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"Evening, Officer Rogers."Steve looked up, the voice catching him off guard in the gloom of the hallway. "Evening, Mrs. O'Malley," he said with a smile. He tucked his cap under his arm, fumbling in his pile of packages. "Here. I've got something for you."Her rough face softened as Steve handed over the paper wrapped packet. "Ah, but a good boy you are, too good to an old lady like me." She turned it over in her hands. "Soup bones?""Mostly, but Mr. Fletcher down at the shop left a bit of meat on there for you." Steve smiled at her as he headed up the narrow, rickety stairs of the tenement. "Think he's sweet on you."That earned him a flap of her apron. "The good lord'll get you for lying, see that he don't." She smiled at him, her eyes squinting against the gloom. "You have enough t' eat? I can send Sean up with some bread, if you've not got any."He hefted one of the brown paper wrapped packages. "Thanks, but I have plenty."She nodded. "Came out to tell you, that window of yours is creaking again." Her eyes slanted up towards the ceiling that separated their apartments. "Best you check it's closed tight tonight, else you'll hear of it, wasting the heat and all."Steve froze on the step, one hand grabbing the banister. "Is it now." He looked up, then back down. "Thank you for letting me know, before anyone else, Mrs. O'Malley. I'll see it's taken care of."She nodded. "You're a good boy, like your Da before you." She made the sign of the cross. "May he rest in peace." She gave him a respectful nod. "Let me know if you need some extra bread.""Thank you, ma'am." Suddenly exhausted, Steve headed up the stairs, ignoring the way the wood creaked and shifted under his feet. He was used to that by now, used to having to twist to the side to slip through the narrow gaps between floors, used to skipping the steps that he knew wouldn't take his weight.Used to setting his foot and hip checking the door to loosen the sticky hinge before he tried unlocking it. Inside, his small apartment was dark and still, but the curtains were pushed back from the single window in the kitchen. Steve gave it a look. "You better not have broken my window," he said, pushing the door shut behind him, turning to hang his cap on the hook as he flicked on the single bare bulb in the middle of the room. "Again."There was a long moment of silence, and then, a small, high pitched giggle.Against his will, Steve smiled. "Yeah, it's funny, until I need to sleep in here in the winter." He tossed the food packages onto the kitchen table and shrugged out of his uniform jacket. Tossing it over the back of the a chair, he crouched down beside the coal range. "Then I'll be noticing that you unassembled something that you couldn't manage to assemble again."He gave the door to the stove a hard tug, only to have it open effortlessly. He rocked back on his heels, nearly ending up on his ass. Steve blinked down at it. "Did you-"A small scuffing sound brought his head around, and he smiled at the little boy who crouched down next to him, his arms wrapped around his knees. He grinned at Steve, his eyes glinting under the dark fringe of his hair. "Fixed it," he said, in his usual, halting cadence.Steve smiled back at him. "Yes. You did." He reached for the coal shuttle. "Have you eaten?"DJ nodded, his eyes locked on the hinges of the range door. "Yes.""Uh-huh." Steve lit the stove and shut the door. "Well, I got some sweetbuns, bet you can find some room in your stomach for that, right?" DJ grinned up at him, and Steve reached out, ruffling his hair. "You need to stop coming in through the window, DJ."DJ leaned in, staying close to the stove, his arms folded and his hands tucked against his chest. Steve moved around him, filling the kettle and setting it on top of the range. "C'mon, I'll get you some bread and cheese." DJ's eyes flicked in his direction, but he turned his attention back to the stove, never moving from his chosen spot.Steve grabbed a couple of plates from the shelf, setting them down on the kitchen table. He filled them with thick slices of bread and chunks of cheese, half a roasted potato, still warm from the peddler on the corner, and the sweet rolls that he'd intended for his breakfast in the morning. While he waited for the tea to boil, he grabbed a salami from the shelf, unwrapping it just far enough to cut a few thick rounds."Can you get me two cups?" he asked DJ, wrapping the salami back up. "And the tin of tea?"DJ scrambled to his feet, sliding in shoes that were too big for him. Steve wasn't sure how he'd ended up with shoes that were too big and pants that were too small, but Hammer had a knack of doing everything wrong. DJ hopped onto a chair, using the extra height to snag the tea tin from the top shelf, and the cups with his other hand. Steve pushed a plate in front of him. "Thank you." He took the tea, and reached for the kettle. "Sit down like a person, please, my Ma's rolling in her grave right now."DJ settled onto the chair, his heels braced on the edge of the seat, his knees up against his chest. "Good enough," Steve said, handing him a cup of tea. "Thank you."With a pleased sound, DJ wrapped his hands around the cup, his fingers sliding back and forth over the chipped surface. He sniffed cautiously at the tea, then took a careful sip.Steve reached out with his knife, nudging the edge of DJ's plate. "Eat something," he said. DJ studied him over the rim of the cup, his dark eyes steady, and Steve smiled down at him. "Please."DJ reached out, his fingers peeling away a chunk of the bread crust. Shaking his head, Steve went back to his meal. He ate, not enough to fill the gnawing emptiness in his belly, but he was used to that, too. He was used to managing just enough to keep himself going, just enough to take the edge off.Because there had to be enough for the next day, as well. And the one after that. All the ones after that.He drained the last of his tea, too dark and too sweet, and set the leaves aside to reuse in the morning. “Done?” he asked DJ, who'd finished almost everything. DJ nodded, trading his plate with Steve's, and scooping up the cups. “Thank you,” Steve said, finishing the scraps that DJ had left behind before handing over the plate. “I'm going to go wash up, will you-”But DJ had already emptied rest of the hot water from the kettle into the sink, splashing the plates into it with a great deal of enthusiasm. Steve smiled at him. “Try not to break anything,” he said, as DJ shoved a chair over to the battered basin and scrambled up to kneel on it.Leaving him to scrub the plates clean, Steve headed to the small shared bathroom at the far end of the hall. He could hear his neighbors moving behind each door he passed, could hear them talking, their voices rising and falling in familiar waves. Some were quieter than others, but the walls were so thin in places that he could almost always make out the words, no matter how quiet they tried to be.He paused by a few doors, his footsteps slowing but never stopping. Checking on the new wife who flinched when her husband's voice raised, when he came home swaying on his feet and smelling of cheap whiskey. On the old man who worked all hours, his back bent as he strained to finish one last button hole in the depths of the night. On the teenage girl who had four younger siblings, and everyone was politely ignoring the fact that no one had seen their parents in a week or more.But things were quiet tonight, and Steve plodded forward, exhaustion tugging his shoulders down with each step.When he returned to his apartment, the chairs were back at the table, the stove throwing a low, warm glow over the darkened interior. Steve pulled the door shut behind him. "I'm assuming I'll be able to 'find' you again in the morning, right?"From the depths of his armchair, DJ peeked out from within his blanket cocoon, his dark eyes sleepy. "Yes," he said, the word dissolving into a yawn. He wiggled a bit, finding a comfortable spot in the creaky old chair.Steve couldn't quite hold back an affectionate smile. "You're going to get us both in trouble," he said, reaching out to ruffle DJ's hair. DJ smiled up at him, and Steve headed to his own bed on the other side of the room. "You know that, right?"DJ rolled over, putting his back to Steve, his final word on the matter. Shaking his head, Steve sat down on the edge of his bed, bending down to pull his shoes off. The stove'd keep things warm until the coal burned itself out, and he was too tired to deal with anything else. "Stay?"The word was small and soft, barely audible in the echoes of noise from the other apartments. Steve glanced over at the chair, where DJ still hadn't moved. He took a deep breath. "You know you can't," he said, setting his shoes aside. "No one's going to let a single Irish cop take a kid."Somewhere above them, something dropped to the floor with a solid thunk, and Steve looked up. Footsteps creaked across the ceiling, and Steve turned his attention back to DJ. "I'm never home, in any case, and you deserve better." He stood, unbuttoning his pants. Once he was down to his under shirt, shorts and socks, he pushed the blankets back on the bed and crawled in. "We're going to find you some real parents. Right?"There was no response. With a sigh, Steve stacked his hands behind his head, staring up at the patchy, cracked ceiling. "I just want what's best for you," he said. "You know that, right?"He expected the silence. It hurt anyway.*"Rogers!"Steve's shoulders tightened, his back snapping straight in an instant. Across the hallway, the Captain leaned out of the door of his office. He pointed a finger in Steve's direction. “Rogers. In here. Now.”Steve nodded. “I know I'm late, sir, but-”“Don't care,” Captain O'Brien stepped back, waving him in. “Get in here.”Steve slipped past him. “Sir, I-”That was as far as he got before O'Brien cut him off. "Mackey's filed another complaint about you, Rogers," he said, his florid face tired. He shut the door after Steve and headed back to his desk. "You wanna not hassle the man?"Steve gave a slight shrug. "He's violating the law, and everyone knows it," he said. He could hear the tension in his own voice, and he made a deliberate attempt to relax. He'd wasted too much time looking for DJ, who'd disappeared before he'd woken up. He was tired, frustrated and hungry, and that wasn't a good combination. "I've got a duty-""And he's got a few of the city leaders in his pocket. So your duty gets assigned by me, and mine gets assigned by the commissioner, and I bet you know where he gets his assignments." Captain O'Brian smacked a hand against his desk. Steve's teeth locked, and O'Brien gave him a sympathetic look. "Just skip that street on your patrols, if it bothers you so much. But I'm getting tired of smoothing his feathers.""Sir-""No," O'Brien stabbed a finger in his direction. "I like you. You know I do. But by all the saints, you make me more trouble than the rest of the shift combined." He shook his head. "There's a dozen men lined up for your job, and none of them would make near the trouble you do. Just-" He exhaled, long and slow. "I don't want to hear your name again, the rest of this month, you understand?"Steve opened his mouth, and O'Brien held up a hand. "Think real hard before the next word leaves your mouth, Rogers."Steve gritted his teeth. "Yes, sir."O'Brien huffed out a breath. "Good choice, Rogers." He sank into his chair, picked up a folder from the desk in front of him. "And as a reward for your obedience today, you get to run a personal errand for the mayor." He held the folder out to Steve, his fingers gripping it a little too hard.Steve took it. "What is it?”"C'mon." O'Brien gestured towards the single chair in front of his desk. "This is a hell of a mess, Rogers, and you're the lucky man who gets to deal with it."Steve knew a trap when he saw one, but he also couldn't see any way out of it. He sank down into the chair, the folder clutched between his hands. He was somehow very reluctant to open it. “Sir?”O'Brien rocked back in his chair, sending it tipping back on the back legs. The wood squeaked, pushed to its limits, before the chair fell back into place. "You heard of Anthony Stark?"Steve frowned down at the folder. "The business tycoon? The millionaire?" "The billionaire," O'Brien said, his arms crossed over his chest. "His secretary's comin' down here this afternoon, and she needs an escort.""An escort?" Steve's head jerked up. "An escort where?"O'Brien's mouth kicked up on one side. "She's making a trip down to Hammer House. And you're an expert in that particular rat's nest, so..." His heavy fingers rattled against the arm of his chair. "Your job is to go with her, make sure no one hassles her or her driver, and get her the hell out of our jurisdiction without any incidents.""To Hammer House?" Steve opened the folder, flipping through the neat, typewritten pages. "Why?""Ours is not to question why, Rogers." O'Brien reached for his pen. "Ours is to do as we're told. Your life'd be a lot easier if you'd just learn that." His eyes canted up, glaring at Steve from under the hard line of his eyebrows. "Be here at two pm, sharp, and remember, you're representing the police force. So I expect you to be on your best behavior." Steve's mouth opened, and O'Brien gave him a look. Steve subsided, nodding instead. "Yes, sir.""Go polish your shoes and make sure you look presentable, and, remember, keep. Your mouth. Shut." O'Brien went back to his paperwork. "As much as you're capable of, at least."Knowing a dismissal when he heard one, Steve pushed himself to his feet. "Yes, sir."*Pepper Potts was even prettier in person than she was in her photos.She was slim and compact, clad in a well tailored blue jacket with a slim, crisp blue and white plaid skirt and matching blue hat perched on her smooth copper curls. Everything, from the perfectly matched string of pearls around her slim neck, to the spotless white shoes on her feet, was in order, not a wrinkle to the fabric, not a hair out of place. In the filthy, crowded lobby of the precinct, she stood somehow apart, as exhausted officers and civilians alike gave her a wide berth."Miss Potts, this is Officer Rogers," Lt. Murray said. "He'll be assisting you today.” He gave her a smile that verged on condescending. “Officer Rogers, the lovely Miss Potts.”If Miss Potts heard the unctuous note in Murray's voice, she didn't acknowledge it. Instead, she smiled up at Steve, her big blue eyes surrounded by long dark lashes. "Hello, Officer Rogers," she said, extending one white gloved hand. "So pleased to meet you." She sounded almost sincere.Steve took her hand with care, all too aware of the fact that his hand was probably filthy. But her grip was firm and strong, her small fingers squeezing his without a flinch. "Ma'am," he said, some of the tension going out of his shoulders. "My car is at the curb," she said, tucking her bag under her arm. "Shall we?" Without waiting for a response, she turned on her heel, stepping briskly across the lobby towards the door. Steve, caught off guard, had to scramble to catch up, falling into step behind her. "This should be an easy enough assignment," she said, as he pushed the door open for her. Her head dipped in a slight nod of thanks, and then she was moving down the broad stone stairs in front of the station. Down on the street, a massive, gleaming black car was waiting, the chrome glinting in the sunlight. A tall, lanky black man in a neat, crisp suit was waiting next to it, his arms crossed over his broad chest. As they approached, he straightened up, reaching for the handle of the back door. He eyed Steve, his dark eyes sharp beneath heavy brows. "This our escort?" he asked Miss Potts."To his dismay, yes." Miss Potts glanced at Steve, a slight smile curving her lips. "Officer Rogers, this is James Rhodes.""One of Mr. Stark's drivers," the man said, with a nod in Steve's direction. "Mostly, he gets stuck carting me from one end of the city to the other," Miss Potts said, giving the man a quick, warm smile. She slid into the car, leaving Steve hovering awkwardly on the sidewalk, unsure what to do. Miss Potts leaned back out, her eyes canting up in his direction. "Officer? We are on a strict schedule here, so shall we?"Steve's eyes darted towards her driver, who hid a smile behind one broad palm. "Back seat," he said, shutting Miss Pott's door. "I'll get the door for you.""Thanks, but think I can handle opening a door on my own," Steve said. He headed around the back of the car, his shoulders squared and his jaw tight. He did manage to open the car door, but any sense of pride he might've gotten from that small act was immediately wiped away when he smacked his head trying to maneuver his way into the back seat.Miss Potts blinked at him. "Are you all right?" she asked.Ignoring the way his face burned, Steve settled into the plush seat next to her. "Yes, ma'am.""Because that sounded like it hurt," she said, reaching out with one gloved hand. Her fingertips brushed against his forehead, and he winced. She pulled back immediately. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-""No, it's fine." Steve settled his cap in his lap, his hands resting on the brim. "I've got a hard head, and a uniform hat that'll cover the lump."She burst out laughing, the sound high and bright and lovely. "I think I like you," she said, as Rhodes slid into the driver's seat. She leaned back in the plush seat of the car, her bag in her lap, her legs crossed neatly at the ankles. The car pulled away from the curb, and Steve glanced back at the precinct. Miss Potts studied him, her eyes sharp. "Who did you annoy to get assigned to this?" "Everyone," Steve said, and it slipped out before he realized the word was there. But she laughed, her pretty mouth drawing up into a bright smile."You might be a bit too honest to be a New York City Police Officer," she said, her head tipped in his direction. "You're not the first one to think so, ma'am," Steve said. He shifted his weight, trying to find a way to sit without touching anything. It was a lost cause, but he was used to lost causes. "All due respect-""Nothing good comes out of those three words." She shot him a look from under the brim of her clever little hat, but there was a smile playing around the corners of her mouth."Sorry, ma'am," he said, but he soldiered on anyway. "With all due respect, what are you doing down here?"Her lashes dipped. "Mr. Stark has decided, in a goodwill gesture, to take in an orphaned child for a week."Steve blinked at her. "Excuse me?" One of Miss Potts eyebrows arched. "I'm going down to Mr. Hammer's home for wayward boys to select an orphan who will come to live with Mr. Stark for the next week," she said. There was an odd note to her voice, one Steve couldn't quite interpret, and her face had become a mask, smooth and serene.Steve realized his mouth was hanging open. He closed it. "I see," he said, and he didn't. But anything else he could say would only get him in trouble, and he'd had his fill of trouble.She studied him. "You don't approve."His shoulders twitched into something like a shrug. "It's not my place to approve or disapprove, ma'am.""But you want to," she said.Rhodes' eyes flicked up to meet Steve's in the rear view mirror. "The man needs to keep his job," he said, his voice laconic. "Times are tough, Miss Potts.""Why, yes, they are, Mr. Rhodes." She leaned forward, meeting his eyes in the mirror. "Are you going to get him in trouble? It's not well done of you."His shoulders jerked, and Steve wondered if he was laughing. "Now, Miss Potts. Would I do that?""Possibly, you're untrustworthy," she pointed out, and now he was laughing out loud. Smiling, Miss Potts looked back at Steve. "What, exactly, are your objections, Officer Rogers?"His fingers flexed on the brim of his cap. "It's cruel. Crueler than it needs to be," he said, his voice flat. "It's playing with someone's life. A child." He cut a look in her direction, his jaw set. "For what? A pretty little picture to humanize Mr. Stark? So he forgets about the whole thing in a week, and dumps the boy back into a place that barely bothers to feed him? Where's the fairness in that? Where's the humanity?"Steve shook his head. "The world's hard enough, right now. It's like the politicians who open soup kitchens when they want the press, when they want the votes, then shutter them when they're not useful to 'em anymore." The more frustrated he got, the worst his accent got, the street kid still there, fists clenched, just under the surface. He shook off the thought. "And who cares about the men who'd depended on that meal?"He took a deep breath. "So yes. I apologize, Miss Potts, but I don't approve."Miss Potts studied him, her eyes steady. "Good."He blinked at her. "Excuse me?""Good." Her head turned back towards the front, and he could see her jaw, sharp and hard. "The mayor's office insisted that we take someone along as an escort. I agreed, as long as it was someone familiar with the neighborhood." Her eyes canted in his direction. "And this particular
orphanage.”Steve stared out the front windshield of the car, turning that over in his head. “Why?”“Because this is going to happen,” she said, her voice flat. “So I'd like to...” Her lips pursed. “Minimize the damage.” She shifted in her seat, just a little, her fingers flexing on her bag. “My intent is to try to do right by the child, to see if we can't find him a permanent home with one Mr. Stark's employees.”He doubted that would happen. But strangely enough, he also believed she was going to try. There was a sort of sincerity to her, maybe it was the stubborn line of her jaw, or the way she looked at him, without disdain or pity or judgment. She was a strange one, but he'd known a lot of tough women in his life. His neighborhood was full of them, and she didn't seem so different, despite her fancy clothes and fancier manners.Steve nodded. “There's a boy there.” At least he hoped there was. But this, he could work with this. His head was already spinning, possibilities unfolding so fast that he knew it was going to lead him nowhere but into trouble, but he was used to that. He looked at Miss Potts. It might be worth it. “DJ.”She nodded, her eyes sharp. “Last name?”“I don't know,” he admitted. “Don't even know if he has one. Some of those kids, they don't.” He smiled. “But there's only one there by that name, you'll find him, if you look.”She nodded again. "Why him?”Steve considered that. “My ma was from the old country,” he said at last. He shifted in his seat, a bit wary. “Ireland. She talked a lot about the old ways of doing things, the old-” He shrugged. “She was a good Catholic girl, Miss Potts, but some things die hard, in the spaces religion doesn't reach.“She used to talk about the old things that lived in the wood, the fair folk. The old ones. And they'd take those who were caught alone, or unaware. They'd take children from their cradles, or travelers from the road. Some'd be back in a few days, some in a few minutes. Some never came back at all, but those who did...”He looked at her. “She said, some could come back from their time below the hills, and they'd be full of stories and laughter and music like none had ever heard. They'd seen something amazing, and it lit them from the inside out, but they kept their feet on safe roads from then on, they kept to the bright places, and away from old oaks. They held cold iron close, and sang soft laments of the way the old ones danced under the moon.”Miss Potts studied him, her face serious. “And the others?”“It broke them,” he said his voice flat. “They were the ones who searched forever for a way back, and never found it. They wandered, their minds trapped by something they'd seen that no one around them could understand. The ones that went mad, who drank themselves to death, who became bitter and hard with what they knew they'd never have again.”Steve realized he was gripping the brim of his hat too hard, bending his cap almost in half. He relaxed his fingers, one by one, trying to smooth it flat again. “Some people can survive being taken,” he said. “And others can't. I think DJ can. I think he can see Mr. Stark's world, your world, and come back down to-” His hand snapped out, gesturing at the dark, ragged buildings that crowded in on the street, too many of them, too close together. “To this.”Her eyes followed the gesture, her mouth going thin and tight. “I'm going to do my best to-”"He's not going to get adopted," he said at last, the words hard. "No one's going to take him, Miss Potts. He's-" He shook his head. "He's smart, he likes to work, he doesn't need much. But he's-" He stopped. "He's odd, I suppose. He's too quiet, and too still, and when he moves, it's not the way people expect him to move. He can fixate on things, and sometimes he has trouble following orders and he's stubborn sometimes.”Miss Potts nodded. “But you want me to choose him anyway.”Steve nodded. “Yes.”“Despite all of that.”“Yes,” Steve repeated. He shook his head. “He's different. Not better, not worse, just different.” He huffed out a breath. “Let me put it this way, Miss Potts. Say you had a domestic who was a hard worker and a loyal one, who did most things well, but never washed the windows the way you wanted them washed. And then one day, you realized that she was simply too short to reach them.” He arched his eyebrows. “Would you fire her and find someone taller? Or would you just give her a stool?”Miss Potts studied him, one fingertip tapping at her cheek. “I take it you're a proponent of finding a stool,” she said, and there was no mockery to the words, no disdain. Just something like warm curiosity.“I'm a proponent of making allowances for who people are,” Steve said, his voice flat. “This city only works if we accept that we're not the same, we're never going to be fully the same. Things that are fair aren't always equal, and things that are equal aren't always fair.” He gave a slight shrug. “And things work better if we just give people a stool rather than arguing that they could reach if they really wanted to.”Miss Potts studied him. “You,” she said at last, her lips curling in a smile, “are going to be trouble.”“You're not the first to think so,” Steve said, and she burst out laughing. He smiled. “And I doubt you'll be the last, ma'am.”She nodded. “I think you just might be right.” She extended a hand to him. “No promises. But I'll look for your boy.”He studied her hand, then glanced up. “And what do you want in exchange?”Her grin was bright, and for the first time, he noticed the sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her pert nose, barely visible beneath her artful application of powder. “Your help, if we should need it.” Her head tipped to the side, and for an instant, she looked like half the girls he'd grown up with, clever, quick girls who survived and thrived the best they could. Miss Potts' hand didn't waver. “Do we have a deal, Officer?”Steve took it. “We have a deal, Miss Potts.”*"What do you think?""Of what?" Rhodey's eyes slid in Pepper's direction. "Hammer, or this situation?""Oh, Hammer's an idiot and the situation is an utter farce," Pepper said. She brushed the curtains back from one of the cracked window panes, looking down at the street. "I meant, what do you think of our escort?""Ah." Rhodey came up behind her, peering over her shoulder. Down on the sidewalk below them, Officer Rogers was fending off a half dozen boys with a faint smile, ignoring as they circled him, stealing pieces of penny candy from his pockets. He shook his trunchon at them, making them scatter, but they were all laughing, skittering just out of reach before darting back under his guard. Rhodey braced a hand on the windowframe, his eyes narrowing. "Not what I expected.""Miss Hill's never steered us wrong," Pepper pointed out."True. But she has her own agenda." He looked at her. "You going to take his advice?"Pepper's chin dipped in the slightest hint of a nod. "Do you have a better idea?"He rubbed a hand over his mouth. "You know the kid he's pushing is going to be difficult, don't you?"Pepper grinned at him as she strode back around Hammer's desk to sink into his creaky, off-balance visitor's chair. "Then he'll fit right in with the rest of the household, won't he?" she said, making Rhodey laugh. She settled in, crossing her legs at the ankles. "Honestly, Rhodey, we're walking a very fine line here, so-"There was a thump at the door, and she twisted around, just in time to see a boy with a gap-toothed smile poke his head in. "Hello, Miss!" he said, his voice cheerful. "Mr. Hammer's gettin' the files for you." He slipped inside, a battered tray balanced between his hands. "He told me t' offer you some tea."He set the tray down on the desk with a surprising amount of grace. The teapot, cup and saucer, sugar bowl and milk pot barely moved across the surface, and he gave her a bright grin. "Would you like tea, Miss?"She found herself smiling back. "That's very kind of you, thank you."Rhodey pushed away from the wall. "I'm going to go make sure that the car isn't stripped for parts, Miss Potts," he said. "Our escort, while pleasant, doesn't seem to have things under control down there.""Of course, Mr. Rhodes," Pepper said, accepting the tea from the boy. "Do keep Officer Rogers out of trouble.""Oh, Rogers's a good egg," the boy said, offering Pepper the milk. "They'll joke with him, make no mistake, Miss, but no one's gonna cross him if he tells 'em no.” He gave her a bright grin, his freckled nose wrinkling. “They know better than that.”Pepper considered the cream with a critical eye. She wasn't sure it was worth the risk. She handed it back with a smile. “Thank you,” she said, as he handed her the sugar bowl. "So you know Officer Rogers?" He nodded, his pale hair flopping over his forehead. "Everyone down these parts knows Officer Rogers," he said. He leaned up against Hammer's battered desk, rocking his weight back on his heels, clearly happy to stay and gossip. "He's a good one. Most of the police round here, they'd as soon give you a sound thrashing as talk to you, but Rogers is a decent one. He knows everyone, by name even, an' he's fair.”