. You can date men now without being arrested.”

Steve nods. “I know that it’s accepted now and even legal to get married which is lovely.” He pauses before shaking his head to himself and adding, “I didn’t realize you were temperamental?” He says it like a question and kind of like a secret and Tony cannot help but grin.

“You mean gay?” Tony laughs. “Seriously, queer I get but temperamental?” He shouldn’t be laughing but he is.

Steve just rolls his eyes at him. “That was a popular term in my day, you know. Subtlety was important.”

Tony waves him off, “I know, I know. It’s just funny. And to answer that loaded question, although I appreciate that you apparently haven’t googled me, yes and no. I am what one would call bisexual which means I like both guys and gals.”

“Oh. I haven’t read up on much of that. It got a bit confusing. I guess I would be that too then because of Peggy.”

Tony nods. “Welcome to the club of bisexual semi-famous people who were outed by a journalist having no manners.” He mimes clinking a class and smirks as Steve tips his head as if tipping a hat in reply as they make their way to the kitchen.

“I guess I should have looked for the stuff I put in storage when I got pulled out of the ice, huh?” Steve laughs, “Could have avoided this whole trouble. I just never thought anyone would keep my stuff around for 70 years. I had no family, you know?” Steve shrugs and continues into the kitchen to help Bruce get breakfast on the table.

Tony pauses in the hall, a memory on his peripheral. “Jarvis, is Pepper still here?”

“She is heading out now Sir, should I ask her to wait?”

“No, it’s okay. Can you access the inventory files of everything that was moved from the Malibu house here?”

“Yes Sir, of course. Do you want them displayed on a hologram?”

“No, go ahead and save them to my private drive, and scan through looking for anything Howard saved regarding his work with Dr. Erskine and subsequently anything to do with Captain America.”

“Consider it done, Sir. Anything else?”

“Actually, J, yeah. Can you do a search for the storage facility Cap would have kept his stuff in? I know 70 years is a long shot for record keeping, but I want to see who recovered those items. And do a search for the members of the Howling Commandos while you’re at it. I want to know if any of them are still alive, and if not, who their next of kin is.”

“Of course, Sir. I’ll get right on it. May I ask why?”

“Dad couldn’t shut up about Steve Rogers my entire life and most of it wasn’t even about the damn science project they turned him into. People cared about him. And people who care keep stuff to remember. I’m gonna get Steve his stuff back.”

“Very noble of you, Sir.”

“Hush J, I don’t want Steve knowing I’m doing it.”

“Typical.”

Tony rolls his eyes and continues towards the commotion he can already hear in the dining area. He barely manages to catch the pancake Clint tosses at him, shouting good naturedly for him to come eat and stop talking to the robot butler. Tony smiles.