“I take it you're a good judge of character?” she said, blowing across the surface of her tea. The smell was... Questionable. She lowered the cup back to the saucer without tasting it."When you're out on the streets, Miss, you learn right quick when people have bad intentions towards you," he said. He blinked, an expression of consideration crossing his young face. "Or maybe only the ones who make it do. An' the ones who don't, no one ever hears from them again, do they?"Pepper stared at him, her chest aching, but no reply seemed necessary, or even expected."A fella came by here, an' we all knew he weren't right, we could tell. If you saw him on the street, you'd cross t' get away from him, quick as you could, but ol' Hammer, he didn't listen t' us. An' this fella, he was going to take little Mick, an' he's only six. He's just a baby, Miss, an' none of us liked it."A couple of the boys, they slipped out at night an' went all the way cross town to find Rogers, an' they told him what was happening, best they could, I suppose. But when the fella came by the next morning to sign the paperwork an' pick up Mick, Rogers was waiting for him." The boy's teeth flashed in a smile that was sharp and hard and vicious. "Ain't none of us knows what was said, Miss, but Rogers put the fear of the good Lord into that one. None of us ever saw him round these parts again."He collected the tray. “Roger's good enough, and they know it, Miss. If you need to trust a copper, well, you can't do better." He peered at her cup. "Can I get you more tea?"She glanced down at her still full cup. "No, thank you,” she said with a slight smile.He grinned. "Yeah, it's pretty lousy, ain't it?" He headed for the door, the tray balanced on his hip. "Hope you find what you're looking for, Miss.""Thank you," she repeated, and then, at the last second, she twisted around in the chair. "Officer Rogers said to keep an eye out for one of the boys here, maybe you know him?He paused, his hand on the doorknob. "Well, I know everyone, Miss. But-" He grinned again, this one wide and bright. "Bet you mean DJ."She nodded. "Yes, can you point him out to me if you-"He tugged on his ear, making a face. "He's... Not here right now," he said, his head tipping to the side. "But if he pops up during your visit, you'll know." "Really." Pepper braced her elbow on the arm of the chair and propped her chin on her hand. "And how will I know?"The boy paused. "He'll be in trouble," he said, and opened the office door. Outside in the hallway, a gaggle of boys were gathered around the door, doing their best to peer into the office. He took a swing at them with one hand, making the crockery rattle on his tray. "Shove off, the lot of you, if Hammer catches you, we'll all catch hell.""Ain't our fault you can't outrun ol' Hammer hands," one of the boys shot back, but they scattered in front of him, feet clattering along the worn wood of the hall. Pepper's new friend looked back at her with a grin. “Be careful, Miss. Ol' man Hammer'd steal the last coin from his mother's purse, an' not miss a bit of sleep over it.” He tugged on his ear, his gaze sharp. “But you didn't hear it from me.”Pepper struggled not to smile. “I appreciate the information.” She reached for her purse. “And-” She pulled out a half dollar, the silver gleaming between her gloved fingertips. She held it out to him, one eyebrow arched. “And if you have any other helpful tips?”His hand snapped out, the coin disappearing in an instant. “You'll be the first to know, Miss,” he said. And with a grin and a wink, he ducked out of the room, pulling the door shut behind him.Smiling to herself, Pepper turned in her chair, reaching for the cup she'd left sitting on the edge of Hammer's desk. Halfway there, her hand hovering in mid-air, she froze.There was a boy standing on the windowsill, clinging to the building three stories above the street below.The boy stared at her, big dark eyes curious under the tumbled mop of dark curls. He was barefoot, his shoes tied together by the laces and thrown over his shoulder. The ragged cuffs of his too-short pants ending well above his bony ankles, his shirt was torn at the hem. His fingers, dark with dirt, clung to the ragged wood of windowframe, and as she watched, he swayed back and forth, finding his balance against the side of the building. But his gaze never broke from hers, his dark eyes unblinking as he studied her, as if confused by her presence.Pepper raised one hand, wiggling her fingers in a half wave, and his head tipped to the side, the gesture quick and almost birdlike. But he raised one of his hands, waving back with a quick, gamine smile."You must be DJ," she said, her lips twitching. He considered that. "Yes," he said at last, with such conviction that Pepper had to choke back a laugh."Hello, DJ," she said. She leaned forward in her chair, her hands braced on her handbag. "I'm Miss Potts."Another beat of silence as he considered that. "Hello," he said at last, and then the heavy tread of footsteps in the hall brought his head up. He glanced down, at the street below him, and Pepper came half out of her chair."Don't-" she started, but he was already scrambling in through the window, landing on Hammer's chair with enough force to send it spinning, and from there, launching himself across the desk and towards the closet. Pepper watched, stunned, as he hopped up, one foot landing on the doorknob and using it to propel himself upwards. His fingers closed on the transom window above the closet door and before the office door could even start to open, he wiggled through the gap and out of sight.The whole thing took less than a minute, and Pepper found herself on her feet, her handbag clutched to her chest. The hinges on the office door creaked, and she collapsed back into her seat with more speed than grace. Hammer plodded past, a stack of folders balanced in his arms. "Now, now," he crowed, his broad face flushed with exertion. He dropped the folders onto the desk with a thump, and grinned at her, his spectacles crooked on his nose. "Let's find you a proper little urchin!”Pepper's mouth opened. She smiled. “I think I've already found one,” she said.Hammer paused, caught in the act of digging through the files. “You... Have?”Pepper stood. “I have,” she said, opening the closet door with a flick of her wrist. The boy, caught off guard, stared up at her, an expression of betrayal on his face.Hammer came to his feet so fast that his chair rolled back to hit the wall with a thump. “You-” he started, and Pepper turned a wide-eyed, innocent look in his direction. He pulled himself up short. “Ah. Miss Potts.” He straightened his tie with fingers that weren't quite steady. “This...” His teeth dug in on the words. “Young man missed morning roll call. So. He's been-”“He's been here, talking to me,” Pepper said cheerfully. “And I find him to be just delightful, so I think we'll make everything easy on you, and-”“I'm sorry, but he's not available to go with you,” Hammer started. His eyes were locked on DJ, something unstable bubbling there just beneath the surface. “He can't be rewarded with a jaunt off to the country, not when he's been such a-” He swallowed, a forced smile slipping across his face. “Problem.”Pepper looked down at DJ. “I cannot imagine this sweet child being a problem.” She crouched down, her arms looped around her knees. "Would you like to come with me?" she asked, giving the boy her most winning smile.Big dark eyes considered her, then blinked with slow deliberation. His head tipped to the side, his eyes flicking towards Hammer, and Pepper could almost see the gears turning in his mind mind as he weighed his options. Pepper waited, struggling to keep a straight face, as he came to his conclusion.He nodded. “Yes,” he said.Pepper straightened up. “Wonderful,” she said, offering him a hand. “Why don't you go back to your room and get your things?” Her eyes slid up, meeting Hammer's. “While the adults work things out.”“Now, Miss Potts-”Pepper put a gentle hand between DJ's shoulders, guiding him towards the door. “You don't need help, do you?” she asked him, but he was already shaking his head. “Wonderful, I could tell you were a very self-sufficient young man.” She opened the door to the hall and ushered him through. “There you go, you can meet me downstairs, all right?” He looked up at her, and there was something she couldn't quite read in his face. As if he was trying to determine if she was to be trusted. If she could be trusted.Pepper smiled at him. “I think you'll find someone waiting for you outside,” she whispered, and he nodded. And with that, he was scrambling out the door and down the hallway, his feet flying over the floor.Pepper shut the door behind him, turning to face Hammer without releasing the doorknob. She smiled, slow and deliberate. “Now, Mr. Hammer,” she said, pitching her voice for that soothing, coaxing tone that made stupid men relax, sure that they had the upper hand. “I'm sure that we can reach some sort of accord.”He smiled back, his pupils dilating a bit behind the lenses of his spectacles, but he shook his head. “That boy is headed only for a stern punishment,” he said, wagging a finger at her. “So, we can just-”Pepper set a hand down on top of the stack of files, preventing him from opening them. He looked up, startled, and Pepper smiled. “Name your price.”Hammer blinked. And then subsided back into his chair. “Now,” he said, his mouth stretching into a broad, unsavory smile, “we understand each other.”*“I do not know why I'm awake right now.”“Because you are a man of many responsibilities,” Edwin Jarvis said, his voice crisp. He emerged from the closet, a hanger in one hand and a matching tie in the other. Tony Stark gave the tie a look, regretting every moment of this already. “And I am a man well known for doing almost everything to keep from actually having to live up to those responsibilities,” he said, buttoning his shirt up and tucking it into his pants. “Also, a man who's had next to no sleep, so-”“Hmmmm.” Jarvis gave him a sharp look, his eyes narrowed over the knife-blade of his nose. “I do believe I mentioned yesterday that you had quite a schedule today, and that perhaps abandoning your work and taking to your bed would be best.” He tapped a knuckle against the underside of Tony's jaw, nudging his head up. “If I remember correctly, sir, you were less than swayed by my argument.”Tony struggled not to smile as Jarvis knotted the tie, settling the strip of silk in place and adjusting Tony's collar. “Do I pay you extra for the 'I told you so's, Jarvis?”“I should say not, sir.” Jarvis took a step back, considering Tony for a moment before he reached for the hanger. “It is included, most amicably, with my general service to you and this household. Arms up, please.”Tony did as he was told, mostly because it took a lot less effort than fighting it. “I do notice that it is part of our daily discussions, yes,” he said, as Jarvis settled the vest in place. Tony rolled his shoulders, checking the fit.“Indeed it is, sir, and one might do well to wonder if perhaps there were a way to avoid it,” Jarvis mused. He buttoned Tony's vest, his fingers quick and steady. “Perhaps you have some ideas on that front?”“You could just stop reminding me of my poor choices,” Tony suggested, amused despite himself.“And if I were to do so, I would be failing in my duty to you,” Jarvis said. He turned on his heel, the movement brisk and efficient, to collect Tony's jacket from the hanger. “Which is, of course, utterly unthinkable.”“You should think about it,” Tony said, smoothing his tie down. “It would make both of our days much easier.”“Yet much less fulfilling.” Jarvis held out Tony's jacket, and Tony slipped into it.Tony buttoned the jacket, and glanced at himself in the mirror as Jarvis collected the hanger. "Well?" Tony asked.Jarvis looked up. "Sir?"Tony held his hands out to his sides. "Do I pass muster?"Jarvis's head tipped back, his eyes narrowed in consideration. He reached out and straightened the silk square in Tony's pocket, his fingers flicking the fabric into place. "Always, sir," he said, a faint smile hovering at the corners of his mouth. He took a step back, slipping his watch from his pocket. "And right on time.""Far less common," Tony said, striding towards the door. "It is occasionally a problem," Jarvis agreed. He fell into step right behind Tony. "Is Happy waiting for me, or is Rhodey doing the driving today?""No.”Tony pinched the bridged of his nose. “Jarvis...”“Yes, sir?” Tony paused at the top of the staircase. "Don't I have a meeting?""A very important one," Jarvis said, his hands tucked together at the small of his back."And where are-""Tony!"Tony turned, looking down as Obie came striding across the main hall, his hands held out in front of him. He beamed up at Tony, his eyes crinkling at the edges. "Look at you!" he boomed, and Tony caught himself smiling."Shouldn't you be at a factory or office somewhere?" he asked, tucking his hands in his pockets before he strolled down the stairs. "I'm fairly certain that you should be-"Obie was laughing. "Took a day for our new project," he said. He paused at the foot of the stairs, his hands propped on his hips. "Think that things can toddle along without me for one day.""Probably not." But Tony paused at the base of the stairs, letting Obie pull him in for a back-thumping hug. "Seriously. What are you doing-""C'mon." Obie wrapped his arm around Tony's shoulders, his fingers almost painfully into Tony's arm. "Let's go meet our new guest.""Our-" Tony glanced back at Jarvis, his mouth opening for the next word, but he didn't have a chance to manage it. Jarvis's face was unreadable, his usual calm and expressionless mask, and Tony had a moment's sense of loss, and then Obie was dragging him forward.In the front vestible, just inside the front door, Pepper was crouched down, face to face and eye to eye with a little dark haired boy. Tony watched, confused, as she pulled the child's cap off, smoothing his hair down with careful fingers. "There we go," she said, smiling at him. She turned the hat over in her hands, trying to flatten the fabric. “This is too small for you, isn't it? Maybe we'll talk to May, she'll get us some better clothes for you.”She looked up, her eyes catching Tony's. She stood, holding a hand out to the boy. “Mr. Stark, may I introduce DJ. He'll be staying with us for the next week."Tony stared down at the child, who stared back, big dark eyes unblinking and unreadable. There was a strange stillness to the boy, a solumn consideration in his face. There was a bruise on his jaw and his hair, despite Pepper's efforts, was a tangled mop of dark curls, but his chin was up, his gaze sharp.Tony looked back at Pepper. "Why?" he asked, and Obie stepped in front of him."Hey, sport," he said, his voice booming in the small space. The boy flinched, his feet skittering backwards on the polished marble floor. Obie didn't seem to notice, or maybe he just didn't care. He reached out, ruffling the boy's hair with a rough hand. "You're gonna have such a great time!"The boy ducked away from him, moving back and behind Pepper, his hand reaching up to grab hers. She took it. "This is Mr. Stane," she said, a polished smile on her face. The boy looked up at her, and she gave him a reassuring smile. "Don't worry. He doesn't live here."Obie burst out laughing. "It's true, I don't," he said. He looked back at Tony. "Remember, we decided that you were going to take in an orphan for a week?" Tony stared at him blankly. "We did?" he asked at last."We did," Pepper said, and there was a note in her voice that he had learned to be wary of. "Right," Tony said. He looked down at the child, who looked back at him, looking distinctly unimpressed. "Right." He managed a smile. "Welcome."Pepper gave him a look, so it was clear that he wasn't meeting expectations, but she should be used to that. She gestured behind Tony. "This is Jarvis," she said. "He is in charge here.""Now, Miss Potts, we both know nothing could be further from the truth,” Jarvis said. He smiled down at the boy. “I am here to serve, and I'm quite pleased to be serving you.” He sketched a slight bow, his back ramrod straight. “If you'd like to come with me, I'll introduce you to the rest of the staff, young sir." His voice was warm, soft and kind and coaxing, the sort of voice a child could trust, and when he held out his hand, the boy took it.The boy glanced back at Pepper, who gave him a bright smile. "Let's all go," she said.Tony glanced at the door to the workshop stairs. "Actually, I have to-"Pepper slipped her arm through his, her fingers locking on his elbow. "Let's all go," she said, her teeth flashing in a bright smile. Tony gave in with something resembling dignity. "Let's all go," he agreed.Obie fished his pocket watch out of his vest, squinting down at the face. “Actually, I have a meeting,” he said, his voice jovial. “So I'll leave you to it.” He gave the boy a considering look. “Talk to May,” he said to Pepper. “I've got the press coming by to get some pictures, but I'd like him to be a bit more...” He wobbled a hand through the air. “Let's aim for presentable. Nothing too fancy, all right?”“Oh, yes, if there's anything this household is known for, it's restraint,” Pepper said.Obie gave her a look, and Tony held up a hand. “We'll- We'll just let Jarvis handle it.”“That's my boy.” Obie reached out, clapping a hand on Tony's shoulder. “Remember, this is important. We need to shake this 'Iron Man' thing. With the problems we've been having-”“Are you hungry?” Jarvis asked the boy, his voice cutting through Obie's with ruthless intent. “Because I believe that Mrs. Parker just finished a fresh batch of tarts.”Obie paused, his eyes darting back to the boy. “Sounds good,” he said, back to his jovial self. He gave Tony's shoulder a squeeze, the grip just bordering on painful before he finally let go. “Now. I'm counting on you, Tony.”“That's your first mistake,” Tony said, letting Pepper pull him towards the stairs that lead down to the kitchen. He waited until Obie was out of earshot, then leaned towards her, pitching his voice low. “When, exactly, did I agree to this?”She stared straight ahead, her jaw a sharp, hard line. “Last month.”“Ah.” Tony considered that. “Was I drunk?” She gave him a look. “I'll take that as a yes.”“You were not,” she said. “You were, however, not paying attention.”“Which, after the drinking, is probably my biggest problem,” Tony mused.“The two are pretty much tied for the traits that cause you the most problems,” she said. She took a breath. “I think you need to be more careful about letting Obie handle things like this.”“We've been over this,” Tony said.“Yes, we have.” “Obie's handling a lot of things that-”She slanted a look in his direction. “That you don't want to handle,” she said, her voice silken. “And now here were are. With a house guest for a week.”Tony nodded. “I don't think I agreed to this.”Her fingers tightened on his elbow. “Would we be here if you hadn't?”“I'm going to say yes,” Tony said.“And that's because you aren't paying attention,” she said, patting his arm. “Let's go get a tart.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
The array of cars was dizzying.They sat in neatly ordered rows, dozens of metal monsters, all polished to a mirror shine. The majority of them were black, trimmed with gleaming silver chrome and riding high on white wall tires. But a few, scattered here in there, were painted in sharp, brilliant splashes of color, green and yellow and rich, mellow gold.And one, a brilliant cherry red that seemed to glow even in the muted light of the garage.“That one's my favorite.”Steve looked up, caught off guard. Rhodes was smiling at him, his broad face friendly and relaxed. Still, Steve took a step back, his hand falling back to his side. “Sorry,” he said. “I wasn't thinking, it's-” He glanced back at the car, caught by the look of it. There was something beautiful about the flow of the metal, about the compact, clean lines, about the way the paint flowed over the surface, gleaming as if it was still wet. “It's beautiful.”Rhodes' smile only got wider. “I'm sure Tony would be pleased to hear you think so.” His head tipped in the direction of the car. “That's one of his.”Steve frowned. “One of his?”“Mr. Stark designed it,” Rhodes said, lifting the hood on a nearby car. “And built it, for that matter, but the design was the hard part.”Unable to resist, Steve reached out, his fingers just ghosting over the shining red metal of the front fender. “How's it drive?”“Fast,” Rhodes said with a grin, rolling up his sleeves. There was a toolbox within easy reach, and he pushed it open with a practiced movement. “Very fast.”Steve bit back a smile. “I take it you don't mind driving it,” he said, his fingers still stroking back and forth over the fender, enjoying the smooth rise of the metal beneath his palm. “I don't often get the chance, but when I do, I take it,” Rhodes said, leaning into the engine compartment. “Every time.” Steve looked up, his palm still resting on the curve of the fender. “I thought you were his driver?”“He's not my driver, he's my chief designer. Though part of his contract is that he does get to borrow whatever car he wants.”Steve jerked back, his hand falling to his side, caught off guard by the unexpected voice. He'd seen Tony Stark before, waving at the camera in newsreel footage, grinning out from the full color covers of magazines and the stark black and white of newspaper pages. Handsome and charismatic, he drew press coverage without even trying. Steve knew what Tony Stark looked like.Seeing him in person was something else entirely.Stark came striding across the garage floor, tall and lean, his dark hair artfully disordered, his goatee neatly trimmed. He moved with a fluidity, with a grace, that caught the eye, his back straight and his shoulders square. His hands were tucked in his pockets, his artfully tailored jacket flowing easily over his slim form.And when he glanced at them, his dark, gleaming eyes locking with Steve's, Steve's mouth went dry. One of Stark's dark eyebrows arched, his lips curving up. “And who's this?”Rhodes gestured in Steve's direction, his attention still fixated on the open hood of the car. “Officer Steve Rogers. NYPD.”Stark's other eyebrow arched. “And to what do we owe the pleasure, Officer?” Steve's throat worked, but before he could manage to form a word, Rhodes filled the silence. “He was assigned to escort us this morning. As soon as Happy's back, I'm going to drive him back to the city.”“I told him I could take the train,” Steve started, but Stark was already waving him off.“We have cars, some of them even run,” he said, shrugging out of his jacket. He tossed it aside, the fabric falling over the hood of another car. He didn't seem to notice. Or care. “Some of them,” Rhodes agreed. He shook his head. “Occasionally.”Stark's lips kicked up in a lopsided smile. “Judging by the expression on your face, though, I'm assuming this isn't one of them.” He unbuttoned his cuffs, rolling his sleeves up. “What've you done to my engine, Rhodes?”“Me?” Rhodes wiped his hands on a rag, squinting down at the engine block. “No, no. Let's not bring me into this. It's you.” He stabbed a finger in Stark's direction. “You've run this thing into the ground. I'm just trying to put it back to life."Stark grinned, his dark eyes glinting. “How about we just agree to blame Happy for this one?” he asked, his voice cheerful.Rhodes braced a hand on the edge of the hood. “Right,” he said, but he was smiling, too. He reached for a wrench. “You gonna help me with this, or just stand around looking fancy?”“I do like looking fancy, but-” Stark caught the wrench that Rhodes tossed to him. He spun it around his palm, long fingers flicking through the air. His head tipped in Steve's direction, and he flipped off a salute that didn't seem nearly as mocking as it should've been. “Don't worry, Officer, we'll have everything in order in due time. You won't need to look for a trolley station.”“I don't-” Steve started, right before a familiar pair of dark eyes popped up on the far side of the car, little hands locking down on the metal. Steve rocked forward, one hand coming up. “Hey, don't touch that.”Rhodes looked up, his face puzzled. “What?” He glanced over, and his expression relaxed into a smile. “Oh, hello there. Where did you come from?”Stark blinked down at DJ. DJ blinked back up at him. “I thought Jarvis was watching you,” he said. He leaned one hand on the side of the car, bracing the other on his hip. He seemed more curious than anything else, as if DJ was a strange, unfamiliar species that had somehow made it into his house. “You're a sneaky one, aren't you?”DJ gave him a wide, proud smile, and Steve bit back a laugh. Stark glanced at him, that perfect eyebrow arched again. “Do you have something to add to the discussion, Officer?”Steve felt his face heat. “He's very fast, and very quiet when he wants to be,” he said. He held out a hand to DJ. “Come on, back inside. You're going to be in the way.”DJ's face soured in an instant, and he ducked down behind the car, until just the top of his head was visible, big dark eyes peering along the edge of the metal. Steve shook his head. “We can still see you. You know that, right?”There was a beat of silence. “No,” DJ said, with a great deal of confidence, and Rhodes had a hand clasped over his mouth, his shoulders shaking with laughter. Stark crossed his arms over his chest, not seeming to notice how that wrinkled his pristine silk shirt. “You like engines?” he asked.DJ nodded. “He likes anything he can disassemble,” Steve said. “And... Reassemble. He's pretty good at it.”“Excellent.” Stark turned around. “Let's get you a stool, you can hold things for us.”“I don't think-” Steve started.“Sir!” A man in a slightly old-fashioned black suit came hurrying across the garage floor, his aristocratic, fine boned face holding just a trace of panic. “Have you seen-”“It's all right, Jarvis, we've got him.” Stark came striding back, a stepstool swinging from one hand. He gave the flustered man an amused look. “Losing your touch?”Jarvis drew himself up, his back going ramrod straight. “Excuse me, sir,” he said, his British accent getting crisper with every word. “In the last few years, I have not had much chance to look after a child.” He paused, his mouth pursing. “Other than yourself, of course.”Stark set the stool down. “Been a few years since I qualified as a child, Jay.”“If you say so, sir,” Jarvis said, and Stark looked up at the ceiling, his expression that of a man praying for patience. Rhodes was bent forward, his head buried in his folded arms. DJ, taking advantage of the distraction, was digging through the toolbox with a great deal of enthusiasm. Jarvis caught his hand, pulling it away with a warm smile. “Be careful, please.”DJ nodded. “I can help,” he said, his voice hopeful.“Yes, I'm sure you can,” Jarvis told him, and moved the stepstool into place next to the car. “Here now. Let's see if there's anything we can do to help without getting in the way. All right?”DJ nodded, and Steve took a quiet step back. He could wait for his ride outside.He had to leave eventually. It might as well be now.*“And we're done!” Jan sat back on her heels, tossing her measuring tape around her neck and reaching for her notebook. “Thank you, you were wonderful.”DJ scrambled down off of the chair, his bare feet landing with a muffled thud on the carpeted floor of the library. Jan smiled at him, her eyes dancing. “That wasn't so bad, was it?”DJ nodded, and on the other side of the massive mahogany desk, Tony grinned down at his paperwork. “He's honest, I like that.”Jan gave him a look. “You would,” she said, sweeping her neat, bobbed hair behind her ear. She still had the bright, brilliant swirl of a flapper about her, as if the champagne bubbles had taken root in her blood during the twenties and now nothing could shake them loose. She reached for her notebook, her pencil flicking over the page. “Like two peas in a pod, you two.”Tony scribbled a signature along the bottom of a contract, and passed it to Pepper, who replaced it with another. He gave her a look. “Not signing this.”She set a finger against the signature line. “Yes.” She picked up his pen with her other hand. “You are.”Tony rocked back in the chair. “We don't-”“Yes, we do,” Pepper said, cutting him off with ruthless efficiency. “Right, but-” Pepper tapped him on the nose with the pen, and he stopped dead. Across the room, Jan stifled a giggle, and he glared at her. “Do not encourage her.”“Darling, I am a one woman Pepper Potts Pep Squad,” Jan said, her eyelashes fluttering. “You should know that by now.”“Yes, but we were friends before you even met her, so-”“And you need no encouragement, and besides...” Jan stood, brushing her short skirt into place. “Us working girls need to stick together. Don't we, Miss Potts?”“We do, Miss Van Dyne,” Pepper responded with a bright smile. “Thank you for coming, I really was only hoping you might have something in stock that might fit him.”Jan tucked her notebook away in her bag. “And I do,” she said. “But it's been forever since I've been by, Tony just doesn't entertain the way he used to.”“Yes, can't imagine why that is,” Tony said. DJ had settled down on the carpet next to the desk again, his attention focused on a massive book of mechanical diagrams that Jarvis had found for him. Sprawled out on his stomach, he seemed perfectly content to pour over every page. Tony kind of wished he could join him. Instead, he reached for another stack of paperwork. “How much more of this do we have?” he asked Pepper.“We would have less if you hadn't been avoiding it for the past few weeks,” Pepper said. “Can you please remember your manners and thank Jan for coming out here so DJ will have something new to wear?”Tony's head rolled in Jan's direction. She gave him a bright smile and hopped up on the corner of his desk, one leg swinging back and forth. “She feeds on praise,” Tony said to Pepper. “It makes her stronger. Almost-” He gestured at Jan. “Unnaturally powerful.”“Yes.” Jan's teeth flashed. “I like that. Unnaturally powerful.” She pressed a hand to her chest. “Something to strive for.”“Well, I'm grateful,” Pepper said. “And I'm sure that DJ will be glad to have some clothes that fit a bit better.” She stood. “Will you stay for dinner?”“Oh, I would like to,” Jan said, making a face. She slid off of Tony's desk, swinging the end of her tape measure like a feather boa. “But Hank's expecting me.”“We can send someone for him,” Pepper offered.“No, we can't,” Tony said, and he felt the pen bounce off of the top of his head. “I know that was you, Potts.”“I wasn't trying to hide the fact,” Pepper said, her voice tart. To Jan, she said, “Please? I could use some conversation that doesn't center around motor oil.”“Hey, we don't-” Tony started, and both women ignored him.“I can't, not tonight,” Jan said. She reached for her wrap and then paused. “Do you still have that French chef?”“The Frenchest,” Tony said, grinning down at his paperwork. He crossed off a clause in a contract with a heavy hand. “We do,” Pepper said, her eyes rolling up. “We... Absolutely do.”Jan clapped her hands. “Oh, I do love that man. Perhaps next Wednesday?”“It's a date,” Pepper said, brushing a kiss on Jan's cheek. “Do not cancel on us again.”“Darling, I would never!” Tossing her head, Jan headed for the door. “DJ, if you ever want to be a model, you come and see me. I bet you photograph like an absolute dream.”“Well, we'll find out tomorrow,” Tony said. “So I hear.”“You hear correctly,” Pepper said. “Jan, let me walk you out.”Jan waved her off. “I know the way. And I promise not to sneak any of Tony's baubles into my purse on the way out.”“I know you stole that vase, Jan,” Tony called after her.Jan leaned back into the library. “I didn't steal it, I told you, I'm just borrowing it!”Tony arched an eyebrow at her. “And when do you plan to return it?”“I'm sure I'll eventually move to a house where it doesn't fit the décor,” Jan said. “But in the meantime, don't worry, I had the Metropolitan Museum make me one of those little white placards they put on their exhibits, and I mounted it right next to the vase. 'From the Collection of Anthony Stark.'“'On permanent loan'?” Tony finished for her.“Extended. Extended loan,” Jan said, sticking her tongue out at him.“Right,” Tony said, as Jarvis came up behind Jan, a small silver serving tray balanced on one hand. “Jarvis, please remove this interloper from the property.”“Good evening, Miss Van Dyne,” Jarvis said with a smile. “So good to see you, you get more lovely by the day.”“And unnaturally powerful, I'll have you know,” Jan said. “I'll send someone over tomorrow with some clothes for DJ, just have him try them and keep whatever you want.”Jarvis sketched a bow. “Very good, madam. And may I say, we are so grateful for your help.”Jan ghosted a kiss against Jarvis' cheek. “For you, Mr. Jarvis? Anything.”“Send me a bill, Janet,” Tony told her.Jan gave him a look, a born vamp, and threw her measuring tape around her neck like a scarf. “I'll just keep your vase.”Before he could get another word in, she was gone, a faint trill of laughter echoing in her wake. Tony grinned at nothing at all. “That woman,” he said, shaking his head.“How she puts up with you, I have no idea,” Pepper said, shifting through the paperwork. “Is it dinnertime, Jarvis?”“Very nearly, Miss Potts,” Jarvis said. He leaned over, offering the tray to DJ. “I thought you might like a piece of bread and butter, to tide you over?” DJ rolled into a sitting position, taking the plate from the tray with a shy smile. Jarvis smiled back. “Mrs. Parker baked that loaf just for you.”“Do the rest of us get any?” Tony asked.“Perhaps, if the young master should care to share,” Jarvis said. “Dinner tonight is roasted chicken, mashed potatoes and giblet gravy, green beans and pearl onions, roast chestnut stuffing and sweet cranberry orange aspic.”“What, no dessert?” Pepper said.“I do believe Mrs. Parker has made us a lovely berry cobbler with fresh vanilla bean ice cream,” Jarvis said.“Good I ask now, so I can save room.” Pepper stacked up a pile of paperwork with a brisk motion. “DJ, want to come with me? We can get washed up for dinner.”DJ, stuffing the last crust of his bread into his mouth, nodded. Rolling to his feet, he collected the book, closing it carefully and returning it to Tony's desk. Tony smiled at him. “You done with that? Should I put it back, or do you want to keep looking at it?”DJ's fingers lingered on the cover of the book. “Keep looking?” he asked, his voice cautious.“Okay,” Tony said. “We'll leave it right there, then, and you can come get it again tonight after dinner, or tomorrow morning.” He stood up. “You can take it, whenever you want. All right?”DJ nodded, and scrambled over to take Pepper's hand. “You can read other books, too,” she said. “There are a lot in here. Enough to keep even a very good reader going for a while.”Tony watched them go, and when the door shut behind them, he pushed himself up and collected his jacket from the back of his chair. “If we're about to eat, why bring him something that'll spoil his meal?” he asked Jarvis, shaking the wrinkles out of the fabric.Jarvis took the jacket away from him, smoothing it out. “Because the dining room is very large, and very formal,” he said, his voice gentle. “And it is his first meal with us, with our plates and our silverware and our manners.” He held the jacket out to Tony. “A frightening thing to a full grown adult. For a child, perhaps a bit too much.”Internally, Tony cursed himself. “Right.” He slid into the jacket, letting Jarvis set it in place on his shoulders. “So. Bread and butter.”“Everything is a bit easier to take when you have a bit of something familiar in your belly,” Jarvis said. He stepped around Tony, straightening his lapels. “So if nothing else on the table looks or tastes familiar, he doesn't have to be afraid. He doesn't have to be hungry.”“Bread's not much of a meal,” Tony said.Jarvis gave him a look. “No, but it sustained you more than once. A slice of bread and a cup of milk was enough, even in this house.”“Because you or my mother fed it to me.” Tony shot a glare in Jarvis's direction. "What am I supposed to do with him?" he asked, his voice pitched low. "I don't know a thing about children."Jarvis's eyebrows arched. "How odd," he said. "That is almost, word for word, what I said when your father handed you to me, all those years ago.""Is there a point to this?" Tony asked him."The point is, you are a clever man who will adapt. I have a great deal of confidence in you," Jarvis said.“I don't like children,” Tony told him. Jarvis' lips twitched. “Sir. Children are just very small people.”“And I don't like people very much, either, so-”“And yet, somehow, they like you.” Jarvis took him by the shoulders, turning him towards the door. “Now, sir, if you'd care to-”“I demand a double serving of dessert for this, Jarvis.”“You can have my serving, sir.”*He woke up to someone knocking at his door.Steve blinked slowly into full consciousness. His head was throbbing, and for a second, he considered rolling back over and putting his pillow over his head. But whoever was knocking on the door, they were polite, but persistent. Steve got the feeling that they could outlast him.So he pushed himself up, inch by agonizing inch, into a sitting position. “Knock it off,” he called, his head falling into his hands. “I'm coming.”The knocking stopped, and Steve scraped his hands down his face. “Goddammit,” he mumbled into his palms. “I haven't had enough sleep for this.” He grabbed his pants from the end of the bed, shaking them out. “Not that there is enough sleep for this.”He managed to pull on his pants and shoes, grabbing his holster from the hook next to the bed. He didn't bother with his suspenders, leaving them hanging down at his sides, or his shirt. Anyone who showed up at his door at this hour deserved to see him in his undershirt. He shrugged his holster into place, and headed for the door.Steve opened it just far enough to peer out into the dim depths of the hallway. Outside, a man was waiting, big and broad, with the shoulders and the nose of a man who'd seen the inside of a boxing ring. His heavy brown coat and cap had seen better days, but they appeared to have been recently laundered, and his shoes were polished to a high shine, He wasn't one of Steve's neighbors, but there was something familiar about him. Steve squinted at him, trying to place his face. “Can I help you?” he asked, his hand braced on the butt of his pistol.The fellow doffed his flat cap, his broad Irish face. “Sorry 'bout this,” he said, with a lopsided smile. “I'm Hogan. Happy Hogan, one of-” His voice dropped to a bare whisper. “One of Mr. Stark's men?”“Oh. Right. His driver.” Steve took a step back, waving Hogan through the door. “Come in. I-” He shook his head. “Is there a problem?”“You might say that,” Hogan said, ducking into Steve's apartment. “If you could come with me, please?”Steve paused, halfway to the stove. “I've got a shift,” he said. “What's going on?”“And that'll be handled, don't you worry,” Hogan said, his voice cheerful. “But we've got a bit of a situation, and Miss Potts thought that you might be able to help.”Steve stopped dead. “What kind of a situation?”*“You lost him?”The voice caught him off guard, and Tony's shoulders went tight. But despite the provocation, he didn't turn around. “Check with Bruce and Peter, I think they're down in the orchard,” he said to Bobbi, who nodded. “He might be in one of the outbuildings.”“Yes, sir,” she said. Her eyes flicked over Tony's shoulder, and then back to his. “Should I check in with Jarvis?:”“He's checking the attic. Rhodey's down in the garage, probably easier to find him,” Tony said. She nodded. “You got it, boss.” She headed off, and Tony turned to face the interloper.The cop hadn't gotten any less attractive since Tony had seen him last, and that was somehow infuriating. Tall and well built, with broad shoulders and narrow hips, he cut an impressive figure, even in his slightly worn uniform. He had a face that would've been painfully gorgeous, if not for his ever-present scowl. He met Tony's eyes without flinching, obviously neither impressed nor intimidated.Tony wasn't quite sure it that was annoying or just really attractive. Possibly both."We didn't 'lose' him," Tony said, stressing the word. "We put him to bed last night, and woke up this morning to find he wasn't there."Officer Rogers stared at him, his face unreadable. "Yes," he said at last. "You should get used to that."Tony opened his mouth, but before he could say something that absolutely would've gotten him in trouble, Pepper appeared in the library door. “Officer Rogers!” She hurried across the main hall, her day dress fluttering around her knees with each step. “Thank you for coming.”And just like that, Tony might as well not have existed. Rogers turned to face Pepper, pulling his hat from his head. “Ma'am,” he said, and for Pepper, his voice was polite and respectful. She took his hand between both of hers, squeezing his fingers. “We don't know how long he's been gone, but we're fairly certain he hasn't left the grounds.”“Which still leaves a lot of space to cover.” Rogers looked up, all the way up, at the ceiling of the grand hall, two stories above them. “May I see his bedroom?”“We did check there first,” Tony said, and Pepper gave him a look.“Yes, I but know him a bit better than you do,” Rogers said, his voice cool and polite. “So. If you don't mind Mr. Stark?”“Right this way,” Pepper said, gesturing at the grand staircase, and Rogers fell in behind her, as if Tony didn't even exist.Tony's teeth locked. Definitely annoying. On the second floor, Pepper stopped in front of the guest room, opening the door. “Here.” She stepped through, crossing to the middle of the room before she stopped. “I put him to bed myself last night,” she said. “At around nine pm. Jarvis got up at five this morning, and noticed the door was open. He came in to check on DJ and found the room empty.” She took a deep breath. “We've been looking since then, and haven't managed to locate him.”Rogers walked the perimeter of the room, checking the windows and ducking to look under the desk, under the vanity table. Tony, leaning against the wall next to the door, gave Pepper a curious look. She shrugged. “Officer Rogers?” she asked, as he crouched down, looking under the bed.He stood up and turned to face them. “You put him in here?”Tony looked at the room. It was large and airy, with big windows that looked out into the gardens below, the panes of glass sheltered by the heavy limbs of the oldest oak tree on the grounds. The huge, four poster bed was covered in what seemed like a mile of snowy white linens, and the beautiful, ornate furniture matched the hand painted wallpaper perfectly.“Yes?” he said, because Rogers seemed to be waiting for a response. Rogers stared at him, his face incredulous. Tony huffed out a breath. “Do you have a problem with the room?” he asked, maintaining a polite tone with a force of will. “It's the best guest room we have.”“And it's bigger than my entire apartment,” Rogers said. He opened the closet door, stepping inside. “Actually, this closet might be bigger than my entire apartment.”Tony struggled against a smile. “You should see the bathroom.”Rogers emerged, DJ's small satchel in his hand. “Don't need to,” he said. “His things are still here, so he didn't leave.”“Of course he didn't leave,” Tony said, and Rogers gave him a look. “The doors are locked at night.”“Right, that's... That's not going to slow him down,” Rogers said. Tony stared at him, and for the first time, Rogers smiled, just a little, that wide, beautiful mouth curling up. “But he wouldn't leave without his things, so he's still here, somewhere.”“We've checked the other bedrooms,” Pepper said. “We keep most of them locked, but we've checked them all. We thought he might've gone down to the library, or the billiard room-”“Or the garage,” Tony said. “But Rhodey and Happy checked every one of the cars. And there's no way he got past the locks on the workshop.”“Jarvis and I showed him the house yesterday,” Pepper said. “But he's-” She took a deep breath. “He's just gone.”Rogers nodded. “The bedding's disordered. Is there a blanket missing? A pillow?”Pepper blinked at him. “I wouldn't- I don't know. Mrs. Parker would know, or maybe Natasha, she probably made it up. I'll go get her.”“You don't have to-” Rogers started, but Pepper was already gone, at something just under a run. “Miss Potts!”“Let her go,” Tony said. “She likes to feel like she's doing something useful.” He pushed himself away from the wall. “What's wrong with the room?”Rogers' head came up. “Mr. Stark?”Tony waved him off. “I made a mistake,” he said. “And I don't get how, but it's clear I did, but-”Rogers shook his head. “You didn't pick this room,” he said, and it was disparaging. “You didn't-”“My house, my people, my mistake,” Tony said, cutting him off with ruthless efficiency. “What's wrong with the room?”Rogers stared at him, his face unreadable. But he studied Tony, as if he was just as baffled by Tony as Tony was by him. Finally, he said, “There's two things the poor don't get to have, Mr. Stark. Silence and solitude.”Tony frowned. “What-”Rogers shook his head. “He's been in the city his whole life, in the most crowded, dirtiest depths of the city. He sleeps in a room with ten, twelve other boys. There's always someone snoring, or someone talking, or someone crying or even just breathing. The streets are never quiet, never dark, no matter what the hour.“So this?” Rogers waved a hand at the room. “This is as foreign to him as if he'd ended up in China.” His hand fell back to his side. “He must've been.... Scared.”The last word was soft, sad. There was no accusation to it, no anger, but still, it hit Tony like a physical punch, his chest aching. Rogers stared at him, his blue eyes guileless. “He's never been alone,” he said. “And...”“And now he was,” Tony finished from behind him.“Where would he go?” Jarvis' voice made Tony jolt, his heart in his throat. Surprised, he looked over his shoulder to find Jarvis standing in the doorway, his hands folded behind his back. Tony hadn't even heard him approach.Rogers squeezed his eyes shut. “I think there's a pillow and blanket missing from the bed,” he said. “But his things are still here. He wasn't trying to leave, he was trying to find someplace to hide.” He looked at the window, his profile lit with sunshine. “It was cold last night. I doubt he left the house.”He looked back, meeting Tony's gaze squarely. “He'll find somewhere small. An alcove, a windowsill. He likes places where he can tuck himself up. That's why I checked the closet, I thought he might be in there, before-”“Before you realized how big it was,” Tony finished.“Yes. But still, he could've climbed up onto a shelf, or under one.” Rogers' fingers drummed against his the brim of his cap. “He's going to find somewhere safe, somewhere warm, somewhere with noise, with-” His voice trailed away, and he shook his head. “Somewhere-”“The fountain,” Jarvis burst out, and spun on one heel, disappearing down the hallway in the blink of an eye.“The... Fountain?” Rogers repeated.Tony's head fell back. “The fountain. Of course, the fountain.”“Can we stop saying-”“There's a small fountain under the stairs,” Tony said, striding out of the room. Rogers was right behind him. Tony glanced at him. “The main staircase, the big one in the grand hall. There's a little fountain installed in the space underneath it. You can't see it from the main part of the room, but there's-”“There's a fountain under the stairs,” Rogers said, his voice flat.Tony wondered how he managed to pack so much judgment into so few words. “I didn't design the house,” he said, the words tart. “And no one said my father had good taste.” He headed down the stairs, taking them two at a time, and Rogers kept up with him, his long legs eating up the distance. “He made it for my mother, and it was her favorite spot in the house.”Which is why he kept it up, despite its horrible design. He hated the fountain, all those finicky little pipes and delicate findings, all the pieces that had to be cleaned and maintained, and replaced with alarming frequency. But when he turned it on, watching the marble basin fill with water, he could almost hear his mother's voice, the soft, sweet sound of her Italian lullabies and the even sweeter sound of her laughter. So he fixed it, every time it failed, every time it clogged, every time it overflowed. Because, as Pepper liked to remind him, he was far more sentimental than he'd like to admit.His feet hit the polished marble of the great hall, and he caught the end of the banister with one hand, using it to swing himself around. He nearly ran face first into Jarvis, who was just inside the alcove, slumped forward, his face covered with one shaking hand.The fountain was running, as well as it ever had, water spilling from the mouths of the ornate carvings of the fish into the shell-shaped basin below. The water burbled, soft and gentle, swirling against the marble, catching the rays of the early morning sunshine. In front of the fountain, sheltered from the light and the noise of the great hall, there was a large, plush red velvet loveseat, piled high with pillows, that still smelled, ever so faintly of his mother's magnolia perfume.Curled against one arm of the loveseat, DJ was still fast asleep, his blanket trailing down to the floor.Tony was surprised to find his heart was pounding. “How did he possibly sleep through all of us running through the grand hall?”“Spoken like a man who's never slept through the night in a tenement,” Rogers said, his voice coming from so close behind him that Tony's heart rate went right through the roof again.“Slept through a few things in my life, but you're right,” Tony said, turning to face Rogers, who was so close that he could see the smattering of pale freckles across the bridge of his nose. Tony smiled at him. “That's not one of them.”DJ rolled over, making a displeased sound under his breath, and Jarvis drew himself up, wrapping his dignity around him like another layer of clothing. “This is not a place for sleeping,” he said, his voice stern, and DJ opened one eye, peering up at Jarvis. Jarvis gave him a stern look. “Up we go, young man.”“Here, I've got him,” Rogers said, stepping around Tony. He crossed to the loveseat, and leaned over to scoop the boy up against his chest. DJ settled into his arms, letting out a massive yawn before he buried his face in Rogers' shoulder. “Brat,” Rogers said, but the look on his face was soft and affectionate, so full of warmth that Tony's stomach rolled over.“Thank you,” Jarvis said. “If you could, sir, bring him upstairs, and I'll draw him a bath.”“Didja hear that?” Rogers asked DJ, who threw an arm over his shoulder. “You get a bath!”“Noooooooo,” DJ mumbled, and Tony started to laugh.“Sorry, but those are the rules,” he said, as Jarvis collected the pillow and blanket.Together, they emerged from the space below the stairs, Rogers leading the way with DJ cradled in his arms. Pepper was coming down the stairs, and she stopped dead, her hands flying to her mouth. “Oh, thank God,” she said. “I think we owe Officer Rogers more of a thank you than the Almighty,” Tony said. “Where's Natasha?”“She'll be up in a moment, she was helping the Chef check the greenhouse,” Pepper said. Together, they watched Jarvis and Rogers head up the stairs, both of them bent protectively over DJ. Tony exhaled, and Pepper gave him a look out of the corner of her eyes. “Don't.”Tony blinked at her. “Don't?” he repeated.She held up a finger. “Don't.”“Right. Don't... What?”“Don't look at the fine officer of the law that way,” Pepper said, her voice pitched low.“Excuse me?” Tony gestured up towards the second floor landing, where Rogers had just disappeared. “I wasn't-”“You absolutely were, and don't,” Pepper told him.“I'm not going to hit on a police officer,” Tony said, his eyes rolling up. “That's trouble not even I need. And besides, the man hates me.”“And he's just your type,” Pepper said.“My-” Tony's mouth dropped open. “Are you- I don't have a type.” He spotted Rhodey heading in their direction, and turned his attention to him. “Rhodey. Do I have a type?”“Yes,” Rhodey said, his voice flat. While Tony was still staggering under of the weight of that betrayal, he turned his attention to Pepper. “I'm guessing that if we're discussing Tony's love life, that means we found him?”“We found him,” Pepper said, stepping into his arms. Rhodey hugged her tight, his lips gentle on the crown of her head. “Thank God. We found him.”“I do not have a type,” Tony said, his hands braced on his hips. “What's my type?”“Gorgeous, intelligent, and utterly unimpressed by you,” Rhodey said, his eyes closed, his arms still tight around Pepper.Tony opened his mouth. Closed it. “That's not a 'type,'” he said, trying to sound stern. “That's having sense.”Pepper opened one eye, glaring out at Tony from the shelter of Rhodey's chest. “Show some sense, and do not make eyes at the cop,” she said.“Oh, God,” Rhodey said, his head falling back.“I wasn't-”“He absolutely was,” Pepper said to Rhodey, her chin braced on his breastbone. “He was-” She made her eyes huge, fluttering her eyelashes. “He did the thing.”“Don't,” Rhodey said to Tony.“You're both insane,” Tony said, pointing at them. “I'm going to go-” He didn't know how to finish that sentence. He gave a firm nod. “Right. Going to go do that. That thing.”“Tony-” Pepper said, her voice dire, and Tony headed for the library, because he absolutely did not have a type.And if he did, Officer Rogers absolutely wasn't it.At all.*“Thank you.” Startled, Steve looked up to find Miss Potts and a lovely, statuesque redheaded woman waiting for him at the base of the stairs. “It was nothing, ma'am,” he said. He shifted his weight, his cap clasped in front of him in both hands. “I'm glad we found him.”Her smile was like a burst of springtime sunshine, destined to melt even the iciest heart. “So am I,” she said. “But I'm sorry it took us dragging you out of your bed.”“I was going to be up soon anyway,” Steve said. “So-”“Stay and have some breakfast,” Pepper said, “and then Happy can drive you back.”Steve shook his head "I'm fine, ma'am.""We're all fine," Miss Potts said, waving an airy hand through the air. “Which doesn't mean that we wouldn't all benefit from an actual meal.” She paused, a slight smile twitching the corners of her lips. “Mr. Stark has the finest of French chefs, doesn't he, Natasha?”The redhead in the neat black maid's outfit seemed to consider that. “That is what Mr. Stark says,” she said, her eyebrows arching. “And Mr. Stark is never wrong.”“That is also something Mr. Stark says,” Miss Potts said.Steve's eyes slid from one to the other, not really sure if he should be saying something. “I should just-”“Breakfast,” Miss Potts said, her voice firm. “Natasha, would you mind making certain that Officer Rogers doesn't escape before he's had something to eat?”“Of course.” She looked at Steve, a faint, amused smile curling her lips. “If you'll just follow me, Officer, I'll show you the way to the dining room.”Steve fell into step behind her. “If you don't mind, Miss, I'm really not comfortable with-” His voice dropped. “I'm not a guest.”She considered him out of the corner of her eye. “Then the kitchen,” she said, her voice brisk. “With the rest of the help.”"Thank you, Miss..." His voice trailed off, and she gave him an amused look. "Just Natasha is fine," she said with a faint smile. “Come along. The stairs to the kitchen are this way.”He shouldn't. He really shouldn't. Just being here made him uncomfortable. Everywhere he looked, it was polished marble and gilt, gleaming gold paint and heavy red brocade. Carvings of ancient patterns and smiling cherubs peeked out from every corner, delicate metalwork and incredibly intricate mosiacs of glass and stone covering surfaces from the ceiling to the floor. There was a damn fountain under the damn stairs. He didn't even know how to process something like that.But he was hungry. He was always hungry. He swallowed his pride, and followed her down the winding staircase to the kitchens.The kitchen was bigger than he expected, a big, open space lit by massive windows along two of the walls, with neat rows of cabinets beneath them providing storage. Huge stoves covered another wall, modern looking ranges of polished metal and white enamel. Down the center of the room, there was a massive island, the stone top polished to a mirror shine, reflecting the rows of copper pots hanging from the ceiling above it. There were a few stools positioned at the counter, stacks of bowls arranged in early reach.Natasha crossed the white tile floor, her footsteps echoing in the empty space. “Take a seat,” she said, gesturing towards the counter. Without waiting to see if Steve followed her instruction, she headed to a door on the far wall, throwing it open to reveal a path down to the gardens behind the house. She leaned out, tucking two fingers into her mouth and letting out a piercing whistle.She turned around fast enough to catch the look of shock on Steve's face, and a smile broke over her face. “Calling in the troops,” she said, crossing to the pantry door. A moment later she emerged, a bowl of eggs braced on one hip and a basket of potatoes in her other hand.The back door opened, and a man leaned in. “We find him, then?”Natasha set the food on the island next to Steve. “We found him,” she said. “Was asleep under the stairs.”“Small mercies. I was expecting to find him climbing the shelves in the butler's pantry.” The man was lanky and loose limbed, with broad shoulders and well muscled arms revealed by his rolled up sleeves. His wheat blonde hair was cut short on the sides, and longer on top. He peered at Steve with one blurry eye. "Who's this?" he asked, his voice a slow, easy drawl.Steve straightened up, his cap tucked neatly under his arm. The question hadn't been addressed to him, but he answered it anyway. "Officer Steve Rogers," he said, his voice crisp. "NYPD.”Natasha emerged from the door next to the pantry, a large, golden brown loaf of bread in one hand and a covered basket in the other, her black skirts rustling around her slim legs. "Miss Potts thought he might have some insights into our young guest's movements," she said. Her eyes slipped towards Steve, the green of her irises glinting beneath the sweep of her lashes. "He's been very useful. So he is to be fed." There was a faint accent to the words that Steve couldn't quite identify, not French or German, or anything else he'd encountered in Europe. But familiar, none the less.The man rubbed the back of his neck, leaning back against the stove. "That so?" he asked. Natasha nodded as she picked up the kettle, crossing to the massive sink. His hand flopped back to his side. "Right then. I'm Clint. I do the cooking around here, or most of it, anyway."Steve blinked at him. "You're the chef?"Clint nodded. "Yeah."Steve paused. "The... French chef?"Clint stared at him, his face unreadable. "Oui," he said at last, and Natasha hid a smile behind one slim hand. She kicked Clint in the ankle as she passed behind him."Behave," she said, her head tipped in his direction, her tone almost flirtatious."Ain't happened before, ain't likely to start now," Clint said, grinning back."Right," Steve said, sinking down at the long, polished stone counter. He set his cap down next to him on the stool to his right. "French. Got it." He found himself smiling at nothing in particular. "Of course Mr. Stark has a French chef.""What else would he have? Everyone knows the French are the best, when it comes to food, and Mr. Stark always makes sure to have the best," Natasha said. There seemed to be a joke there, that Steve didn't understand, but he smiled anyway. She turned off the sink and lifted the kettle full of water out of the gleaming sink. She ducked around Clint to set it on the stove. "What do you want for breakfast?"Steve shook his head. "Whatever you're making, I'll eat.” It wasn't much of an exaggeration. “What do you have?”One of Clint's shoulders rose in a slight shrug. "There's fresh fruit, apples and pears and plums, and probably some berries in the ice box, oatmeal's in the pot on the stove. Bread's baked fresh daily, and we've got eggs, bacon, sausage, cheese. Mrs. Parker makes the pastry, so we've got pie and sweet buns, tarts and biscuits. Coffee and tea, milk and juice.” He crossed his arms over his chest. "So. What's your pleasure?”Steve looked at Natasha, not sure what to say. “Maybe make him some fried eggs and bacon?” she said to Clint. She gave Steve a once over, her eyes sliding over him. “And some potatoes?”Steve's stomach rumbled, and he nodded. “Any of that,” he said. “And a cup of coffee, if I could.”“Right,” Clint said. He dusted his hands on his thighs and pushed himself upright, heading for the icebox. “Tell you what, Rogers, I'm just going to start cooking, and you can eat what you want.”“Don't worry,” Natasha said to Steve, as Clint returned to the stove with what looked like a few pounds of bacon. “Enough hungry mouths to feed, it'll all get eaten.” Clint snagged a skillet from the rack, setting it on the stove, and laying the bacon in it, one strip after another. As it started to cook, he held up a hand. Natasha tossed in egg at him, and he plucked it out of the air without even looking in her direction. Natasha flicked another egg in his direction, and he caught it with his hand behind his back. A third egg arced high over their heads, dropping into Clint's waiting palm. As Steve watched, confusion sweeping over him, Clint started juggling them.“Want to start the potatoes?” he asked, even as Natasha tossed a fourth egg at him. He integrated it into the pattern without a blink.“I can do that.” A fifth egg joined the other four, and Natasha glanced at Steve. “Can you cut a few slices from that loaf of bread so we can start some toast?” she asked, her head bobbing towards it. “There's a knife block on the cabinet, and you look like a man who can handle a blade.”Steve pushed himself to his feet, his eyes still locked on the eggs dancing between Clint's hands. “Sure, I can do that. Or, if you, prefer, I've peeled potatoes by the bushel.”One of her eyebrows arched. “You did kitchen work?”Steve smiled back. “I was in the army,” he said, choosing a paring knife from the block. “And wasn't always known for following orders, so...” One shoulder rose in a shrug. “Spent a lot of time peeling potatoes.”“Well, an army does march on its stomach,” she said, pushing the basket of potatoes across the counter to his seat. “Put the peels in a pile on the cutting board, Bruce'll want them for the garden.” She headed back into the pantry, returning with a bin of flour and another in sugar, a tin of baking power balanced on top of the pile. She set them down beside a mixing bowl and reached for a measuring cup. Steve took a seat, reaching for a potato from the top of the pile. "How'd you end up working here?" he asked, flicking a strip of peel away from the blade of his knife."Well," Clint said, drawing the word out into an entire unspoken sentance, "I happened to be around when Mr. Stark needed a cook."Natasha measured several cups of flour into a mixing bowl, her movements quick and efficient. "We tried to rob the place," she said, with a wry smile. "It didn't go so well."Steve stared at her, his fingers going still on the potato. "Excuse me?""In my defense, it was her idea," Clint said, catching the eggs, one after another, and setting them aside. He shifted the rashers of bacon on the pan and cracked the first egg into the sizzling grease."In my defense, I assumed I was going to leave him to take the fall for it," Natasha said. She cracked eggs into the bowl, one after another, separating the shells with deft, easy movements. "I'm still quite disappointed that he managed to take me down with him."Steve's eyes slid from one to the other, trying to make sense of either of them. “You... Tried to-”The back door opened, and a brown haired teenager, scrawny and awkward, came stumbling in, swaying under the weight of a large wicker basket that he held braced on his shoulder. “Did we find him?” the boy asked, his cheeks pink and his hair sticking up in all directions. The basket shifted, and he shuffled forward, trying to rebalance it before he lost his grip. He blinked at Steve, and tried to smooth his hair down with his free hand. “Hello, sir.”“Yes, we found him, and this is Officer Rogers,” Natasha said, her head bent over her bowl. Her spoon cut through the batter, whipping it into smooth, creamy waves. “Officer Rogers, this is Peter. His aunt is the housekeeper here, and Peter helps in the gardens and grounds.”“Man of all work,” Peter said, with a wide, proud grin. He set the basket down, revealing the piles of multicolored apples and pears inside. “Bruce said he'll be in when he's finished with the weeding.”Natasha glanced in his direction, her spoon never slowing. “This is almost enough to replace the pies you ate yesterday,” she said, considering the fruit.Peter gave her a stricken look. “I ate half a pie. One, at most, not even a full one.”“It was an entire pie,” Clint said. The eggs were crackling in the pan, and he gave it a shake, the flames licking at the sides of the skillet. “You've got an empty leg, kid.” “I still think you ate part of it and blamed it on me,” Peter groused.“Now, would I do something like that?” Clint asked, with a wide grin.“Yes,” Natasha and Peter said as one. “My mama used to say, ain't a good idea to mess with anyone who handles your food,” Clint said. He reached for a platter. “Cut some slices of bread, Peter, you can almost be trusted with toast.”“Toast duty, my favorite duty,” Peter said, and it sounded like he actually meant it.The back door opened again, and a man with salt and pepper hair and small, round glasses leaned in. “We found him?” he asked. There was an anxious note to his voice, and his eyes met Steve's for only a moment before they jerked away. His shoulders were hunched beneath his well worn brown shirt, and his hands were stained with the same dirt that caked his boots and the ragged hems of his pants.“We've got him,” Natasha told him. “Where's Bobbi?”“Down in the laundry yard,” he said, his voice rising on the last word, making it sound like a question. “Checking on the-” His eyes flicked towards Steve, and away again. “Taking in the work,” he finished. Steve kept his head down, knowing a lie when he heard one, and a bad liar was even easier to pick out.“Officer Rogers, this is Bruce,” Natasha said, tapping her spoon against the rim of the bowl. “Bruce, this is Officer Rogers.”“Good morning,” Steve said, setting another potato on the pile. “How many more of these do you-”“That's a good start,” Natasha said, her voice brisk. “If you can cut them?”"Yes, ma'am," Steve said, as Natasha set a pot of water next to him."Just give them a rough dice and set them in here to soak, please, and Clint'll set a pan up to fry them."“I can help,” Bruce offered.“Wash up first,” Clint told him, and Bruce considered his hands. “Right,” he said. “I'll just-” He looked at Clint. “Is there coffee?”“If there wasn't coffee, I wouldn't have a job,” Clint said, making a shooing motion at Bruce with his apron. Bruce headed for the sink, and Clint plated up an egg and a thick slab of bacon. “Don't you fill my sink with that mud, Banner.”“Right.” Bruce adjusted his glasses, leaving a smudge of dirt on one lens. He didn't seem to notice. “I'll just-” He gestured behind him. “Right.” Without finishing anything close to a sentence, he headed for what Steve assumed was the servant's stairs.“Don't forget to come back down when you're done,” Clint said. He tapped his spatula on the rim of the plate. “Peter! Come eat, you've got school.”Peter put another few slices of toast on the platter, feeding a few more slices of bread into the oven. “I can-”“Sit down,” Natasha said, her voice bored, and he scrambled over to the counter, his legs flailing through the air as he landed on one of the stools. Clint slid the plate in front of him, and Natasha added a few hefty slices of toast. “Officer Rogers, would you like some toast?”“I can wait-” he started, just before Clint dropped a plate in front of him, brimming with eggs and crispy, sizzling bacon."Eat," he said, collecting the potatoes, as the back door opened again. It was the woman he'd seen when he'd first come in, tall and lean, clad in black pants and a white shirt, left open at her throat. She wore a brown vest over the shirt, hanging open now, her crisp shirtsleeves rolled up to her elbows. She stripped off her heavy gardening gloves as she walked in. “Where's Bruce?”"Washing his hands," Peter said, around a mouthful of eggs and bacon. Natasha gave him a look, and he shoved a piece of toast into his mouth, his eyebrows bouncing up. "Officer Rogers, Bobbi Morse. Bobbi, Officer Rogers."Bobbi paused, her gloves gripped in one hand. "Think I saw you come in," she said with a smile, bracing her fists on her hips. "How long ago did Bruce leave to wash his hands?""I'm sure he won't get distracted," Natasha said. “Clint, is the pan ready?”“As ready as it's going to get,” he said, holding his hand out for the bowl. “Hand it over.”"Oh, you're sure of that?" Bobbi grinned at her. "Save me some pancakes, I'll go pry him loose from his beakers.” She snagged a piece of toast from the platter on her way to the stairs, her hips swaying with every step. “Morning, Mr. Stark.”“If I don't get a cup of coffee in the next thirty seconds, everyone in this room is fired,” Stark said, his voice dire. Steve barely had time to register the new arrivals before DJ came scrambling up to the stool next to his, hopping up to rest his arms on the countertop. Steve moved his hat out of the way, and DJ plopped down on the stool, rocking it forward so he could lean his elbows on the well worn stone. “Good morning,” Steve said, dropping his hat onto DJ's still-damp hair with a smile.DJ's eyes disappeared beneath the brim of the hat, but his grin was still visible beneath it. “Morning,” he replied, a giggle running through the word."Shouldn't you be upstairs, sir?" Natasha asked, pouring the coffee with a neat twist of her wrist. She held the cup out to him. "In the dining room?"Stark took it with a sound of relief. "Kid doesn't like the dining room," he mumbled into the cup. His eyes fluttered shut. "We've decided to slum it today."Steve tensed, but Natasha just shook her head, a fond smile on her face. "Ah, I see. It's all your fault, then," she said to DJ, who grinned at her around a piece of toast he'd snuck off of Steve's plate. "Would you like some milk with your breakfast? Or some juice?"He nodded, and she reached for the milk jug. Clint ducked around her, setting a plate of toast and eggs in front of Stark. He raised his eyebrow, and said something. Steve blinked at him as the run of syllables went in all directions, a pure rush of gibberish. Stark nodded, and said something back.Steve didn't understand a word of it, but at least it was actually French.Natasha refilled Stark's coffee. "We have potatoes," she said to Stark. "Thanks to Officer Rogers. And I'm sure the chef would be pleased to poach you an egg."Clint scowled at her, another sing-song burst of nonsense spilling out of him. Natasha's head swung in his direction, as slow and precise as a snake identifying its next meal. "I'm sure," she said, her voice silken and dangerous, "that the chef would be pleased to poach you an egg." Stark watched this interplay, his jaw braced on one hand, sipping his coffee. Clint muttered something that was still not French, but was definitely a swear. Still, he turned back to the stove, reaching for a pot. Natasha rolled her eyes. Steve looked from her, to Clint, to Stark, who was still watching them, a puckish, warm smile on his face. Steve looked down at DJ, who had snuck all of his bacon off of his plate and into a napkin.“Usually we let Mrs. Parker make the hot cakes,” Natasha said to DJ, “but I think she won't mind that I took over for her today. Would you like some?”DJ nodded, but he also reached for Stark's plate, his fingers twitching a piece of bacon from it before anyone could say anything. But to Steve's surprise, Stark just smiled down at him, his jaw resting on one hand. “You can have your own plate,” he said, over the rim of his coffee cup. “Unless you just like sharing?”DJ chewed on the bacon, silent, and Stark pushed his plate a little closer. “Use a fork for the eggs, okay?”“Are you giving him your breakfast?” Natasha filled a serving bowl with the potatoes, fried crisp and dusted with salt and pepper. She set it on the counter, and Stark pushed it in front of Peter. “Miss Potts'll be upset if you don't eat something.”“Who's going to tell her?” Stark said, his voice belligerent, and Clint, Natasha and Peter all raised their hands. After a moment, DJ raised his hand, too. Stark gave him a look. “Traitor,” he said, but he was smiling. “Fine.” He pushed his stool back from the counter. “Do we have any pie? Or did Peter eat it all again?”Peter's silverware rattled against the counter. “It was HALF a pie!” he said, and he sounded so betrayed that Steve couldn't quite hold back a smile.“We're going to come down here some morning and just-” Stark waved a hand through the air. “Find you passed out on the floor, surrounded by empty pie plates and covered with the remains of your crimes.”Peter stared straight ahead, his mouth pursed up tight. “I was HUNGRY,” he said, with the sort of wounded dignity that only a teenager could manage. Steve hid his smile behind his coffee cup.“And when his aunt finds out you're teasing him again, none of us will get any pie,” Natasha said, whisking Stark's empty cup from his hand. “Yes. There's an apple pie and a banana cream pie in the pie cabinet.”“Ooh, banana.” Stark tucked his hands in his back pockets. “I want that back, just so you know. Don't get too attached to it. I'm expecting it to be waiting for me, with more coffee in it, when I get back.”Natasha's lips twitched. “Of course, sir.” She ducked around Clint, who slid a platter of golden brown pancakes onto the counter before turning back to the stove. “Let's get you a plate,” she said to DJ, who'd managed to weasel another piece of bacon and some potatoes from Peter. “Fruit jam or butter?”DJ considered that. “Both,” he said, very firmly, and Steve choked on a laugh.“Of course, sir,” Natasha said, setting a plate of pancakes in front of DJ. “Let me get you the jam pot.”"Officer Rogers."Steve turned on his stool to find Mr. Jarvis standing in the doorway to the kitchen. "Mr. Jarvis?"He smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Just Jarvis will do, please, sir. I don't mean to interrupt your meal, but I require your assistance, if you don't mind."Steve nodded, pushing himself to his feet. "Of course." He looked down at DJ, who was cutting his pancakes into bite sized pieces. “You okay there?” he asked, taking his cap back and trying to smooth DJ's hair down. It was a losing battle.DJ gave a firm nod, and Peter gave Steve a bright smile. “I'll help him, if he needs it,” he offered.Steve nodded. “Thank you.”Stark emerged from the pastry closet, a whole pie balanced on each hand. He said something in French, and Steve wondered why the hell his voice seemed to get deeper and huskier when he did that. Stark's eye caught Steve's, and he smiled, his lips curling around a word that sounded somehow obscene.Steve turned around before anyone could see his face flush.But then Clint replied, with as much nonsense as he had before, and Steve wondered what the hell was happening here.Jarvis lead him out of the kitchen and up the stairs towards the grand hall. Once they were out of earshot, Steve glanced back at the kitchen door. "May I ask you a question?"Jarvis nodded, an inquisitive look on his face. "Of course, sir.""Just Steve is fine, Jarvis." Steve pointed back towards the kitchen. "That wasn't French."Jarvis's eyebrows arched. "Sir?""What Clint was speaking. That-" Steve shook his head. "That wasn't French.""And that is not a question," Jarvis said, his face a polite mask. But there was something like laughter in the words, a note of unholy glee that Steve didn't really understand."Mr. Stark was speaking French.""Ah, do you-""I know enough to know when someone's speaking French and when someone's making up nonsense," Steve said, his voice flat. They crossed the hall to the main staircase, heading up to the second floor. "So Mr. Stark does speak French, and Clint doesn't?""Oh, my, no," Jarvis said, stepping briskly onto the staircase. "A household like this should absolutely have a French chef. Thus-" He paused, one hand on the banister, his body turned back towards Steve. "We do."Steve stared up at him. "You have a French chef.""Yes.""Who doesn't speak French.""I wouldn't know, sir. I certainly don't speak French." With that, Jarvis continued up the stairs. Steve stood there, something like a headache developing behind his temples. "This place is a lunatic asylum," he muttered under his breath."Oh, no, sir," Jarvis said, his voice echoing down the stairs to Steve. "I quite take offense to that." At the top of the stairs, he stopped, his hand resting easily on the railing. "After all, everyone here is free to leave at any time." And with the perfect beat timing of a Vaudevillian who'd done his routine a million times before, he gestured to a door at the end of the hallway. "Right this way."Left with few options, other than to collect DJ and make a break for it, Steve followed him.Jarvis pushed the door open, waving Steve in. "Based on what you said, I thought perhaps this room might be a better match for our young guest."Startled, Steve stopped in his tracks. Because it was.It was a smaller bedroom, but more then the physical size, it was less imposing. It was tucked in a corner of the floor, with large windows on two walls flooding the space with light. Someone, Jarvis probably, had opened them, and now the breeze stirred the lacy, cream colored curtains. Instead of the heavy, dark wallpaper he'd seen elsewhere, the walls here were painted a pale green, with delicate, twining vines running around the top near the ceiling. There was big, overstuffed arm chair tucked in the corner, and a small, almost child sized desk and chair on the opposite wall. A large round rug covered most of the wooden floor. The bed was simple, the headboard painted white with gold accents. Bookcases were set on either side of the bed, tall affairs that were painted a matching white. They were filled with books, slim story books and well worn leather bound collections and on the lowest shelves, massive reference books about plants and ships, history and trains, animals and geography.And scattered between the books were toys. Big metal tops, painted in bright colors. Boxes of wooden blocks. Tin soldiers, arranged in neat lines, complete with figures on horseback and tiny wheeled canons. Toy cars and trains, their metallic wheels gleaming even under a layer of dust. Wooden boats with ornate cloth sails and string rigging. A huge glass jar filled with marbles in a hundred different colors and patterns.Best of all, between the bookcases was a huge, hinged castle, propped open now to show the rooms inside. Each room was filled with small toys, carved figures of a king and queen, a little prince, servants and knights and guards. There were horses and sheep, toy cows and dogs, tiny cats and ducks and chickens.“It was Mr. Stark's room, when he was much younger,” Jarvis said. He reached out, his gloved fingers flicking a cobweb away from the turrets of the castle. His nose wrinkled. “It's been unoccupied for a long time, but-” He smiled at Steve. “It'll be a quick day's work to get it ready for a new occupant.”Steve picked up a toy car. “He might break something.”Jarvis let out a little chuckle. “Mr. Stark was quite adept at making sure his things were very durable,” he said. From some interior pocket, he'd pulled a large white handkerchief and was wiping down the bedside table, whisking dusk away from the ornate glass lamp. “And there is nothing he can break that can't be easily replaced.”The wheels rolled against Steve's palm, the axle squeaking from disuse. “But if these are heirlooms,” he said, his voice quiet, “they should be put aside for Mr. Stark's children.”He looked up to find Jarvis watching him, a faint, unreadable smile on his face. “They are toys,” Jarvis said, his voice soft and gentle. “And ought to be played with, not left to rot for an owner that may never exist, Officer Rogers.” His eyes fell away and he flicked the handkerchief, releasing a burst of dust to float through the sunlit air. “All it needs is a bit of soap and water and a good, quick scrub.”“We shouldn't have left it so long as is.” The door was pushed open, and a shot, thin woman in a black dress and white apron came bustling in, her arms overloaded with packages. Without even thinking, Steve moved, crossing over to take the boxes from her. She smiled at him, her dark eyes bright behind a tiny pair of wire rimmed glasses. “Oh, aren't you a sweet boy?” she said, as Steve relieved her of her burden.“Where do you want them, ma'am?” Steve asked.“On the bed is fine, thank you,” she said, dusting off her hands on her crisp apron. “We'll want it all cleaned and dusted before we open even a single box.” Her head tipped towards Jarvis, her mouth forming a flat line. “A quick day's work, he says.”“Indeed,” Jarvis said, utterly unruffled. “Officer Rogers, this is Mrs. Parker, the housekeeper. Mrs. Parker, Officer Rogers.”“Ah, the one who brought DJ to us,” Mrs. Parker said, with a bright smile. She was perhaps younger than her white hair would indicate, but every time she smiled, lines crinkled the corners of her eyes. “I've heard quite a lot about you.”He smiled back. “I hear good things about your pies. And your pancakes,” he said, and to his surprise, she reached up, smoothing his hair down.“You've a bit of a cowlick,” she said, and Steve reached up, trying to flatten it down. She laughed. “Don't you worry, Officer, it's quite charming on you.” She looked at Jarvis, the two of them sharing a silent communication. “Let's get you something to eat.”“I've already-” Steve started, but Mrs. Parker took his elbow with a firm grip.“Let's get you some wheat cakes.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
The photographer showed up promptly at nine, escorted be a large, bombastic bald man. By that time, DJ had been fed, dressed, and fussed over, Mrs. Parker kneeling down in front of him to smooth his hair. She whispered to him, her words inaudible to the rest of the room, but he giggled, his cheeks pink.Steve, leaning against the wall on the far side of the hall, tried to ignore the way his chest ached when she leaned over, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead, and smoothing his hair down to cover it. DJ's eyes flicked around the room, stopping when he spotted Steve. Steve smiled at him, and DJ smiled back.“Ready?” Stark said, straightening his own jacket with a flick of his fingers. He held out a hand. “Want to come stand with me?”DJ gave the photographer a suspicious look. “No,” he said, and Steve flinched.But Stark just grinned, his face alight with amusement. “Want me to come over there?” he offered. He leaned against the banister of the main staircase, his posture easy and relaxed.DJ slipped behind Mrs. Parker, who covered her mouth with a hand to hide her smile. “You don't have to have your picture taken if you don't want to, dear,” she said. “But I'd love to have a picture of you to put up in my parlor.”The photographer grinned around the matchstick in his mouth. “Don't ya want to be in the papers, kid?” He leaned an arm over his camera and tripod. “C'mon. Everyone wants to be in the papers.”DJ shook his head, and the bald man huffed out an exasperated breath. “Just... Pick him up,” he said to Stark, who gave him a look.“Yes, because a screaming child is sure to do wonders for my public image,” he drawled. Instead, he lowered himself down to sit on the bottom of the staircase, long legs thrown out in front of him on the polished marble floor. “Want to go look at the cars again?” he offered DJ, his hands braced on either side of his hips. DJ shifted position, but didn't leave Mrs. Parker's side. Stark smiled. “Or...”He leaned forward. “Did you know,” he said, his voice taking on a secretive tone, “that down in the basement, below all the other parts of the house, there's a workshop. A secret workshop. It's where I keep all of my prototypes. All the machines I'm working on. All the things I'm building.” His eyebrows arched. “And right now, I want to go down there, but I can't, because-” He gestured at the photographer. “I have to get my picture taken. If you can help me with that, maybe you could come down with me?”DJ considered that. “Just one?”Stark tapped a finger against his lips. “Might be more than one,” he admitted. “But if it's more than one, I'll let you destroy something.”DJ's face lit up and Steve straightened up. “I don't think-”Stark's eyes met his from across the room, and there was something like mischief in them, some spark of unholy glee, like he was doing this specifically to get under Steve's skin, and Steve felt his back teeth lock. “DJ.” DJ looked at him. “I'd like a picture, too.” He managed a smile. “I have to go back, I've got a shift today, but I wanted to see you get your picture taken.”“Also destruction,” Stark said, and Steve's temper slipped.“Mr. Stark, I don't think-”“It's fine,” Stark said. “It's- I have a clock I have always despised. It's never run right, and more than that, it's...” His mouth went into a flat line. “It's ugly. It's just so ugly.” He arched an eyebrow at DJ. “Want to smash it?”“Yes,” DJ said, his voice vibrating with the force of that one word.“Wonderful, one picture and we can find you a hammer.”“Now, Mr. Stark, you best not put ideas into this young rascal's head,” Mrs. Parker said, but she let go of DJ's hand, letting him cross the hall to Stark's side.“We'll wait until they're not looking, and then we can smash it,” Stark said in a stage whisper.“I think Mr. Rhodes will be joining you in the workshop today,” Mrs. Parker said. “He's not,” Stark told her.“He might not have been before.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “But he will be now.”“The joke's on her,” Stark said to DJ. “Rhodey smashes things better than anyone.”“Tony, can you please be serious for just-” the bald man started, and Stark waved a hand in his direction.“Yes, yes, fine, Obie.” He rolled to his feet, and held out a hand to DJ. “Welcome to the Stark Mansion, young man,” he said, and DJ gave his hand a firm shake.The flash bulb went off with a crack.*"You finished destroying that?"DJ looked up, a wide smile on his face. He nodded, rocking forward to tuck a knee against his chest. The stool he was sitting on shifted, the legs rattling on the stone floor. Tony stared down at his plans, his forehead wrinkling as he tried to murder the idiot who'd made them with his mind.. "Good. Destruction is fun," he said. He dropped the plans to the workbench, huffing out a breath. "Let's find you something else that I won't miss because-"He stopped, his coffee cup halfway to his mouth. Slowly, he set it back down on the bench. "Now, that's some very organized destruction," he said. He leaned forward, considering the rows and rows of disassembled parts. DJ had laid out the pieces in neat, symmetrical rows, sorted by size and type, the gears wiped clean and the broken parts isolated far away from the others, like they were an infection that had to be quarantined. Tony picked up a spindle that had been set to the side, turning it over in his hand. It wasn't until he rolled the slim metal rod between his fingertips that he felt the flaw, the almost imperceptible bend halfway down the length. He set it back down, a little too close to the good parts, and DJ immediately collected it, putting it back with the rejects.Tony found himself smiling. "Very, very organized chaos," he said, and DJ grinned up at him, his expression almost smug. Tony tossed a rag over his head, and DJ giggled. "Right. You-" He pointed a screwdriver in DJ's direction. "Are going to be a menace with a wrench."He leaned back. "Hey, Rhodey, did you see-"The words trailed away as he realized that the workshop was empty. He paused, his eyes narrowing into slits. "Something's missing here." DJ held up a piece of paper, never bothering to remove the cloth from his head. Tony reached out to take it from him. "Thank you. Very helpful. If you're interested in a position as my secretary, you should reconsider this, because it's a horrible idea."DJ giggled, and Tony unfolded the note, trying to keep a straight face. 'Have to pick up the updated blueprints from corp. Will tell Jarvis to make sure you eat. It's sad that I have to have Jarvis handle that. Try to eat without being reminded.'Tony frowned down at the note. "The writing looks like Rhodey's," he mused, turning it over to look at the back, "but this is clearly a man who doesn't care about his job or our long standing friendship." He looked back at DJ. "What time is it?"DJ lifted the rag away from his face, blinking up at Tony, and then down at the remains of the clock spread out over the workbench in front of him. Tony followed his gaze. "Ah. Right," he said. "Less useful in its current state." He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on the edge of the workbench, and folding his hands in front of his mouth. "So. It appears that Rhodey has made the incredibly poor choice to leave you without proper adult supervision."DJ considered that, his head tipping to the side. After a moment of weighty silence, he looked back at Tony. "Good."Tony choked on a laugh. "Right. Right." He pointed the screwdriver at DJ again. "No.""Yes," DJ said, right on beat, and Tony let his head fall into the palm of his hand."I cannot be responsible for you," he said, but the statement didn't conjure up the fear that it should've. “It's dangerous.”DJ reached for a cutting blade, and Tony got there before he did. DJ frowned. “I'm fine.”“Who cares about you?” Tony asked him with a smile. “It's dangerous for me, and that's the only thing that really matters.” He tossed Rhodey's note aside. “Well. Rhodes is replaceable. You are small, but I suspect you can be taught.”DJ nodded, his hands braced on the bench.Tony smiled. "Hand me the socket wrench," he said, holding out a hand. There was a moment of silence, and he glanced over. DJ was looking at him, his face twisted in confusion. "The socket wrench?" Tony repeated. "You know which one that is? It's-" he gestured at the tool box. "It's that one, next to the drill, it's-"DJ's fingers plucked at the cuffs of his shirt, something like fear floating across his features, and Tony settled back. "Hey, it's okay," he said, and DJ's eyes snapped up to his, then back down. Tony's fingers rattled on the bench, his mind turning over the possibilities. He reached out, snagging a nut. "DJ." DJ glanced up, his eyes wary, and Tony held up the nut. "I need the tool for this," he said, and DJ's face relaxed in an instant.He slid off his stool, darting over to the tool chest. An instant later, he turned around, the socket wrench held in one hand. Tony grinned at him. "Yes," he said, and DJ grinned back, his face going pink with something like pleasure, or maybe relief. Tony held out a hand, and DJ bounced across the floor to give it to him. Tony grabbed an old plan and flipped it over, spreading it blank side up over the workbench. He grabbed a pencil. "Socket wrench," he said, writing the words out in simple block printing, then tracing around the contours of the tool. DJ boosted himself up, peering over the edge of the bench, his dark eyes bright. Tony grabbed a piece of metal with a neat hole in the center. "What makes this?" he asked, tapping the hole, then holding it out to DJ. DJ's fingers traced the edges of the hole, pressing against the smooth bore in the metal, and then shot over to the toolbox, coming back with the hand drill. "Right," Tony said. "Drill." He printed the word as he said it, sweeping his work aside to make more space. "This is a drill." He tapped the word, and DJ stared at it, his brow furrowed."Drill," he repeated, turning the simple word over with his tongue."Right, you got it," Tony said, and DJ grinned up at him. He tipped out a drawer, grabbing for the next thing. Screws. Nails. Wood that had been rubbed smooth, metal that had been cut in intricate waves. DJ considered each one, like a puzzle piece, like a riddle, matching tools to their work, one after another, keeping Tony busy with words and shapes, his pencil darting over every square inch of the paper.Finally, Tony braced both hands against the bench, staring at the array of tools, each one labeled, each one outlined. “You are one very smart little boy,” he said. He glanced at DJ. “Talking's... Not easy for you, is it?”DJ's fingers plucked the cuff of his shirt. His mouth worked for a second “No,” he said at last. “Hard. It's hard. Sometimes...” His nose wrinkled. “Don't come out right.”“Right.” Tony took a seat on a stool, his elbows braced on the workbench. “Well, I talk too much, but sometimes, they don't come out right for me, either.” He reached for his coffee cup. It was empty, and he frowned down at it. “Reading's easier?”DJ nodded.“Fine. We can work with that. Because now...” He swept the tools aside, pulling the sheet of paper free. “Now, we have a chart. So if you don't understand what I'm asking, I can show you.” He smiled at DJ. “Right?”Another nod. And then, carefully, “Right.”Tony's eyes slid in DJ's direction. “I'll do the talking, and slip you secret notes when I need you to sabotage my many enemies.” He arched an eyebrow. “Do we have a deal?”DJ blinked at him, slow and deliberate. "Socket wrench," he said, the words a little easier now. He reached out, nudging the tool with one finger. He grinned at Tony. "Show me?"“I'm going to take that as a yes.” Tony straightened up, groaning as his spine twinged. He braced his hands on the small of his back, groaning as he stretched out the kink. “Right. Let's go take something apart.”“Sir?"Tony leaned back, one foot braced on the leg of the workbench. Jarvis had a familiar look on his face, and he had work to do. "I'm not hungry,” he said, trying for a preemptive strike."Of course you are not, sir," Jarvis said, shutting the door behind him. Having dispensed with the pleasantries of acknowledging his employer's existence, he turned his full attention to DJ. "It is lunchtime. Are you hungry?"DJ's eyes darted from Tony to Jarvis and back, his face unreadable.Tony rolled a silver ball bearing across the workbench in DJ's direction. It rattled across the battered surface, catching the light every time it bounced. DJ reached out, his fingers closing around the tiny steel ball. "We're fine, Jarvis," Tony said, wiggling his fingers against the bench. DJ took the hint and rolled it back. "Bring us something-" He paused. "Low effort."Jarvis's eyes closed for a second, an expression close to pain sliding across his mobile figures. "Food should be many things, sir," he said, his voice stern. "'Low effort' is not one of them."Tony bit back a smile, rolling the ball bearing back towards DJ and adding another one. DJ's face lit up. "Minimize the amount of chewing we need to do," Tony told Jarvis, as DJ returned the ball bearings back to him, one after another. "A soup perhaps. Or something else soft." He had four tiny balls in play now, each one bouncing against his fingertips as he rolled them. "Perhaps something suspended in aspic?"Jarvis stared at him. "You may have some soup with your sandwich, sir.""I don't want a sandwich," Tony said."Then you will get no dessert," Jarvis said, his voice crisp."Is... That supposed to influence me? In any way?" Tony asked."In honor of our young guest, Mrs. Parker has made strawberry shortcake," Jarvis said. To DJ, he explained, “It's one of her specialties. Quite good.”“It absolutely is.” Tony gave a firm nod. "Wonderful. I'll have that.""Only those who have a proper lunch are allowed shortcake, sir," Jarvis said. He watched the ball bearings roll across the workbench. "Do you like these?" he asked DJ with a slight smile. DJ nodded, holding one out to Jarvis. He took it. "Thank you!""I'll be having a tray," Tony said. "A double portion of shortcake, and-""You can bring those with you, and after lunch, I think I have something you might enjoy," Jarvis said, offering DJ his hand. "Would you like to help Mrs. Parker and I?""I feel I'm not getting the respect I deserve here," Tony said, holding up a ball bearing. He rolled it back and forth between his fingertips, studying the play of light along the surface. "I feel that-"Jarvis took it from him, his gloved fingers slipping the ball from him before Tony even realized he had moved. Tony stared at his empty fingers. He looked at Jarvis, who slipped the ball bearing into the pocket of his coat, giving it a firm pat. "It is lunchtime, sir," he said, and there was amusement in his voice. "And we have a guest, so we will be taking lunch on the patio today."Tony groaned. “I don't want to-”“Then no shortcake for you,” Jarvis said, his voice brisk. “Or egg salad.”Tony paused. “Egg salad?”“Shall be served on the patio,” Jarvis said. He gave Tony a slight smile. “Would you care to join us for lunch, sir?”Tony pushed himself upright. “Under duress.”“As usual, then.”*“What are you doing outside of the workshop before midnight? What have you blown up?"Tony didn't look up from his papers, but his mouth curved into smile. "I am disliking that tone, Miss Potts," he said, scribbling a note in the corner of the blueprint before tossing it aside. "I find it to be disrespectful."The blueprint rolled itself up, bouncing across the patio table and falling off the edge. Pepper caught it before it could hit the ground, setting it firmly back on the table next to him. "Excellent, that's exactly what I was trying for," she said, reaching for a chair. Jarvis got there before she did, pulling it out for her. She gave him a warm smile, sinking down into the seat. "Thank you, Jarvis, that's very kind of you."His head inclined just a fraction of an inch. "Of course, Miss Potts." He collected the coffee cup from in front of Tony. "May I get you some tea? Or perhaps a lemonade?""Oh, a cup of tea would be marvelous, thank you," she said. “It's been a very long day.”“Then perhaps a slice of Mrs. Parker's excellent apple strudel with clotted cream?” he offered.Pepper exhaled, the strain going out of her shoulders. “Bless you, Jarvis.”"I'll have another coffee," Tony said, frowning down at the plans in front of him.Jarvis's eyebrows arched, just a bit. "Are we certain that is a good idea, sir?""We're not certain of that at all," Tony said, waving a hand through the air. "In fact, we're quite certain that it's a very poor idea, and we're quite certain that we're going to be doing it anyway.""Of course we are," Jarvis said, his voice expressionless. "Why would we show sense?"Pepper covered her mouth with one hand, trying to hide her smile. "It does seem to be asking a great deal of him," she said."Mockery," Tony said, handing her a sheet of technical specs. "All around me, nothing but mockery.""You have a hard life," Pepper said. Behind his back, she mouthed 'Lemonade?' at Jarvis. He gave her a slight nod before slipping back into the house. Pepper turned her attention back to the paperwork Tony had given her. "What's this?"Tony's eyes slid in her direction. "Did you just undermine me?""I love you and I'm quite terrified that your heart will explode one day," Pepper told him. She held up the page. "What is this?""New engine," he said. The tip of his pencil rattled against the gleaming tabletop, his brows drawn in tight over his eyes. "Very high powered."Pepper's eyes narrowed as she did some quick calculations. "Very expensive, even if we're just going by materials, and I'm sure the manpower cost will push it into 'astronomical,'" she said. "What is this for, I don't-"Tony's head came up. "Wait." He surged to his feet, fast enough to knock his chair over. It clattered across the slate of the patio, making Pepper jump. Tony didn't seem to notice. "Where is the child?"Pepper glanced around. "The- Oh, DJ?" Everything fell into place. "Ah, so that's what pried you out of the workshop while the sun was still out. You brought-""Egg salad and a disrespectful, heartless butler pried me out of the workshop, the small ball of trouble was just his excuse," Tony said. He took a step forward, towards the stone stairs that lead down to the gardens, and then immediately reversed direction, his feet skipping over the stone as he turned. "He was just-"The words cut off suddenly, and Pepper looked over at the far side of the patio, where a large blanket had been spread over the stone, hundreds of marbles scattered over its surface. There was an empty glass and plate next to the blanket, but no other sign of who'd put it all there. She stood. "Maybe he went down to the green house?""Maybe he went up the trellis again," Tony said, his voice rising to an unfortunate pitch.Pepper blinked at him. "The TRELLIS?""As it turns out, he thinks that the trellis is easier to climb than a fire escape ladder," Tony said. "If he's on the roof, I'm going to-"“Afternoon, Pepper. What's, uh, what's going on?”Pepper twisted around in time to see Bruce walking up the stairs from the garden, a broad brimmed straw hat sitting crooked on his head, and a basket in each hand. They were filled to the brim, turnip greens and beet leaves trailing over the edges, piles of dusty sweet potatoes and carrots, squash and stalks of round, plump brussel sprouts. DJ trailed along right behind him, hopping up the steps, his arms wrapped tight around a similar wicker basket.“Hello there,” Pepper said, smiling at him. “Did you help Bruce in the garden?”DJ gave a pleased nod. There was dirt on his forehead, on the side of his jaw, his fingers caked with soil. His feet were bare, and he left small, damp dirty footprints behind him on the slate.“He is a very good berry picker,” Bruce said, setting his baskets down. “Very patient, very gentle with the plants.” He smiled at DJ, who smiled back. “You were a big help. Thank you.”DJ beamed up at him. “Welcome,” he said, letting Bruce take his basket from him.“Aren't you supposed to be doing science?” Tony asked Bruce. “I seem to recall some science on the schedule.”Bruce's lips twitched. “Who can do science when the blackberries are ripe?” he said, offering Tony one particularly plump specimen from the basket. “The beakers will still be there tomorrow, but the berries might not.”Tony took it from him. “I better get some cobbler out of this.” He popped it in his mouth, his eyes narrowing on DJ. "And you. I seem to recall telling you not to wander off. “ He frowned. “Didn't you have shoes?"DJ looked down at his bare feet, and wiggled his toes. He looked back up. "No," he said, and it was so obviously a lie that Pepper had to struggle not to laugh."Huh." Tony stroked his fingers over his goatee, his eyes narrowing in consideration. "I could've sworn you had shoes. Very nice new shoes." DJ shook his head, and Tony nodded, his hands braced on his hips. "Well, we'll just have to get you some, then."DJ's lips pursed. "No?""Oh, I can't possibly let you go barefoot, something could happen," Tony said. He leaned in. "I can't be responsible for that.""Shoes are horrible," DJ told him, and Pepper lost it, laughing so hard that she had to brace a hand on Tony's back to keep herself upright.Tony glared at her over his shoulder, but there was a smile dancing in the depths of his eyes. "Are you quite finished?" he asked, his tone polite."No," Pepper said, and collapsed against him, laughing against his shoulder.Tony patted her gently on the head. "You are encouraging the child," he said.Pepper peeked over at DJ, who was grinning at her, his face alight with the warmth of it, and she struggled against a rush of warmth. "Am I encouraging you?" she asked.He nodded. "Yes.""Good." Wiping her eyes, Pepper straightened up. "Oh, I haven't laughed like that in so long." She looked up, letting the sunlight warm her cheeks. "In forever." She sat down at the table, pulling a chair out for DJ. “Bruce, sit down, I'll split my strudel with you.”“Tempting, but I've got to, uh, I've got to get these into the kitchen,” Bruce said. He took off his hat, depositing it gently on DJ's head. He collected his baskets, shifting their weight with a roll of his shoulder. “Clint'll want to know what he's got to work with.”“You mean, he'll want to know what he has to complain about,” Pepper said, her chin braced on her folded hands.“That, too,” Bruce said. “Bobbi's still down in the greenhouse, finishing with the samples.”“At least someone around here is capable of doing their job,” Tony said to DJ, who nodded. Tony's lips twitched. “You're filthy.”“Yes,” DJ said. He didn't seem especially concerned by that.“This is-”Jarvis stepped back onto the patio, a tray balanced easily between his hands. Peter was right behind him, holding a bushel basket in one hand and a hunk of pastry in the other. Tony arched an eyebrow at him. “You're going to ruin your dinner,” he said.Peter shook his head. “No. I won't,” he said, his cheeks bulging. “He won't,” Jarvis agreed, setting a small plate of strudel in front of Pepper. He looked at DJ. “Would you like some tea?” DJ shook his head. “Lemonade?”DJ shook his head again, but he watched, his gaze intent, as Jarvis set Pepper's cup in front of her and filled it from the tea pot. Pepper smiled at him. “Would you like a bite of my strudel?” she offered. He shook his head again, but picked up a spoon from the table, running his fingers over the curve of the bowl.Tony frowned at the cup of lemonade that Jarvis set in front of him. “Where's my coffee?” he asked.“I'm sorry, sir, it turns out that we are entirely out of coffee,” Jarvis said. “How do you lie with a straight face like that?” Tony asked himJarvis frowned. “Sir. I'm deeply wounded by your distrust.” Mrs. Parker came out on the patio, drying a massive glass jar with a towel as she walked, and he looked in her direction. “Mrs. Parker, have we any coffee?”“It's such a shame, we've not a bean left in the house,” she said without missing a beat. She paused to kiss Peter on the cheek, then headed for the blanket. “Welcome home, Miss Potts. DJ, will you come here and put your marbles away?” DJ scrambled down from his chair, bouncing across the patio. Mrs. Parker knelt down next to him, collecting the marbles that rolled out of his reach. “Thank you, dear.”“I do not believe either of you,” Tony said, but he picked up the lemonade. “I've had a very hard day. I had to pose for pictures, and then I was expelled from my workshop, and I had to climb up the trellis twice to retrieve an intruder-”“Did you go up the trellis again?” Jarvis asked DJ, who scrunched down, concentrating very hard on moving the marbles into the jar. Jarvis smiled. “It is very tempting, isn't it?”“No,” Tony mumbled into his lemonade. Pepper smiled at him around the tines of her fork, and he made a face in her direction. “Encouraging.”“I do my best,” she said. “Mrs. Parker, this is delicious.”“Oh, thank you, always so sweet, you are,” Mrs. Parker said. She paused, letting DJ drop the last few Marbles into the jar. “Thank you, dear.” She straightened up. “Peter, are you going down to the garden? Why don't you take DJ with you.”"You a good climber?" Peter asked, and DJ nodded. Peter grinned, holding up the bushel basket. "Wanna help me gather apples, then? I could use some help.""No," Tony said, as DJ put the lid back on the jar."Yes," DJ said."It is only a matter of time before one of you falls and breaks something," Tony told Peter. "And-""They'll be fine," Mrs. Parker said, shaking out the blanket. Tony looked at her. She looked back, unimpressed. Tony gestured at the two boys, and she heaved a sigh. "Mr. Stark, they will be fine. Peter is a very responsible boy."“I'm not,” Peter told DJ with an easy smile. “But I'm a good climber.”DJ nodded. “Me, too.”“Wonderful, there are some pears that-”“Am I the only one with sense here?” Tony asked. Pepper bit her lip to keep from saying something unfortunate. He looked at her, his eyes narrowed. “What?”Pepper shook her head. “I didn't say anything, Mr. Stark.”“But you wanted-”"You seem to recall you riding my best serving tray down the full length of the grand staircase like a sled," Jarvis said, catching the other end of the blanket and helping Mrs. Parker move it to the railing. “On an almost daily basis.”Pepper's mouth dropped open. "You didn't," she said to Tony.Tony stared at Jarvis. “Why do I still employ you?”“Because I am the only one who can make your toast the way you like it,” Jarvis said without missing a beat.“Everyone else puts too much butter on it and not enough cinnamon,” Tony said to Pepper. “You just can't get good help these days,” she said with a straight face.“I know. It's a nightmare.”“Good afternoon!” Bobbi strode up the stairs, her long legs taking them two at a time. Her cheeks were pink, her long blond hair plaited into a braid and wrapped around her head. She ruffled Peter's hair as she walked past. “Stay out of the greenhouse, trouble, we've got an experiment running and things break around you.”“Once,” Peter said, trying to smooth his hair down. Bobbi gave him a look. “Twice. At most.”“Stay out,” she said, “before the boss has us both out in the street.”“I'm a benevolent overlord,” Tony said, sneaking a bite of Pepper's strudel. She smacked at his fingertips, making him laugh.“Yes, but Miss Potts is a cruel taskmaster,” Bobbi said, leaning over the back of Pepper's chair.Laughing, Pepper offered her a forkful of pastry and cream. “Flatterer.”Bobbi leaned over to take it. Tony sat back in his seat. “Actually, Peter and DJ need adult supervision. And you're available.”Bobbi licked her lips, flicking away the last of the cream with the pad of her thumb. “So sorry, Mr. Stark, but I don't babysit.” Her eyelashes fluttered. “Not in my job description.”“Everything's in your job description,” Tony told her. “I should know. I wrote it. And I can rewrite it.”“They're off to fetch the last of the apples,” Mrs. Parker said, dusting her hands off on her apron. “And Jarvis and I have dinner to get on the table, so perhaps-”Bobbi's eyes lit up. “See, that's a different story. Tree climbing is in my job description,” she said. DJ went scrambling past her, and she snagged him by the back of the shirt. “Here, Pete, I'll take the basket, and you can take this.”“Want a piggyback ride, sport?” Peter asked. DJ nodded, and Peter crouched down to let him scramble onto his back. “Ready?”“Ready,” DJ said, wrapping his arms around Peter's neck.“Don't get into trouble,” Pepper said. “And remember we have ladders.“What's the fun in that, ma'am?” Peter asked, straightening up. “And it's not that we mean to get into trouble, sometimes, it just...” He shrugged. “It happens.”“It might find you, but try not to find it,” Tony said, sipping his lemonade.“No promises, boss,” Bobbi said, the basket thrown over her shoulder. “Let's go, boys.”*"What... Is it?"DJ blinked up at him. "Cat," he said, with a great deal of confidence.Tony stared down at the... Thing that was wandering around his library floor. It was a tangled mop of brownish orange fur, and judging by the way it was moving, it was probably a quadruped. It had something like a tail, a fluffy banner that fluttered in the creature's wake, a distinct kink halfway up its length.Tony looked at Peter. "Cat," Peter agreed. Tony didn't break eye contact, and one of Peter's shoulders rose in a half shrug. "I'm... Sure it's a cat."Tony went back to looking at the creature. It stopped, and started rolling sideways, the movement at a 90 degree angle to the way that it was previously heading. Tony looked back at Peter. Peter gave him a brave smile. "Ninety percent certain that it's a cat.""Right," Tony said, as the thing seemed to wiggled up and over a chair, the movement strangely liquid. Peter watched it flop over the arm of the chair. "I'm... Fairly confident," he said. He looked at Tony, a bright smile on his face. "It's a very good cat. If. You know." His eyes slid sideways. "It's a cat.""I love how quickly you're backtracking here," Tony told him. "Bruce. Seriously?"Bruce hid a smile behind the rim of his coffee cup, and tried to cover it up with a cough. "Bobbi said they found it in one of the trees. But I've seen it around the garden before; it's been taking care of the mice around my greenhouse," he said, giving Tony a lopsided smile. He balanced his cup on his knee, a bad choice based on the way his leg was twitching. "So, whatever it is, my, uh, my opinion is that it's-" He paused, his head bobbing a bit as he considered. "Useful."The thing landed on Tony's desk with a thump, making Tony jump. "Wonderful," he said, trying to figure out where its eyes were. Or if it had eyes. "What're the odds that it's infecting my office with fleas right this moment?""We washed it!" Peter said. Tony looked at him. "We gave it a really..." He gave Tony a very confident smile. "Thorough bath."Tony's eyebrows rose. "It... It was dirtier than this before?" he asked, because he wasn't sure he believed that at all.DJ folded his arms on the edge of Tony's desk. "Yes," he said, with a big grin. He reached out, his fingers trailing gently across the thing's back. It leaned against his palm, a rumbling sound somewhere between a purr and a growl emanating from it. Tony leaned back in his chair, not so subtlety putting some distance between his throat and the lump of fur. He considered moving DJ as well, but the thing seemed to like him. Tony took a deep breath. "Are we sure it's... Domesticated?"DJ gave a firm nod. "Yes.""Really. I'm not going to ask what you're basing that on. But...” Tony squinted at the 'cat.' “No taste for human blood?" Tony asked him, trying to keep a straight face. DJ shook his head. "Really? None at all?""None at all," DJ said, the words careful. He gave Tony a hopeful look. "Stay?""Stay?" Tony repeated, stalling for time."Can it?" DJ asked. His eyes were gigantic. "Stay?"Tony considered that. And the fact that the thing was possibly chewing on the spine of one of his ledgers. "I'm not going to lie," he said at last. "I'm not sure that would be wise. Or legal."DJ's face fell, and Peter straightened up. "I can help him take care of it," he said. Tony gave him a look, and Peter didn't seem to notice. "And he'll be good, he'll be useful, I mean, there's always going to be mice, and maybe with this, all we have to do-"Tony rubbed his forehead. "Peter...""Is give it a nice place to sleep and maybe some milk, and DJ's really good at brushing him, and I can take care of-"Tony's hand fell back to his side. "Peter.""Feeding it and making sure that we keep things from getting destroyed, as much as I can, I mean, sometimes things get destroyed and it's my fault, and really, there's not much I can do about that, but-""PETER!" Tony said, and Peter stopped, his eyes blinking owlishly in Tony's direction. Tony slumped back into his chair. "Is it a cat, Peter?"Peter's mouth opened. Closed. He looked down at DJ, who gave him a nod. Peter looked back at Tony. "Absolutely, Mr. Stark. We stake our reputations on it."“Yes, but your reputations are based on causing problems and giving me headaches,” Tony said, stabbing a pen in his direction. “So. Not much of a loss.” He gave the cat a look. “Do you promise to be...” He scowled at the cat. “Minimally destructive?”The cat yawned, showing off a massive maw lined with sharp, white teeth.“I'm going to take that as a yes,” Tony said. He leaned back in his chair, waving a hand in the air in a universal gesture of surrender. “Fine. It can stay.” DJ's face lit up, and Tony struggled against a smile. “What are you going to call it?”DJ considered the cat, his eyes narrowed. He scrambled up, sitting down on the edge of Tony's desk. “Furbro,” he said at last. Tony opened his mouth. Closed it. “Are you... Certain? He looks more like a...” His voice trailed away, because as it turned out, he had no way to finish that sentence.“Sandy?” Bruce suggested. “He looks like a Sandy.”“Furbro,” DJ repeated.“Well, he sure is furry,” Peter said. He reached out, and scratched the cat behind at tuft that might've been an ear. “So I guess that works.” The cat bumped against his fingertips, its tail swishing through the air. “I'm going to regret this, aren't I?” Tony asked Bruce.“If you're not regretting this already, you're not paying attention,” Bruce said.Tony struggled against a smile. “Thank you. That's very comforting.” There was a knock at the library door, and he looked up. “Come in.”Natasha pushed the door open. “Rhodey's back, so dinner will be served in twenty minutes.” The cat wandered past her, and her head swung in a slow arc, watching it with a bemused expression. “What is this?”“We think it's a cat,” Tony told her, his chin braced on one hand. “For our own mental health, we've decided to agree that it's a cat.”“Wonderful,” she said. She crouched down, holding out a hand, long fingers curled back against her palm. The cat padded over to rub against her knuckles. “Hello, there, fluffy.”DJ grinned at her, his feet bouncing against the side of Tony's desk. “Furbro.”“Ah. Furbro.” Natasha straightened up, not seeming to mind as the cat wound its way around her ankles. “I shall notify the chef that we have another mouth to feed.”“He does not get a seat at the dinner table,” Tony said, and he tried to sound like he meant it.The cat stretched up, bracing its front paws on the edge of the planter, its whiskers wriggling as it sniffed the soil. Tony stood. "Oh, no. Out of my plant. Out of-" The cat's head tipped in his direction, studying him for only a moment before it went back to pawing at the dirt. "Absolutely not." Tony leaned over, hoping that he could extract it without losing a hand.The crack-snap of shattering glass made no sense for a moment, it was like an explosion in miniature, like lightning, even as it was echoed by the shards of glass cascading to the floor. Tony heard it happen, more than saw it happen, the glass catching the light out of the corner of his eye as it came apart.The next thing he knew, he was hit from behind, a heavy body bearing him straight down to the carpeted floor."What-""Shooter." Natasha's voice floated in the strange, hollow silence. "Keep him down, Bruce.""No-" The word was choked off, sticking in Tony's throat. He twisted, trying to bring his head around, trying to get an arm loose, but Bruce was a dead weight on his back, pinning him in place. "Don't-"Natasha seemed to glide past, a knife in her hand, and Tony didn't know where she'd pulled that from, where she'd been hiding it. She hit the doors to the balcony at a dead run, her skirts fluttering around her as she caught the railing in one hand, throwing herself up and over, disappearing into the darkness of the garden."God DAMN it, Romanov!" Tony roared after her. "Don't you-"There was a scrambling sound next to him, feet kicking hard against the carpet, and Tony's hand snapped out, making a desperate grab for Peter as he lunged towards the balcony. “Parker, don't, what the hell are you-”Peter dodged, staying just out of reach, crashing into the side of the desk and hitting the balcony in a crouch. He hit the railing with both hands, hopping up and over. The whole thing happened so fast that he barely had a chance to swear.“Get off of me, get OFF OF ME,” Tony yelled, and Bruce's hands were locked on his shirt, his weight pinning Tony to the floor.“Sit. Still,” Bruce snapped. “They're after you. If you get up-”“Where's the kid?” Tony twisted around. “DJ! Where-”DJ's head popped up on the other side of the desk, and Tony's breath left him in something like a sob. “It's okay,” he said, “it's okay, I'm sorry, it's going to be fine, don't be afraid. It's going to be fine, I promise, just-”DJ blinked at him, and darted around the desk towards them. He crouched down next to the desk, his back braced against the wood, a solid silver candlestick clutched in his hands. Tony stared at him. “What're you-”“Fight,” DJ said, waving the candlestick over his head. “We fight!”“No,” Bruce said, making a desperate grab for DJ. “We don't, we wait here, where it's safe, we-”Tony grabbed the back of DJ's shirt, dragging him to a stop. DJ leaned forward, his feet kicking at the ground, the candlestick swinging wildly through the air. “Am I the only one who is sane here?” Tony managed.“If you were sane, you would've called the police after the first one,” Bruce growled against his shoulder."We're not calling the police, we're not calling anyone," Tony gritted out, his fingers locked on the back of DJ's shirt. "We're going to-"There was a rustling sound, and then Peter's head popped up back over the balcony railing. "Natasha caught him," he said."You." The word vibrated in the air. "Get in here." Tony finally succeeded in throwing Bruce off of him, rolling into a sitting position. Bruce slumped against the side of the desk, his face pasty white and damp with sweat. Tony stabbed a finger in Peter's direction. "NOW."Peter blinked at him, all huge eyes and confusion. "She- She caught him?" he tried."In," Tony breathed, and Peter scrambled up over the railing, all awkward long legs and skinny arms. Tony got his legs under him, pushing himself upright. "Are you all right?""Oh." Peter blinked at him again. There were leaves in his hair, and a tear on one shoulder of his shirt. "I'm fine. Thank you, Mr. Stark.""Good. Then I can murder you with a clear conscience," Tony said.Bruce exhaled, a weak little laugh. "No murder, Tony." He wiped a shaking hand over his mouth. "Let's... Let's not murder anyone.""Well, now we have no choice," Tony said to him. "Because Natasha caught him. And now we've got him. What are we supposed to DO with him, if murder is off the table?" He stared at Bruce. "Any suggestions?""I'd suggest that we calm down before we do something, uh, something that we might regret," Bruce said. He smiled at DJ. "You okay?"Tony's head jerked down towards DJ, who was still holding the candlestick in both hands like a baseball bat. "I'll be taking that," he said, making an effort to release DJ's shirt. "If I'm not allowed to murder anyone, you absolutely are not."DJ gave a firm nod. "Murder," he said, his eyes narrowed into slits."Wonderful, you've been here for, what, two days, and we've managed to completely destroy any moral compass that you might've had," Tony said, plucking the candlestick from DJ's grasp. DJ made a hopping attempt to grab it again, and Tony struggled between screaming and laughing.Peter grinned down at DJ. "What, were you going to take 'em out yourself?"DJ nodded again, his chin set at a stubborn angle. "Yes.""You're a scrapper, aren't you? I mean, you shouldn't get involved, you're just a kid, but-"“Are you joking right now?” Tony asked. He snagged Peter by the back of the shirt and force marched him towards the library door. “It's like you know the script, but don't know what your role is.”“What was I supposed to do?” Peter said, hopping to keep pace with Tony. “Let her go after him alone?”Tony stopped, his head turning to stare down at Peter. He took a deep breath. “YES.”Peter blinked. “That's not-”The sound of pounding feet coming up the hallway was the only warning he had before the library door exploded open. “Sir!” Jarvis skidded to a stop, his hand locked on the doorknob. Rhodey was right behind him, a pistol in one hand and Bruce's satchel in the other.“We're fine,” Tony said. “We're-” He went to wave them off and realized he was still holding DJ's weapon. He tossed it in the general direction of the couch. “By which I mean, I'm fine. Bruce is having an attack of the vapors-”“You tried to BITE me,” Bruce said, as Jarvis offered him a hand up.“And Peter will be sent to a boarding school of some sort in the morning, some sort of prep school where he will be buried under philosophical texts and mathematical treatises until we forget that he is a shame upon this household,” Tony continued.“Can't I just go to bed without dinner?” Peter asked, his voice faint.“Natasha is having her way with armed assailants in my garden, you left me with a child, and I haven't had dinner yet,” Tony said, his voice rising.“Tony, I need you to sit down,” Rhodey said. He moved over to the balcony, pulling the doors shut. “Before you fall down.” The cat rubbed up against his leg, and he jumped. “What the hell is-”“We have a cat now,” Tony said, his voice dire. “And I already have carpet burn on my face, so I think I'll stay standing.”Jarvis scooped DJ up, balancing him on his hip. “Were you scared?” he asked.DJ narrowed his eyes. “Murder,” he said, his voice firm, and Tony pressed a hand to his face.“Fine. Someone. Call. The police.”*It was awfully late for someone to be sitting on the front steps of his building. Steve squinted into the gloom, wondering if someone had been locked out, and if so, if their family'd had reason. He shifted his bag higher on his back, his fingers tightening on the strap as the waiting figure pushed himself to his feet.“Evening, Officer Rogers!”Steve frowned. “Hogan?”Hogan swept his hat off his head, bobbing something like a bow. “In the flesh, in the flesh.” He slapped his cap against his thigh. “Went down the t' the station, looking for you, they said you weren't on duty tonight.”Steve's shoulder jerked upwards, pushing his bag a little bit further behind his back. “Took someone's shift,” he said. “Might not have told the brass about it.”Hogan nodded. “Lemme guess, he woulda been in trouble.”“A little.” Steve shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “And speaking of which...”“Yeah, we got a bit of trouble of our own.” Hogan nodded towards the door of Steve's building. “Best we discuss it off the street. If you don't mind?”Steve nodded. “I think you'd better.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
"Bolsheviks."Captain O'Brien didn't look up from his paperwork. "Bolsheviks."Steve dropped the file folder on O'Brien's desk. It hit with a thump, and O'Brien glanced up, one bloodshot eye locking on Steve with brutal intent. "Do we have a problem here, Rogers?" he asked, his voice cutting.Steve braced his hands on the desk, leaning his weight against his palms. "Bolsheviks," he repeated. "That's what we're going with, sir?"O'Brien reached for his coffee. "There's no 'going with' here, Rogers," he said. The cigar by his elbow smoldered in the ashtray, and he reached for it. "He confessed." He glanced up again, his eyebrows drawn up tight over his eyes. "Confessed to being a communist and trying to take out Mr. Stark for the good of the cause."Steve stabbed a fingertip against the folder. "He's been arrested more than a dozen times, sir. He's got an arrest record longer than half the breadlines in his city. He got picked up at age eleven for discharging a pistol in the middle of a street fight. We've got him for bootlegging, attempted murder, half a dozen organized crime rackets-""Also, way back in the day, horse theft," O'Brien said, his teeth flashing around the stub of his cigar. "This whole rant of yours got a point, Rogers?""The point is, after all these years of clearly being muscle and murder for hire, working for mobsters and strike breakers, you're saying he's suddenly seen the light and has dedicated himself to the communist party?" Steve asked.O'Brien exhaled, a thin stream of blue-gray smoke curling through the air between them. "I ain't saying that," he said at last, rubbing his forehead. "He's saying that." He flicked a gesture at the file. "And we got no reason to say he's lying."Steve bit back a swear. "Other than his entire history?" "Look." O'Brien stabbed the cigar against the ash tray, his mouth taking on a sarcastic smile. "Stark's a shining beacon that any man can make it in this cold, cruel world we live in, Rogers. You got enough gumption, and enough smarts, and you can drag yourself out of the gutter and out to a mansion on Long Island." He slumped back into his chair. "Makes sense that the communists and anarchists would want him dead, don't it?""It does, sir, but it makes no sense that this man-" Steve stabbed the file folder with enough force to make his finger hurt. "Is a convert to any cause that doesn't put a dollar in his pocket. He'd sell his own grandmother for enough of a payout, I'd sooner believe Stark of being a communist before him.”O'Brien considered that. "And yet, when he was brought in, those were the first words out of his mouth. What're we to think, Rogers?""That he's a hired killer who was told by his employer exactly what to say to cover his tracks if he got caught," Steve said. He straightened up. "I've got no doubt that the communists want Stark dead, but I don't think they can afford this lummox. Let me-""No," O'Brien said, his eyes staring blankly at the far wall.Steve's jaw worked. "Sir, I-""No," O'Brien repeated, his tone bored."Will you hear me out, I think-"O'Brien pushed himself to his feet, his hands braced on his desk, his broad shoulders squared, his head down like a bull ready to charge. "No," he said, and it was quiet and firm. "No. You won't be talkin' to him. No. You won't be investigatin' this. No. You're gonna put that file right back where you found it, and you're going to walk yourself back out to your assigned beat, and you're not going to say a damn word about it."Steve took a deep breath. “Sir, I might not be Stark's biggest fan, but no one deserves to be gunned down in their own house. If someone is targeting him, then we have to find out who. And if it is the Bolsheviks? Then it's the Bolsheviks. But if it's not?” He shook his head. “Someone's trying to get away with murder.”O'Brien's eyes flicked towards the ceiling. "Mother Mary, grant me patience," he said. He collapsed back into his seat, his weight hitting with enough force to make the wood creak. He tossed a leg onto the top of his desk, leaning back in his chair. "So. You're putting your job on the line for this. Of all things."One of Steve's shoulders rose and fell, a half shrug. “You're going to fire me eventually, sir Probably because I piss off someone above you. At least this, I feel like I'm being fired for the right reasons.”O'Brien's mouth twitched. “You're a piece of work, Rogers. A real piece of work.” He picked up an envelope from his blotter. “Miss Potts has petitioned the mayor for a police detail to protect Mr. Stark, and as it turns out, the commissioner thinks that staying in Stark's good graces is worth taking you out of the rotation.” He held out the envelope, pinned between two fingers. “In a surprise to no one.”Steve took the envelope from him. “Sir?”“Pack your bags. You've been reassigned to Stark Manor for the time being.” O'Brien arched an eyebrow at him. “Seems someone up there likes you, Rogers.”Steve studied the envelope. “Or really doesn't,” he said.“Or really, really doesn't,” O'Brien agreed. He nodded at the file folder. “Miss Potts has requested any updates on the situation that we might be able to provide her. Take that along with you, and Rogers?” Steve looked up at him. “Sir?”O'Brien gave him a lopsided smile. “Make us proud.” He went back to his paperwork. “Good luck.”Steve took a deep breath. “Thank you, sir. I think.”*“Good morning, sir.”“Oh, God.” Tony squeezed his eyes shut. “Is it morning?”“It is, sir.” Jarvis sounded amused. Which was rather unkind of him.“Fine. Wake me when it's afternoon,” Tony said, throwing an arm over his eyes. “Or evening. Or possibly tomorrow.”“I would, sir, but then your breakfast would go to waste, and we have rules in this household about wasting food.” The words were accompanied by the rattle of dishes on a tray, a sharp punctuation mark on the sentence. “The chef was kind enough to make you eggs benedict this morning.”Tony made a face. “I fired the chef last night,” he said. “I fired everyone last night.” He raised an arm, pointing in the general direction of Jarvis' voice. “I'm fairly certain I fired you last night.”“You did, in fact, seem intent on emptying the house,” Jarvis said, unconcerned. “I pointed out that tossing us all into the streets in the dead of night was beneath you.”“You have far too high of an opinion of me, Jarvis.” Tony rolled over, burying his face in his pillow. “Since it's morning, you're all fired. Get out.”“Of course, sir. As soon as you've finished breakfast and we've handled the dishes. And the linens. And your shirts are back from the laundry, but will need to be pressed. There's also the canning, Mrs. Parker couldn't possibly leave that half finished. And-”“If I eat breakfast, will you stop talking?” Tony mumbled into his pillow.“There's only one way to find out, sir.” A pause. “You have a guest.”Tony pried open one eye. A blurry mass of brown and white was terrifyingly close to his face. “Oh,” Tony said. “Good morning?”The cat gave him a disdainful look and flopped over, spreading its bulk over the top of Tony's pillow. Behind it, DJ was waiting, his face hopeful. "Hello there." Tony put some distance between him and the lump of fur, and DJ ducked back down, a faint giggle echoing in his wake. Tony smiled. "Who let you in?"Jarvis opened the curtains with a flick of his hands, making Tony wince. "He has already finished his breakfast and wished to help me bring yours up." He stepped back, retrieving the tray from the bedside table. "Wasn't that nice of him?"Tony considered DJ. "Depends," he said, his eyes narrowed against the full glare of the late morning light. "Are you just here to steal my pastries?"DJ grinned. "Yes," he said, and Tony choked on a laugh."I admire your honesty. I admire it enough to give you some of my fruit," Tony told him. He pushed himself upright, groaning as he slumped back against the headboard, trying to find a comfortable spot that didn't involve any contact with the cat, who was now chewing on one of its back feet with single minded determination. "Actually, you can have everything you want. Just give me the coffee.""You need to eat your breakfast, sir," Jarvis said, disapproval obvious in his voice. He set the tray over Tony's lap. "All of it.""How much can I feed to the tiny disaster area?" Tony asked Jarvis, gesturing in DJ's direction. "None," Jarvis said. "He has had a bowl of oatmeal, toast, and a cup of milk this morning." He smiled down at DJ. "And most of Peter's boiled egg, half of Miss Potts's roasted apple, and four slices of bacon that Bruce slipped him when he thought no one was looking."Tony grinned as he reached for his napkin. "And he's still after my pastry, so..." He patted the bed next to him. "Guess it wasn't enough. Come on, hop up here, kid. I'll distract Jarvis and you can finish off my eggs benedict.""We are wary of the hollandaise, so I suspect that might be the only thing on that tray that's safe," Jarvis said. He gave DJ a boost up onto Tony's bed, and waited while he settled down, legs crossed under him, at the end of the bed. "What do you think?" Jarvis asked.DJ looked up, his mouth hanging open as he stared up at the fresco above the bed. Tony followed his gaze. "Yes, that's quite the thing, isn't it?" he asked, amused. "My father had that painted." He looked up, a piece of toast dangling from his fingertips. The painter had been very enthusiastic, but not particularly talented. He had, however, had quite the grasp of female anatomy, managing a dozen or so well rounded goddesses and nymphs, their charms barely covered by the gauzy film of their togas. Tony took a bite of his toast. "He was quite the connoisseur." He paused. “Of women. Not art.”DJ twisted around, trying to get a different angle on things, and ended up tipping over, falling back onto the bed."A common reaction to the very special decorating aesthetic around these parts," Tony said, amused. He scrubbed a hand over his face. "Do you like your room? It's... Better."DJ's head rolled in his direction, and he gave Tony a quick smile and a quicker nod. "We have dusted all of the shelves and inspected every one of the books," Jarvis said. He threw open Tony's closet, his mouth pursed as he considered the contents. "Perhaps the gray today, sir?""I'll leave that to you," Tony said, pouring himself a cup of coffee and digging into his eggs. "Did you find any good ones?"DJ nodded. "Trains," he said, picking up Tony's spoon and rolling the stem between his fingertips. "And animals.""I remember the train books," Tony said, around a mouthful of toast. "I had more than a few of those. Bet there's some new ones by now, maybe we should check with the book shops." He pushed the cat away from his breakfast tray. "You. No." The cat glared up at him, a low, sustained rumble of sound rolling through its solid frame. Tony stared at it. "Is this... Is this a growl or a purr?"Jarvis poked his head out of the closet. "A purr, sir," he said, before disappearing again."Are we basing this on experience, or are we simply guessing?" Tony asked him. He cut off a corner of his egg and put it on his saucer, setting it on the bed in front of the cat. That seemed to appease it, and it settled down in a pile of fur to consume his offering. "This is going to kill me in my sleep, isn't it?""The cat spent the night with our young guest, and he seems quite healthy," Jarvis said, striding out of the closet, a neatly pressed suit draped over his arms. He spread it over the end of the bed, his hands careful. "What do you think?" Jarvis asked DJ. DJ clambered up to his knees, considering the suit. He looked up and gave Jarvis a firm nod. Jarvis's face relaxed into a slight, gentle smile. "I agree. It is one of my favorites.""Do I get a vote?" Tony asked."I do apologize, sir, but you've already waived your right to a say in the situation," Jarvis said. "Do finish your breakfast. And don't talk with your mouth full, it's uncouth.”"I ate an egg, what more do you want from me?" Tony muttered into his cup. "For me, that's far better than average. I'm awake. I've consumed actual food. I'm having a conversation with the child. I haven't screamed or kicked the cat."Jarvis studied him, his eyebrows arched. "For you, that is exceptional.""This is what I'm saying," Tony said, considering his fruit salad as DJ stole one of his sugar cubes. "I'm thinking you didn't feed anyone in this household other than me, Jarvis.""It has been a difficult morning, sir," Jarvis told him, opening the door to the bathroom. “I shall ready your shaving kit.”DJ reached out, his small fingers sneaking a crisp piece of bacon from the edge of Tony's plate. Tony watched, his heart sinking, as DJ tucked the bacon into a napkin in his lap, folding the fabric tightly around his prize."Hey," Tony said. He picked up a piece of toast, holding it out to DJ. "Don't do that." He managed a smile. "There's always going to be food, okay? You can-" He stopped, taking a deep breath. "You don't have to do that."DJ took the toast, taking a delicate bite from the crust. He smiled at Tony over the edge of the toast, and Tony smiled back. "Is it good?" Tony asked, leaning back into the pillows. "Jarvis, did you make the toast?""I may have had a hand in your breakfast, yes," Jarvis said, his voice echoing out of the bathroom. "Jarvis makes the best toast," Tony told DJ. “It's the cinnamon butter.”"We all have our specialties, it is true," Jarvis said. He emerged from the bathroom. "Will you be needing me to run your bath, sir?"Tony took a deep breath. "Did you enjoy destroying your clock?" he asked DJ. DJ nodded, both hands cradling the toast now. Tony smiled at him. "Good. I think I'm going to need your help for a slightly larger project this morning."*“Ah!” Jarvis stepped back, waving Steve through the door. “Good day, Officer Rogers. To what do we owe the pleasure?”Steve doffed his cap, tucking it under his arm. “Good day, Mr. Jarvis. I have the report on last night's incident.” He shifted his weight. “Miss Potts requested it?”"Ah. I see." Jarvis shut the door, his eyes skimming over the small, battered satchel in Steve's hand. “May I take your things, sir, or should you prefer to keep them with you?”“Thank you, Mr. Jarvis.” Steve handed over his hat, and considered the bag. “Is Miss Potts available?”“I'm afraid she had a meeting this morning,” Jarvis said. There was a faint smile hovering around the corners of his mouth. He held out a hand. “But I'm sure that Mr. Stark will be pleased to hear what you've discovered.”Steve retrieved the file from his bag. “Does Mr. Stark know that Miss Potts made the request?” he asked.“I suspect he does not.” Jarvis took Steve's bag. “However, she has been his assistant for many years now. He is seldom surprised by her actions at this point.” He smiled. “He might not always approve, but he acknowledges that she has a better grasp on certain situations than he might.”Steve nodded. “What 'situations' would those be?”“Just about anything involving his health or safety,” Jarvis said, his voice brisk. He paused, just long enough to be noticeable, just long enough for Steve to wonder why, and then he turned on his heel. "This way, please."Steve fell into step behind him, still a bit unnerved by the sound of his footsteps echoing in the cavernous great hall. "I can just leave it with you," he offered, because it was worth a try. "I'm sure Mr. Stark is busy.""Mr. Stark is always busy," Jarvis said, glancing back over his shoulder in Steve's direction. There was a glint in his eye, something bright and amused. "But he benefits from the occasional interruption." Somewhere above them, someone started hammering, the clatter of metal on metal echoing through the great hall. Steve's head came up. “Repairs?”“The household is in a bit of an uproar this morning,” Jarvis said. “Which is not unusual, but-” He glanced at Steve. “Last night's events may have contributed to the current state of affairs.”Steve nodded. “Jarvis? Is he all right?”“He is quite well, and it is very kind of you to inquire,” Jarvis said. He lead the way up the stairs, around the hall. The hammering got louder as they got closer, and Steve wondered what kind of repairs they were making. A single gunman shouldn't have been able to do that much damage, not if he'd been captured as quickly as they'd reported.Jarvis paused at a door, shifting Steve's hat and bag into one hand. “Here we are, Officer.” He pushed it open, waving Steve into the room.Inside, there was a workman standing on top of the billiard table, his back to the door, his head tilted up to study the damaged light fixture above him.=. A heavy drop cloth had been tossed over the tabletop, but Steve still flinched as the man moved, his worn boots bunching the cloth with each step. His pants were stained with grease, a long sleeved shirt tied around his narrow waist. His white undershirt clung to the lines of his back, the sleek muscles of his shoulders and arms on full display. As Steve watched, caught off guard, the workman propped one gloved hand on his hip, his other pushing his dark hair back.Jarvis cleared his throat, and Steve realized he was staring, something uncomfortably like lust curling low in his stomach. Jarvis shut the door. "Sir, you have a guest."The workman turned around, and Tony Stark glanced over his shoulder at them. Steve stared up at him, suddenly achingly aware of how hard his heart was pounding. Stark grinned at him, and there was a streak of grease along one of his cheekbones, plaster dust sprinkled in his black hair. "So I do." He stripped off his gloves, tucking them into his pocket before he hopped down off the table, the motion smooth and easy. "Good afternoon, Officer Rogers."Steve's mouth worked for a painfully long time before he managed to form words. "How can I help you?"Stark's head tipped to the side, one eyebrow arching. "I do believe that's my line," he said, his lips twitching up on one side. He pushed his hair back from his forehead, his fingers tangling in the strands. "In that I don't know why you're here?"Behind him, Jarvis cleared his throat. "Officer Rogers brought you the file on the most recent attack," he said, his voice crisp, and Steve snapped back to reality with painful suddenness."Yes. I-" He fumbled for the file folder, managing to get a solid grip on it at last. He held it out to Stark. "Yes. The commissioner-" He stopped, and tried again. “The commissioner reviewed everything personally.”Stark took it, his fingertips dirty against the crisp paper. "Wonderful," he said, his voice cutting. He leaned back against the billiard table, his hips canted forward as he flipped through the pages. "I don't suppose he had anything useful to say?""He seldom does," Steve said, the words out of his mouth before he even knew they were there. Stark's head snapped up, his eyebrows arching, and Steve felt his face heat. "I mean-"Stark grinned at him. "You meant what you said, my God, you really have no filter, do you?" But he was still smiling when he went back to the file. "And I meant, did the man you arrested have anything useful to say?""Oh." Steve shook his head. "No. He gave a statement, but it seemed-” He paused, trying to find a diplomatic way to put this, and Stark glanced up. “Scripted?” he asked.Steve frowned at him. “Yes,” he said, drawing the word out. “Mr. Stark, are you-”"Right. So this was a waste of everyone's time.” He flipped through the pages to the back of the file. "But I appreciate the update."Steve frowned at him. "Mr. Stark, what do you know that you're not telling us?”“Any number of things,” Stark said, his voice flippant. He pulled the sealed envelope from the file, tossing the rest of the paperwork down on the table. “What's this?” he asked, turning it over in his hands. “My orders,” Steve said, staring straight ahead.Stark glanced up at him, his eyebrows arched. “And I'm getting them, why?” he asked, even as he ripped the envelope open. “Because Miss Potts requested a police guard,” Steve said.Stark frowned down at the page. “Miss Potts is out of her mind,” he said. “I don't need a guard.” He looked up. “I don't need a guard.”“Someone tried to shoot you, Mr. Stark,” Steve said. “And what do you intend to do about it?” Stark asked him. “Throw yourself in front of the bullet?” He tossed the letter onto the pile, and turned back around, his hands on his hips, staring up at the ceiling. The massive lighting fixture had been halfway removed, chunks of the metal frame and wires trailing down towards the table. “I don't have time for this foolishness. Jarvis, where is-”“She had a meeting this morning,” Jarvis said. “As of yet, she has not returned.”“How convenient.” Stark scrubbed a hand over his face. “This is-” He stopped, taking a deep breath. “Right.” He turned back around. “Where is my-”“DJ is down with Mrs. Parker, having lunch,” Jarvis said. “Your plans are beneath the table. Your gloves are in your back pocket.”Stark stared at him, his mouth a thin line. “I wasn't going to ask about any of that,” he said.“My apologies, sir,” Jarvis said, and Steve had to bite the inside of his mouth to keep from laughing. “What were you going to ask about?”“Never mind,” Stark said. “Of course, sir.”Stark gave him a look, then leaned over to grab the large roll of paper. Muttering to himself, he spread it out over a nearby table, spreading them out as far as he could. Without thinking, Steve picked up a pool cue from the rack, using it to weigh down one end of the plans. Stark tossed back the rest of the coffee before using the empty cup to brace the other end. “Thank you,” he mumbled, already distracted. “Jarvis, can you hand me the-” His hand fumbled in mid-air, grabbing for something that wasn't there. “The- The thing.”Jarvis was already moving, lifting one of the long lengths of wrought iron that were leaning against the wall next to the door. "Yes, sir.""Not that one, I need-" Stark started, and Jarvis flipped the rod around, balancing it on his gloved palms. Tony glared at him. "Not that one.""Of course, sir," Jarvis said. He didn't move.Stark took it from him. "It's not this one.""Of course, sir," Jarvis repeated. He gave Stark a slight smile as he collected Steve's bag and hat from the table. “Will there be anything else, sir?”“You're fired,” Stark muttered, turning back to the light fixture, the rod thrown easily over his shoulder. Jarvis nodded. “Of course, sir. I'll depart as soon as you've had your dinner. And your bath. And your-”“Lying is beneath you, Jarvis.”Smiling, Steve looked away. Desperate for something to focus on that wasn't the domestic squabble, his gaze caught on the plans Stark had spread out over the table. He stared down at the papers, his smile melting away. He flicked the top one up, and comparing it to the one below it. His eyes narrowed. "Huh."He didn't realized he'd made a sound until Jarvis moved up next to him. "Is there a problem, sir?" he asked."No, not a problem, it's-" Steve braced his hand on the edge of the table. "There's an error.""Really?"Steve's head tipped to the side. "I-" His fingers twitched, and he let the page fall back into place. "Nothing major. A change in the scale, looks like the draftsman made a mistake when he picked up his work again after a break, or maybe on the next day. You've already-"Steve looked up and found Stark standing directly across the table from him, his expression unreadable. "I already caught it and I'm compensating for it," Stark said. His head tipped to the side. "But then again, I'm used to catching mathematical errors."Stark's eyes were brilliant, a gleaming, golden brown, like sunlight through a bottle of aged scotch, and just as intoxicating. Steve felt his face heat, and straightened up, his shoulders going back. "My apologies," he said, his voice tight. "I shouldn't have-" "How did you catch it?"Steve blinked. "I'm sorry, I didn't-"Stark's eyes flicked up towards the ceiling, an eyeroll without any of the effort. "I don't care," he said, cutting Steve off without a qualm. "Unless you're planning on selling the plans for my light fixture to my neighbors, I don't see how it really impacts anything that you looked at a stack of paper that I left out in the middle of a room in plain view of anyone who passed by." He leaned forward, his dusty fingers spread across the surface of the table. "But honestly, I didn't expect anyone who could actually-" He stopped. "You can read these. Well enough to catch a drafting error."He seemed to be waiting for a response, so Steve nodded. "Yes, Mr. Stark."Stark straightened up. "Huh."Steve's chin came up. "Is that a problem, Mr. Stark?""Not a problem. Just unexpected." He rocked back on his heels, his arms crossed over his chest. Even when he was still, he gave the impression of being in motion. Like there was some sort of energy churning in him that was barely under control. "I wasn't aware that drafting was a skill taught by the police force.""It isn't," Steve said. And he was tempted to leave it at that, but somehow, he doubted that Stark would be persuaded to let it drop. "I went to art school. Drafting might not be particularly exciting, but it's steady work."Stark's eyebrows arched. "You... Went to art school?" he asked at last.Steve struggled to keep a straight face. "I did," he said, his voice grave. And because Stark was still staring at him, his expression incredulous, Steve added, "Before the war.""Ah." Stark's mouth twitched, something almost like a smile, but gone before it was fully formed. "The war changed things.""The war changed a lot of things," Steve agreed. "Which is why I am here to provide a police detail, not fix-" He waved a hand towards the plans. "Other things."Stark studied him, his eyes narrowed. Finally, he nodded, his chin dropping in a sharp nod. "Fine," he said. He ducked his head, pulling his gloves back on. "Never let it be said that I didn't humor Miss Potts' horrible ideas." He turned back to the billiard table, staring up at the damaged light fixture. "Jarvis, find him a room.""Of course, sir," Jarvis said. He glanced at Steve, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "If you'll follow me, Officer Rogers, I'll show you to a guest room."Steve was already shaking his head. "No, that's..." He shifted his weight. "I'm not a guest, sir.""Right." Stark reached for his plans. "So. That being said, what's your play?"Steve paused. "Mr. Stark?"Stark's head came up, those remarkable eyes sharp beneath the hard line of his black brows. "If you're refusing my offer, my very generous offer, might I add, of a room, then what is your plan?" His eyebrows arched. "Will you be propping yourself up in my front hall? Sleeping down at the trolley stop? Setting up a bivouac on my front lawn?"Steve considered telling him, in no uncertain terms, what he could do with his very generous offer. Instead, he took a deep breath. "Mr. Stark, I don't think-""Because I think that the last option will encourage vagrants, and as much as I've always wanted my own personal Hooverville, I'm going to have to decline.""Right," Steve said, the word forced from between gritted teeth. "Mr. Stark-""If I may, sir," Jarvis said, the words cutting smoothly through whatever Steve was about to say, and that was probably for the best. "No, you may not," Stark said, waving a hand through the air. "But you're going to.""Of course, sir," Jarvis said. "Officer Rogers, there is a small room just next to the one where we've put young DJ. As that was once the nursery, there is a connecting room, designed to be occupied by the nanny. While it is a very nice room, it is not a guest room." He paused. "Mrs. Parker and I have already tidied it, with the idea of one of us occupying it, in case our young guest needed reassurance during the night."He gave Steve a faint, warm smile. "We could, of course, make up a room for you in the servant's quarters. However, that would not be available to occupy immediately, there is a great deal of cleaning and moving of furniture that would be required before that would-""You should just give in," Stark said. He hopped back up onto the billiard table, the muscles of his shoulders flexing as he heaved himself up onto the top. "He missed his calling. A man this good at dishing out sustained guilt would've been perfectly suited to being a Catholic priest.""Protestants just don't have the same flair, it's true," Jarvis mused. He smiled at Steve, and there was a hook there now, in the kindly warmth of his smile, in the sparkle that lurked in his eyes. "I shall be happy to begin making up a room in the servants quarters, if you'd truly be more comfortable there?"Behind Jarvis's back, Stark turned around, his expression amused. "He would," he said. "Be happy. To do all that additional work. Moving furniture. Scrubbing floors and walls and ceilings. Airing out all the linens. Hanging new-"Jarvis's eyes flicked upwards. "Sir, really, you're exaggerating.""Waxing the floor," Stark continued, his hands braced on his narrow hips. His head tipped back, the long curve of his neck freckled with plaster dust. "Building chairs from scratch. Weaving a rug-"Jarvis's lips twitched. "Sir. Really.""Did you know he can blow glass?" Stark asked Steve, who didn't know if he should laugh or throw something directly at his head. "Do you want some new windows? He can-""I'll take the room," Steve said, mostly to make the confusing wave of words stop. He held up a hand. "Thank you, I'll..." He gave Jarvis a hopeless look. "Whatever is easiest for you, Mr. Jarvis."Jarvis blinked at him. "With all due respect, Officer, I prefer to focus on whatever is most comfortable for you. After all-""You've already broken him, Jarvis," Stark said. "You can ease back a bit on the throttle." He turned back to his work, dismissing them both without a word. Steve stared up at him, trying his best not to notice the sleek, strong lines of his arms and back. "Mr. Stark, I'd like to take a look at the crime scene."Stark stopped, casting a glance back over his shoulder in Steve's direction. “Your men have already been up there.”“I'm aware,” Steve said.“Do you think they missed something?” Stark asked, and it wasn't as sarcastic or cutting as Steve expected it to be. Just mildly curious.“I think that it was late,” Steve said, choosing his words carefully. “And I'm sure you just wanted to get to bed. After all, you caught the perpetrator, and it was late.”“I wanted everyone out of my house, is a bit closer to the truth,” Stark said. For a moment, he was silent, the toe of one boot bouncing against the top of the billiard table. Finally, he nodded. “Fine. Poke around to your heart's content, Officer. Any locked doors, I expect you to respect, but other than that-” He waved a hand through the air. “Just stay out of the way.” Steve nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Stark.”Stark waved him off. “Jarvis, as soon as Miss Potts gets home, do let her know that I'd like to speak to her, will you?”Jarvis inclined his head. “Of course, sir.”“Thank you.” Stark leaned over, his hands braced on his hips. “Where's my crowbar?”“DJ has it,” Jarvis said. “It's bigger than him,” Stark said.“A fact which serves only to be a slight annoyance to the young man. He's quite determined. Very admirable.” To Steve, he said. “Come along, Officer. I'll show you to your room.”Steve followed him out into the hall, doing his best to ignore the crashing sound behind them. “Huh,” he said. Jarvis glanced at him, his expression inquisitive. Steve shook his head. “Sorry, I just-”He looked back at the billiard room. “I wasn't expecting him to say thank you.”Jarvis smiled. “Occasionally, he is a credit to his upbringing. This way, please.”*"What do you think?""I think he's trouble. Think I told you that already." Clint heaved a bundle of linens into the cart. "In fact, I'm certain I told you that already." Natasha braced a hand on the top of the wall that surrounded the laundry yard. "It's possible. You say a lot of things." She stared down at the lawn, where the cop was working his way around the exterior of the house. "I don't pay much attention, to be honest." "Well, then, why do you ask?" Clint asked, bouncing up the stairs behind her. He squinted across the yard, watching the cop work his way around the edge of the house. He shook his head. "What is he doing?"“Looking for crimes?” Natasha said, one shoulder rising and falling in a shrug. She hopped up, one hip braced on the top of the wall, her legs crossed at the ankles. “I mean, there's no shortage of those around.”“Yeah, but most of them are beneficial,” Clint pointed out. He folded his arms on the wall, leaning into them. “And most of them, we don't want the police involved.”“Yes, how odd that the police don't ask us if we want them to investigate our crimes,” Natasha mused.“Yeah, it's fucking rude,” Clint said.“What is he doing?”Natasha glanced over her shoulder. “Are you eating jam straight from the jar?” she asked, mildly amused.Bobbi shrugged, the spoon still tucked between her lips. “Finding bread seemed like too much trouble.” She set the jar down on the top of the wall and boosted herself up to sit next to Natasha, her long legs dangling down the other side. “What is he doing?” she repeated, digging the spoon back into the jar.“Snooping,” Clint said. He opened his mouth.“Huh.” Bobbi ate another spoonful of preserves. “Jarvis and Mrs. P are making up the room next to the nursery.” She looked at Natasha. “Jarvis says he's staying.”“Interesting,” Natasha said. Clint made a sad noise and pointed at his still open mouth. Natasha struggled against a smile. “Feed the baby bird, will you?”Bobbi gave Clint a look. “I don't see why I should, get your own jar,” she said, but she tucked the spoon between his lips anyway.“Thank you,” he mumbled, wiping away the last of the jam from his lips with a swipe of his thumb. “What the hell would make Stark agree to that?”“I love how you think that Tony is in charge of anything here,” Bobbi said, tapping him on the tip of his nose with the spoon.“This one got close,” Natasha said. Her fingers flexed in her lap, and she forced them to be still. “Closer than he should have. Pepper is...” She scowled down at the officer, who was now walking along the path towards the garden, his head swiveling from side to side, down at the path and then back up, looking at the house. “Displeased.”“She's not the only one,” Bobbi said. She gave the spoon a lick. “Rhodes was mad enough to spit bullets last night.”Clint dipped a finger in the jam jar, ignoring Bobbi's attempts to fend him off. “Still. They've been mad for months. Hasn't changed a thing about how the boss has been handling it.”“What is he doing?”Natasha looked down. Bruce was hovering at the base of the wall, his shoulders almost up against the stone. He peered around a neatly trimmed bush, and backed up a little further, trying to stay out of sight. He glanced up at Natasha and Bobbi. “What, what is he doing?” he repeated, his voice tense.“Snooping,” Bobbi said. She pulled one leg up, bracing her arm on her knee. “With the boss' permission, it seems.”“You're kidding.” Bruce blinked up at them, his eyes wide behind the lenses of his glasses. “What-” His voice trailed away. “Why?”“We're assuming it has something to do with the assassination attempts,” Natasha mused. “It might be that,” Clint said, grinning. He took the jam from Bobbi. “Also, he's gotta replace us.”“Everyone got fired again, huh?” Bobbi asked with a grin.“Third time this week,” Natasha said. She took the spoon away from Clint. “It's started to lose its sting.”“I didn't get fired,” Bobbi pointed out.“You, uh, you slept through the whole thing,” Bruce said.“I was doing SCIENCE,” she told him, her nose in the air. “You were asleep under the greenhouse tables,” Natasha said. “You're lucky I didn't turn on the sprinkler system.“Someone had to be the cavalry,” Bobbi said, unconcerned. “And I didn't get fired, so apparently I made the right choice.”“Are you eating jam directly from the jar?” Bruce asked Clint.“She started it,” Clint said, pointing at Bobbi, who grinned.“I absolutely did, and you drank half a cup of soap yesterday.”“Not on purpose,” Bruce said. He adjusted his glasses on his nose. “This could be a problem. We, we know that right?”“We're trying to ignore that,” Clint told him.“What's he doing now?” Happy's head poked out of the kitchen door. “Is he still out there?”“He's still out there,” Natasha told him. “Going over the grounds with a fine tooth comb.”“He's trouble, mark my words,” Happy said. He wandered over to stand next to Clint. “Hey, jam.”“Get your own jar,” Clint said, but he handed it over anyway. “And yeah. He seems dedicated. To what, who knows? But something.”Happy nodded. “Question we should be asking is, where was he last night?” he asked, shoveling a spoonful of jam into his mouth. “Cause he said he was out, covering for someone else on the beat, but he wasn't.”Natasha frowned at him. “How do you know that?”Happy shrugged. “Look, I know a man who's been places he shouldn't be, doing things he shouldn't be doing,” he said. “See it often enough around here. And I saw it last night. Where ever he was, he wasn't on the clock, and he was lying about it for a reason.”Natasha nodded. “Now, isn't that interesting.”“Uh, have we considered what we're going to do if this one is, uh, you know...” Bruce paused, then looked up at them. “Competent?”Down at the edge of the garden, the cop was crouched at the gate, his fingers smoothing over the wall. Natasha watched as he rubbed his fingers together, his head coming up. She looked at Clint, who shrugged, taking the jam back from Happy. “Keep him out of the greenhouse,” he said, tipping the jar back, pouring the last of the jam into his mouth. “At all costs.”Natasha looked up, and realized that the cop was staring right at them, his eyes narrowed against the afternoon sunlight. She nodded. “I think it's time to tell Coulson.”*“You always take me to the best places.”Tony grinned down at Pepper, even as he swung her in a wide, wild circle. She spun out and came back in, one long copper curl having worked its way free of her careful coif to bounce against her cheek. She was flushed and laughing, her blue eyes bright. “How do you find these remarkable little gems, Mr. Stark?”“I keep my finger on the pulse of this great city,” Tony said, his voice arch. They moved in perfect tandem, their feet coming perilously close to one another with every step. “All the best places, frequented by all the best people.”“That explains so much.” Pepper sidestepped a workbench, and Tony's hands closed on her waist, lifting her up and over a spare piece of equipment before setting her feet back on the workshop floor. “I thought you just followed the music.”“Picking the loudest room in the house is helpful,” Tony mused, swinging Pepper into an intricate step. “And our new bandleader likes a driving baseline.”“He does, doesn't he?” Pepper fell backwards, and Tony caught her, amused as always by her easy trust. “I rather like his choices.”Behind them, Rhodey had DJ on his shoulders, his big hands locked on DJ's small ones. DJ was howling with laughter, his heels digging into Rhodey's chest, his body canted forward to lean against the back of Rhodey's head. Despite that, Rhodey was laughing, too, spinning in circles until DJ was tipped to the side like a drunk who couldn't find his balance.“Tell him no more Chick Webb,” Tony called to Rhodey, even as he set Pepper back on her feet. “My heart can't take it.”“If you can't keep up, take a seat and let a more talented dancer have the floor,” Rhodey shot back. He executed a beautiful step, spinning in place as DJ spread his arms out like wings. “And if you can get him to put a Louis Armstrong album on, all the more power to you.”Laughing, Tony wrapped an arm around Pepper's waist, lifting her up and off the floor. “A slow tune might not be the worst thing,” he pointed out, just as the door to the workshop opened."Sir, you have company," Jarvis announced, his voice brisk. Rogers slipped through, an expression of surprise washing over his face.Tony didn't even slow down. Even if he'd wanted to, trying to stop Pepper mid-way through a song was dangerous, if not impossible. "Good afternoon, officer!" he said, his voice pitched to be heard above the rollicking beat of the music. "Are you done with your investigation?”Rogers hovered in the doorway, as if he wasn't sure if he should risk stepping over the line that separated the grand, well ordered, almost staid house from this loud, chaotic space. "Am I interrupting?" he asked at last."You are," Tony said, with a grin. "So..." He spun Pepper out, her hand still cradled in his. “Talk fast or take a seat, Officer.”The song reached a rising crescendo, and Rhodey swung DJ down to the ground. “Pick one with a red label this time,” he said with a grin, and DJ was off like a shot, scrambling across the workshop to the record player.Tony leaned over, pressing a kiss to Pepper's knuckles. “I'm never dancing with you again,” he said, his breathing ragged. “You're a menace.”She smirked down at him, her eyes dancing. “You say the sweetest things, Mr. Stark.” He straightened up. “That,” he said, his voice soft, his head tipping towards Rogers, who was staring at the room, his face curious, “is entirely your fault.”Pepper braced a hand on his chest. “I love you,” she whispered back. “And I will not let you be killed without a fight.”“I'm not going to be-”“No. You're not. Because we're going to do everything possible to make sure you're not,” Pepper said. She glanced back at Rogers. “At the very least, maybe he'll make someone think twice about trying again.”Tony shook his head. “I'm not-” he started, just as the music started up again, a bright, warm sweep of notes.Pepper grinned at him. “Switch partners!” she said, turning on her heel and heading straight into Rhodey's arms. Laughing, he took her hands, letting her drag him into a dance.“Hey, who's leading here?” he asked, and she smiled up at him.“If you want the lead, better take it, Mr. Rhodes.”“Good luck,” Tony called to him. “She's ruthless.”“Damn right,” Pepper called back, and, laughing, let Rhodey pull her into a spin.DJ came scrambling across the floor, ducking around them, and Tony moved to intercept. Jarvis got there first, catching DJ's hands, then lifted him straight up and off the ground. Laughing, DJ kicked at the air, coming down with his feet next to Jarvis's. "Set your toes on mine," Jarvis instructed. "I taught Master Stark to dance when he was not much bigger than you, I shall teach you as well." Grinning, DJ braced his feet on Jarvis', and Jarvis started to shuffle, from side to side, then front to back, ignoring the way DJ's feet scuffed the immaculate polish of his black shoes. "And... One, two, three, one, two three, one, two, three!" DJ stared down at his feet, then up at Jarvis. "One, two, three," he echoed, his body swaying in time with the precision of the beat.Tony leaned back against the workbench, reaching for his coffee cup. "Jarvis, this is not a fox trot. You know that this is not a fox trot, don't you?""A solid grounding in the basics is necessary for any real comfort with any sort of dance," Jarvis said, smiling down at DJ. "We shall start at the beginning.""You're making him fox trot to a song that is not-""Sir, if you have nothing useful to add to this educational process, perhaps it would be best if you focused on your own situation rather than ours," Jarvis said, his voice calm.Tony grinned into his cup. "Well, never let it be said that I interrupted the educational process," he said.“Mr. Stark?”Tony's eyes slid towards Rogers, one eyebrow arching. “Mmm?” he managed, not bothering to lower his cup.Rogers scowled at him. “I have some questions for you, if you have a moment?”Tony bit back a smile. Rogers was trying so hard for polite subservience, and failing so miserably. It wasn't nice, and it wasn't smart, but something about his frustration and disapproval just brought out the worst in Tony. The grouchier he got, the harder it was for Tony not to pull his proverbial pigtails. Which was not making this situation any better, or easier, but when had Tony ever cared about making things easy for himself?“Sorry,” he said, his eyebrows arching. “This is swing time. Properly scheduled and very important to the smooth functioning of the household.” He reached out, patting Rogers lightly on the chest. “You understand, old sport.”Rogers looked down at Tony's hand, then back up at him. “Mr. Stark-”“Dance time!” Tony declared, waving him off. “And we've got half a record left so-”The hand appeared as if from no where, directly in front of him, palm up, fingers curved in the slightest of invitation. Tony blinked down at it, and then looked up, to find Rogers standing there, hand extended, an eyebrow arched. “Then shall we?”Tony stared at him. “Shall we what?” he asked at last, more to gain time and the upper hand than because he needed an answer.Rogers' other eyebrow rose. “Shall we dance?” he asked. His chin was up, his jaw a sharp line of defiance. “In that you don't have a partner, and I'd like some answers.” His head tipped to the side, and a lock of his hair slipped down over his forehead. “Unless you aren't capable of talking and dancing at the same time?”Tony resisted the almost overwhelming urge to reach up and smooth his hair back into place. He wondered if it felt as soft as it looked, and it was inappropriate, it was dangerous, but it was the least of what he'd caught himself wondering about Officer Rogers in the past few days.The smart thing to do would be to politely excuse himself. The expected thing to do would be to simply decline. The nice thing to do would be to stop teasing Rogers and just answer the damn questions. What Tony wanted to do was to grab the man by the collar and find out if his lips tasted as good as they looked.He split the difference, setting his hand in Rogers'. He had a moment to savor the expression of confusion and shock that slid over Rogers' face, and then he leaned in. “Officer?” he said, his voice a silken, husky purr. “When it's done right, your partner doesn't have the energy, the breath, or the spare brainpower to talk.”Rogers' face was red now, a flush spreading over the fine bridge of his nose and his high cheekbones, extending all the way to the tips of his ears. But he soldiered on anyway, and God, Tony was starting to appreciate the way he just kept charging forward, singleminded and ruthless to his goal.“This isn't the Savoy, Mr. Stark, and I'm a bit bigger than your usual partners,” Rogers said. But his fingers, warm and strong, wrapped around Tony's, pulling him in.“That's quite the assumption you're making,” Tony said, as the song's tempo changed, smoothing out into something a bit more relaxed and easy. Despite that, it took about five steps to realize the obvious. “You don't know how to dance, do you?" Tony asked, his tone musing.Rogers continued to move, stiff and more than a little awkward, his jaw set in a stubborn line. "I do all right for myself," he said, and it was such a transparent lie that Tony struggled not to laugh."You did not think this through at all, did you?" he asked, and the laughter was there, just beneath the surface, bubbling through every word. Rogers gave him a suspicious look, and Tony grinned at him. "You saw a way to call my bluff and you took it, and you did not really think that you'd have to do this, did you?""It's not usually this hard," Rogers said, so frustrated that Tony just ducked his head, biting his lip hard. "Are you laughing at me?""Perish the thought, Officer Rogers. I am merely wondering how you survived life in this city, let alone a war," Tony managed, his shoulders shaking. "Since your natural response to seeing a granade bounce across the landscape is apparently to think, 'well, I'll be damned if I let the other fella get to that before I do.'""It was ONE TIME," Rogers said, with a perfectly straight face, but there was a pronounced twinkle in his eye, and his feet were moving faster now, a little looser, a little more natural. As if he was relaxing into his own body, into the music. "And now you sound like Peter, and let me tell you, sounding like Peter?" Tony gave him a slight smile. "A bad idea.""Peter seems like a logical and level headed boy," Rogers said, and Tony burst out laughing."Oh, God, does he have you fooled," Tony said. He executed a complicated piece of footwork, not because it was necessary, or even a good match for the music, but just to stymie Rogers. To his surprise, Rogers followed him this time, his own steps a bit off beat and a bit forced, but just as game.“Not bad, flatfoot,” Tony said, and Rogers face relaxed, just for a second, a bright, boyish smile creasing his cheeks. It disappeared almost as quickly as it had appeared, but for some reason, it felt like a victory anyway.“You're easily impressed,” Rogers said. He met Tony's eyes, his gaze sharp. “I have some questions.”“So you said,” Tony said. He caught Rogers' hand, dragging him in until they were almost chest to chest. Tony canted his head up, giving Rogers a flirtatious look. “So. Ask.”Rogers' cheeks were pink, but his expression was almost amused. “There are three bullet holes in the walls of your office,” he said.“Are there?” Tony asked, his tone musing.“And another two that have been plastered over,” Rogers said.Tony shrugged. “And least one of those has been there since my father's time, and another two were Natasha.”Rogers blinked at him. “Natasha shot at you?”“She shot in my direction, it was more a distraction than an actual murder attempt.” Rogers stared at him, and Tony smiled. “Don't worry. She apologized.” He paused. “Well, no, she didn't, actually, but I'm sure she meant to.”Rogers' mouth opened, and closed. Tony could almost see him gather himself. “And the bomb damage down on the garden wall?”Tony stumbled, and Rogers' hand shot out, steadying him with a firm grip. For an instant, they were both still, a little too close, a little off balance. Tony pulled back, pulling his arm free from Rogers' fingers. “I don't know what you're talking about,” he said, his voice smooth and calm. “There was a little accident with a tiller a few years ago.” He took a step back, tucking his hands in his pockets. “Should've replaced the gate entirely, but it seemed like a waste.”Rogers smiled, just a little. “A lot of shrapnel damage for a tiller accident,” he said, his voice soft.Tony's fingers slid over the front of his shirt, digging into the fabric. He took a deep breath, trying to ignore the way his heartbeat was pounding in his ears. “Really? I wouldn't know,” he said, with a smile. “Now. If you'll excuse me. I'm afraid I have something I need to do before dinner.”He headed for the door, his pulse thudding in his ears. Behind him, Rogers said, “What am I going to find in the rest of the house, Mr. Stark?”Tony didn't have an answer for him. And he was starting to suspect that was going to be a problem.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
"I can just eat in the kitchen," Steve said. “I'm fine with that. And it seems like it'll be easier than-” He paused, then gestured at himself. “All this.”Jarvis frowned at him. "If you wish, sir," he said, still shifting through the hangers. He pulled out a sleek black jacket, his fingers brushing gently at the fabric. "It will make things difficult, however." He turned back to Steve. "After all, none of the staff can remain in the dining room while dinner is happening. With the current-” He stopped, his eyes darting towards DJ's room, then back to meet Steve's. “Problems, I'd hate to have Mr. Stark left alone."Steve stared at him. "I know you're playing me," he said at last.Jarvis blinked at him, his eyebrows arching. "Ah. Am I, sir?""You are," Steve said. It should not have been amusing, but somehow, it was. “Ah,” Jarvis repeated. He paused, his head tipped to the side. "Is it working?" "You know it is." Steve held out a hand. "Give me the jacket."Jarvis gave him a bright smile. "Arms up, please," he said, and before Steve knew what was happening, the jacket was being settled over his shoulders. Jarvis took a step back, his mouth pursed. "Hmmmm. Too tight across the back."“For something I'll be wearing one night and trying not to spill on?” Steve gave the sleeve a tug, trying to get it over his wrist, but it was a losing battle. "It's close enough.”"Sir," Jarvis said, his voice disapproving. "Fashion should never be reduced to 'close enough.'"Steve managed to get the jacket buttoned, ducking his head to hide his smile. "Jarvis, with me? 'Close enough' is about as fashionable as I'm likely to get.""Hrumph," Jarvis said, giving Steve a sharp look. Steve struggled against a smile. "It will do. For tonight.""What do you mean, for tonight?" Steve asked, but Jarvis was already heading for the door, several pieces of Steve's clothing draped over his arm. “Wait, where are you going with that, I'm not going to be-”“Of course you won't, sir, but for as long as you are here, we need to keep up appearances, and this needs laundering,” Jarvis said, his voice arch. He looked back. “A proper dinner jacket is less a sacrifice and more a statement.”“And what would that statement be?” Steve asked, as Jarvis “Ever evolving, sir, and might well be different tomorrow night.” Jarvis opened the connecting door, revealing DJ waiting on the other side. Jarvis smiled down at him. “A case in point.”DJ bounced across the room, scrambling up over a chair and the small desk, hopping from there to the heavy chest at the foot of Steve's bed. From there, he let himself fall forward, landing facedown on the bed. In the silence that followed, DJ giggled into the quilt. "Hi," Steve said, amused. "Do we have a problem with the floor?"DJ rolled over, blinking up at Steve. He then considered the floor for a long moment. Steve waited, his lips twitching, for him to come to a conclusion. Finally, DJ looked back up at him. "No," he stated."Wonderful." Steve reached out to ruffle his hair and felt the fabric of the jacket pull taut. He straightened up before he could split a seam. “Ready for dinner?”DJ's face lit up. “Yes.”“Yeah, me too.” Steve took a step back, pretending to consider DJ, who was dressed in a simple white shirt and dark pants, one of his suspenders sliding down his left arm. "Do you think maybe we should find you some shoes?" he asked.DJ immediately tried to tuck his bare feet out of sight under the blankets. "No.""Uh-huh," Steve said, scooping DJ up and setting him on the chest. "Well, then, want to help me polish mine?""I can do that, sir," Jarvis called from DJ's room, and Steve shook his head.“I think I can safely say that both DJ and I can shine a shoe,” Steve said. Jarvis reappeared, DJ's shoes in his hands. “If there's a kit somewhere, I can-”"STARK!"The single, shouted word boomed through the house, and Steve moved without thinking, lunging for his holster. "DJ, stay here, stay still, Jarvis, stay with him, I'll find out-"Jarvis reentered the room, his expression resigned. “It's quite all right, sir.” He set DJ's shoes down on the dressing table and headed for the hallway door. "He's all bark and no bite." Before Steve could stop him, he opened the door and leaned out. "Lord Odinson!” he called. “We've just replaced two of the windows, and I should prefer it if you do not make it necessary for us to replace any more."The burst of laughter echoed up from the great hall, loud and long, undercut by the pounding of feet on the stairs and along the hall at a rapid pace. "Jarvis, my friend! How cruel, I come here, and there is no one! What am I to think, other than you have left the house deserted?""Or, perhaps, that I had a job to do," Jarvis said, his voice wry. He stepped back into the bedroom just in time to get out of the way of their new guest.Steve looked up at him. It was a long way up.The man was huge, towering over Jarvis, and almost twice as wide at the shoulder. His blond hair was tied back at the name of his neck, leaving strands trailing over his forehead and around his face, and his beautifully tailored suit was just as disordered, the shirt open at the neck and the jacket unbuttoned. But he as grinning, wide and real, his eyes dancing. "Ah!" He clapped Jarvis on the shoulder. "My friend, how I've missed you and your wit."Jarvis staggered under the blow, but he was smiling as he straightened up. "So pleased to be of service, sir." He glanced at Steve. "Lord Odinson, may I present to you Officer Steve Rogers of the NYPD, and DJ, both of whom are our guests this week." He gestured in the direction of the new arrival. "Officer Rogers, Lord Thor Odinson of Norway.""Though your New York is much to my liking as of late," Odinson said, and before Rogers could realize what was happening, Odinson had grabbed his hand, his grip strong and solid without being painful. He grinned, his face open and full of warmth. "How do you do, my friend?"Steve found himself smiling back. "Well enough, my lord. You?"Odinson waved him off. "Call me Thor; truth be told, one of the best things of this city is not being 'my lorded.'" He slapped Steve on the shoulder, with so much force that Steve swayed on his feet. But his attention had already passed on. “And this must be the young one.”DJ's chin tipped up, his face curious, his legs drawn up against his chest. He leaned his chin on his knees. “Hello,” he said, the single word cautious and halting. But he met Thor's eyes without flinching, his toes digging into the quilt.Thor smiled, even as he crouched down next to the bed. “Hello, little prince,” he said. “I brought you a welcome gift.” He reached into the pocket of his jacket, coming up with a small, gleaming ball. It seemed to be made of metallic threads, each one catching the light as he rolled it across his massive palm. “A small thing, I know, but a common plaything from my home.”DJ looked at Steve, who smiled at him. “Thank you, Thor,” he said. “Deej, would you like to play with it?”DJ nodded, and Thor's face split in a grin. “Ah, I am most pleased that it meets with your approval.” With a flick of his wrist, he tossed it to DJ, who reached out, his fingers snatching it from mid-air. “My brother and I spent many a summer afternoon playing catch in the fields by our house.” He pushed himself to his feet. “It is one of my favorite memories.”“I played baseball down in the Parade Grounds, in Brooklyn,” Steve said, as DJ rolled the ball between his palms, flicking it up into the air and catching it. “Thank you, my lord. That was kind of you.”“Thor,” Thor repeated, slapping Steve on the back again. This time, Steve braced himself for it, managing to hold his ground. “Now, Jarvis, where is our host.”“Dressing for dinner, sir, as should we all,” Jarvis told him. “If you would head down to the sitting room, then we can-”"I'm here, I'm here.” Stark leaned into the bedroom, one hand braced on the doorframe. His hair was damp. Steve wasn't sure when his small bedroom had become public space, but he focused on trying to get his jacket buttoned. “Happy warned me that you had made it past the wall. Heads will roll, I assure you, but in the meantime, what are you doing here?”Thor scooped him off the ground in a bear hug, pinning Stark's arms to his sides, a laugh booming out of him. "My friend!" he said, as Stark's feet pedaled desperately in mid-air. "Why did I have to read about your new son in the newspapers? You could not have told me?”"My- What? No, it's not- Wait. And how could I have done that?” Stark wrenched a hand free and gave a shove at Thor's shoulder. “Dear God, put me down, you great lummox, I shall not be manhandled in my own house.”“Yes, we save the manhandling for the grounds,” Jarvis said, utterly deadpan. He collected DJ's shoes, dusting them off with a flick of his fingers. “Or preferably off property.”Laughing, Thor set Stark back on his feet. “There, there, no harm done,” he said, taking a step back. “And you ought to have contacted me. Important things, you ought to have told me.”“Again.” Stark tugged his vest back into place, putting himself back into something approaching order with a couple of quick, easy gestures. “Last time I asked you how I might reach you, you pointed at the window and told me to yell my news at a passing bird.”Thor frowned at him. “That would not work, not just any bird,” he said. He sounded deeply disapproving. “It is very important-”“I refuse to talk to any birds, no matter what you-”“Miss Van Dyne,” Jarvis announced from the door. “So here's where the party is.” The small, slim woman whipped her wrap off of her shoulders, handing it to Jarvis and brushing a kiss against his cheek at the same time. “Jarvis, darling, should I really be here?” She pressed a hand to her chest, her eyes wide in mock shock. “A bedroom full of eligible men. It's all just so shocking.”“It's all right, there's an officer of the law here,” Stark said, hooking a thumb in Steve's direction. “Officer Rogers, Miss Van Dyne, one of our dinner companions for the evening.” Miss Van Dyne followed the gesture to meet Steve's eyes and all trace of humor died a rapid death. She stared at Steve, stone faced and disapproving. Steve gave a quick nod, his jaw tight. “Ma'am.”She took a deep breath, her shoulders drawing up with the force of it. “That jacket!” It came out in a wail, sharp and pained, and Steve recoiled, rocking back a step. She turned to Jarvis. “How COULD you?”He gave a slight, resigned nod. “It was the best we had, Miss Van Dyne.”Steve looked down at himself, nonplussed. Stark tipped his head to the side. “I think it's quite nice. You know. For a loaner.” He tapped a finger against his lips, his eyes locked on Steve. Steve shifted his weight, embarrassed, and Stark nodded. “A bit tight, but many a man would do the same if he had shoulders like that.”“Anthony Edward Stark, you do this to hurt me,” Miss Van Dyne said, stalking across the room. “I wasn't even here,” Stark told her, his hands spread wide. “And despite what you might think, Janet, things happen that have nothing at all to do with you.”“Lies. Lies and slander, I am the center of your world.” She stopped in front of Steve, holding up an imperious hand. “Off with it.”Steve took another step back, confusion sweeping over him. “Ma'am-”“Don't you 'ma'am' me, if you take a deep breath, every seam in that thing is going to split wide open, and while that might be amusing to watch, I couldn't possibly bear to see such a nice piece of clothing so abused,” she said, her fingers wiggling in front of him. “Off. With it.”Not sure how he'd gotten to this point in his life, Steve decided that giving up the jacket, which he'd never wanted to begin with, was the safest course of action. He wriggled free of it, trying to ignore the pained sounds she made. “It fit well enough,” he said, handing it over.She took it from him. “It might as well have been a second skin and that shirt's not much better,” she said, frowning at his chest. “Jarvis!”“I work with what I have, and what I have has been severely deficient as of late, since you have refused to continue outfitting the house,” Jarvis told her. He caught DJ under the arms, lifting him up onto the chest at the foot of the bed. He put DJ's shoes in his lap. “Your feet will be cold if you don't have shoes, young sir.”DJ shook his head. “Won't,” he said, his voice hopeful.“Shoes are not to be trusted,” Thor said. He was lying on the bed now, his hands folded behind his head. “Foul things. The boy shows sense.”“Please don't encourage him,” Steve said, because DJ, sensing an ally, scrambled across the bed to sit next to Thor. “Going barefoot should be a last resort, not a primary plan.”“Give them here,” Thor said, holding out a hand. “I'll dispose of them.”“Who invited you?” Stark asked him, as DJ happily handed over the shoes. “In all seriousness, how did you-”“I have come to meet your son, and he is as delightful a child as one could imagine,” Thor said. He held the shoes over his head, frowning at them. “These are horrible.”“Perhaps a pair of house slippers?” Miss Van Dyne said, peering at the seams of Steve's borrowed jacket. She made a disappointed noise. “There's not enough to here for me to let out.”“You're not letting out a jacket right now, we're twenty minutes from dinner,” Stark told her. “And Obie's coming, so we're starting on time or I'll never hear the end of it.”“Jarvis, do you have a needle and thread and some shears?” Miss Van Dyne asked, ignoring him with a great deal of aplomb.“No, Jan,” Stark said, picking up DJ's ball off of the floor and tossing it back to him.“Here, you can wear mine,” Thor said. He sat up, and started to shrug out of the jacket.Steve held up his hands, trying to fend him off. “No, please, it's-”“That might work,” Miss Van Dyne said. She tossed Steve's jacket towards the dressing table with careless disdain.. “The vest will work for you and-”“I'd say I've lost control of this situation,” Stark said to Jarvis, “but that would imply that I'd ever had control of the situation.”“It is always for the best to acknowledge your limitations, sir,” Jarvis said. “Are we expecting anyone else for dinner?”“We were barely expecting these people for dinner,” Stark told him. “We were expecting roughly half of these people.”“I shall ask Chef to see what can be done to stretch the soup,” Jarvis said.“You're a good man, Jarvis,” Stark said, amusement twitching the corners of his lips. He looked at Steve, one eyebrow arched. “She will not give up, just put the jacket on.”Steve considered fighting it. But just like Stark, he figured that the best thing he could do was just give in. It was undignified, but so was running full tilt away from a woman half his size. He slipped into Thor's jacket. It was too big in the shoulders and loose at the waist, but it came far closer to fitting than he'd thought it would.“It does you credit,” Thor said, leaning back on his elbows. “It'll do,” Miss Van Dyne said, her little pointed chin in the air. “Better than that trash.”Stark looked at the discarded jacket. “Isn't that one of yours?” he asked, his hands in his pockets."How dare you. You'll be hearing from my lawyer, Mr. Stark. Now. Let me see-" She flipped up the hem of Steve's jacket, ducking under it, and Steve froze, his whole body going tense. She tugged at the material, one hand sliding up the length of his spine, her tiny hand firm through the thin fabric of his shirt. She frowned up at him. "Relax, you're ruining the lines."“Uh-” Steve managed."A woman he's never met just came crashing into his bedroom, demanded that he take off his clothes, and is now manhandling him. You're lucky he's not running screaming into the night," Stark said. "Jan. Give the man some space, he didn't hire you as his tailor."She took a step back, her head tipped up in Steve's direction. "I'm sorry, darling," she said, and Steve felt his face heat. She rested a hand on his chest. "Am I making you uncomfortable?"Steve swallowed. "I can just eat in the kitchen, ma'am.""Nonsense!" She threw a hand in the air. "Jarvis! Come-" She stopped, her head swinging from one side of the room to the other. She propped her hands on her narrow hips. "Where is Jarvis?""If I had to guess, I'd say he's downstairs. Handling dinner preparations for eight," Stark said, his voice sardonic. She blinked at him. "I need him."Stark grinned, his face relaxed and amused. "Yes, well, I am sorry, but he's got a job to do if you'd like to eat.""Fine." She flounced over to the bed, tossing herself down to sit next to Thor. "You fix it."Stark stared at her. "Excuse me?"She waved a hand at Steve. "You know how to pin a jacket, go ahead and-""No," he said, cutting her off. She pouted in his general direction, and Stark rolled his eyes. "I know that you think all men are weak to your charms, but I am not going to fall for that, so just-”"Yes, you are, so fix the line of that coat or you shall never hear the end of it," she said, as DJ held his ball up to her. She smiled down at him. "Oh, that's lovely! Did Thor bring you candy as well?""Not before dinner," Thor said, grinning.Miss Van Dyne leaned in. "That means he HAS candy," she explained in a stage whisper. "And as soon as dinner is over, we can start hounding him for it.""Do not," Steve said, at the same moment that Stark said, "Can you not?" Steve's head snapped back towards Stark, who gave him a wry smile."She's trouble," Stark said. “A large amount of trouble in a very small package.”"Fix his sleeves before I forget myself and start adjusting how his pants hang," Miss Van Dyne said, her voice dire, and Stark caught Steve's lapels, pulling him back around."Did I say trouble?" Stark drawled, tugging the jacket into place and smoothing the fabric down with a flick of his hands. "I meant an absolute nightmare of a dinner guest."He was close, he was much too close, and Steve's face felt like it was on fire. Because Stark's hands were sliding over his shoulders, down the length of his arms. The touch was quick, efficient, impersonal. There was nothing lingering about it, nothing sexual. Jarvis had done almost the same thing, had been just as close. But this was different. This was absolutely different, because when Stark reached up, adjusting his collar, Steve could smell his cologne.It smelled... Good. Stark smelled good. It was subtle, almost natural, a tangle of spices and scents that Steve had no words for. He didn't know what they were, but he knew he liked the way it smelled, liked the way that Stark smelled, and that was a dangerous line of thought."There." Stark stepped back, his dark eyes catching Steve's as he did. He smiled, and Steve shivered, not sure why his skin had broken out in goosebumps. "Straighten your cuffs, and you'll be ready for the ball."Steve ducked his head down, focusing on his cufflinks, and trying to get his heartbeat back under control. "Luckily, that's not something I have to worry about," he said."Well, then, you'll at least satisfy your Fairy Godmother," Stark said, gesturing at Miss Van Dyne. "It will pass. Until I can put something better together for you," Miss Van Dyne said, and she had DJ's feet in her lap now, tickling his toes. He jerked them away, giggling, and then, after a moment, cautiously put them back. Grinning, Miss Van Dyne caught his feet in her hands. "Now, Jarvis must have some pins, and you can-""We are not putting pins in his jacket," Stark said, his voice stern. "It's close enough, and Jarvis has dinner for eight to-""Dinner for nine," Miss Van Dyne said, holding DJ's feet up. He tumbled backwards, still laughing. Thor leaned a hand on the bed, grinning down at them both. Stark stopped. "You, me, Obie, Thor, Rogers and DJ, Pepper and Rhodey," he said, counting them off on his fingers. "Eight."Miss Van Dyne smiled down at DJ. "And Hank."Stark pointed a finger at her. "No.""Yes," she sing-songed, as DJ did a handstand, Miss Van Dyne still holding his feet. "No one invited Hank," Stark said."You invited me, and I have a plus one, my darling, you know I do," Miss Van Dyne said, letting DJ tumble onto the bed to bounce against Thor's side. "You invited me, thus, you invited Hank." She glanced at Steve. "Hank's my fiance," she explained. "And, despite his current temper tantrum, one of Tony's best friends.""All of my friends are horrid," Stark said. "He'd better not be in the workshop, I'll have his-"Thor slid off the bed and offered Miss Van Dyne a hand. She took it, stepping delicately down to the floor. "He's out back in the greenhouse with Bruce and Bobbi," she said. Thor bent over her hand, brushing a kiss across her knuckles. She laughed. "Why, my Lord, such cheek!""Well, that's worse. Anyway. He can eat in the kitchen," Tony said. "We can't have an uneven number at the table.""I can eat in the kitchen," Steve offered. "I'd be happy to-""I've just met you, and I didn't want you in my house, and you clearly don't like me, and I still enjoy your company more than Hank's," Stark said to him with a sharp, manic smile, and Steve's stomach flipped over. "You, at least, did not attempt to blow up my house."Miss Van Dyne heaved an audible high. "Anthony, he did not-""Close enough," Stark said. "I want an even number of people at my table, Jan, and you made this mess, you can fix it."Miss Van Dyne arched an eyebrow. "Fine."Stark gave her a suspicious look. "Fine?"She fluttered her eyelashes at him. "Fine."He nodded. "Fine." He didn't sound very certain at all. He glanced at Steve, who wondered if he was looking for reassurance or just support. Either way, he was worried that Stark had turned to him to get it. "Fine. It's... Fine.""It will be," Miss Van Dyne said. And her smile was frightening.*Tony studied the newest addition to the table. "This wasn't what I had in mind," he said."He does adhere to the dress code," Jarvis said."I blame you for this," Tony said, out of the corner of his mouth. "You. And only you."Jarvis's eyebrows arched. "I understand, sir. Shall I have him removed?"Tony braced a hand on the back of his chair, glaring across the table. Furbro, wearing a bowtie and a bored expression, groomed a paw. "If he sticks his head into the soup tureen...""DJ and I discussed the etiquette of the situation with him," Thor said. Tony gave him a look, and Thor grinned at him. "He has promised to be an ideal guest.""Did he now?" Tony asked. He looked over at DJ, who was sitting in the chair next to the cat. "Is this true?"DJ gave him a hopeful smile and a quick nod, and Tony pulled out his chair. "Right. This is my life now. Wonderful.""I think he's a charming dinner companion," Pepper said, as Rhodey slid her chair in before taking his own seat. "He's likely quieter than most of the ones who show up at this table.""I think that's her way of telling us we talk too much," Tony said to Rhodey."I don't think there's any 'we' involved here," Rhodey said, sitting down. "I think that's her way of telling you that you talk too much.""I beg your pardon, I am a delight," Tony told him, as the others settled into place. Once everyone was seated, he took his own seat. His seat. Which was facing a cat across the dinner table, his line of sight taken up by a twitching pair of ears and golden eyes peeking over the edge of the table. "Hank, this is your fault.""Hmm?" Hank looked in his direction, but his eyes were unfocused, his mind clearly somewhere else. "Yes. Of course."Tony sighed. "Jan...""Now, now," she said, smiling. "We appreciate you having us for dinner, Tony. You always have the most interesting company.”“And I don't even invite most of them,” Tony said, as Jarvis and Natasha appeared, plates held on serving trays. He gave them a smile. “But I do have a very efficient staff.”“Thank you, sir,” Jarvis said, setting a plate of roast beef, roasted new potatoes, maple glazed carrots and julienned green beans. “And, if I might say, sir, a most creative chef.”“I won't fire him. Today,” Tony agreed. He waited until everyone had been served, glasses of water and wine poured, baskets of steaming bread set along the table. “Thank you, Jarvis.”“Of course, sir,” Jarvis said. He paused beside DJ's chair. “Shall I cut your meat for you, young sir?” “God,” Tony said, reaching for his glass, nostalgia sweeping over him like a wave. “It's been a long time since you've had to do that, isn't it?”“A few years, yes, sir,” Jarvis said.“I can do it, thank you,” Rogers said to him. “Of course, sir,” Jarvis set a small saucer of chopped meat and gravy in front of Furbro, who sniffed delicately at it."You're a very lucky little boy," Obie said, slicing into his roast beef. He gave DJ a tight lipped smile. "In my day, children took their meals in the nursery until they could carry on a decent conversation and had some manners."DJ studied him, dark eyes unblinking, then went back to tearing the crust off of his bread. Rogers finished with his plate, setting it back in front of him, but DJ ignored it."How boring your dinners must be," Thor said, cradling his wine glass in the palm of his hand. "Why do your people have children, if they merely place them in back rooms until they are adults?" He waved the glass through the air. “Why would you invite this fine boy here, only to deny him a seat at the table?”Obie gave him a tight lipped smile. “Things must certainly be...” He paused, his teeth flashing in a smile. “Boisterous in your dining room.”“A quiet meal is a failed meal,” Thor said, his voice firm, and Tony hid his smile behind his wine glass. “Besides.” Thor smiled at DJ. “He is a most polite child. Even though things must be very boring, when the adults talk above his head this way.”“Yes, his manners are quite good, for one of his background,” Obie said. He looked up, giving Rogers a smile. “As are yours, officer.”Rogers' eyes flicked up, then back down to his plate. “So kind o' you t' say so,” he said, a hint of a stage brogue twisting the words. “Right kind o' you, gov'ner.”Tony choked on a mouthful of wine, and Rogers gave him a quick look, as if realizing too late that he'd gone too far. Tony grinned at him. “Ignore him, discussion ruins his digestion,” he said, setting his glass down.“Yes, don't take it personally, darling,” Jan said, waving her fork. “Obie doesn't think any of us should be here. The table's full of women who've sullied themselves by engaging in trade, social climbing men dating above their station, and children.” She paused. “And a cat.”“Now, Miss Van Dyne-” Obie started, but Thor leaned forward.“Which am I?” he asked.“It depends. Would you like to be a social climbing man dating above his station or an uppity career woman?” Jan asked him. “Or a cat?”“Uppity career woman sounds like a great deal of trouble,” Thor mused. “I should like to date above my station.”“Ooo, I know a few high status ladies who would be happy to lower themselves to your level,” Jan said. She fluttered her eyelashes. “All, all, AAAAAALL the way down.”Rogers choked on his wine, and Tony grinned at him. The man was bright red, from the tips of his ears, all the way down his neck. For a bit of innuendo, it was overkill, but Tony almost wanted to see what would happen with some real dirty talk.He suspected Rogers would spontaneously combust, and he felt a pang of grief that he'd never see it happen.“Excellent,” Thor said, forking up the last of his potatoes. “I should make it worth their time.”“Have things not worked out with Lady Sif, then?” Pepper asked.He heaved a sigh. “My parents, and hers, have finally given up on that.” To Rogers, he added. “She is the most amazing woman, but we've known each other so long that we might as well be siblings. She punches harder than my actual brother, and has less cause to hold back.”“Sounds like a few girls I know,” Rogers said. “I knew one who could break your jaw with a single swing.”One of Thor's eyebrows arched. “I don't suppose she's single?” he asked.“With all due respect, my lord, I don't know if you could handle her,” Rogers said. “Likely not, but I do enjoy the attempt,” Thor said.Tony saluted him with his glass. “Truer words have never been spoken.”“Oh, really?” Obie asked him. “Because I have some suggestions for you-”“No.” Tony was already shaking his head. “No. Absolutely not. I'm sure that some day, in the far flung future, you'll wear me down and browbeat me into marrying some eligible daughter of some excellent family, but today will not be that day.” Obie shrugged. “It would do you well, Tony,” he said, his voice arch. “You need a stabilizing force. A good woman would help keep you on the straight and narrow.”It hadn't worked on his father. Tony locked his jaw, keeping the words caught behind his teeth with a force of will. “I'm sure that some woman, somewhere, just shuddered in abject horror, and has no idea why,” he mused. “In that you just made marriage sound like the most unpleasant job posting.”“It's the nature of things,” Obie told him. He glanced over at DJ, who was still chewing, slow and careful, on a bread crust. “Don't you want a few children of your own?”Tony smiled at DJ, who smiled back, his face relaxing. “That's a cruel thing to wish on a child,” Tony said. “And you ought to be ashamed.”“Are you ashamed?” Jan asked, because she'd ever even heard of shame, let alone experienced it. Her dark eyes wide, she fluttered her lashes at Obie. “Perhaps you ought to be.”“Are you?” he shot back.She considered that, then stole a potato off of Hank's plate. “Never,” she said, with a bright smile.“Hank, no insult here, but the only two women I'd even consider marrying are sitting at this table, and Pepper already has too much to handle when it comes to me and my business.” Tony leaned his chin on one hand, ignoring the way that Obie scowled at him. “Mind if I borrow yours?”“What?” Hank glanced up. All at once, he seemed to be aware that everyone was looking at him. “Oh. No?”“Wonderful,” Tony said, as Jan started to laugh. “Obie, make the arrangements.”Obie went back to his dinner. “You joke, but things'll come to a head sooner than you might imagine, Tony.”“I think they already have.” Tony looked down at his almost untouched plate. “Who's ready for dessert?”*This bed was trying to swallow him.Steve rolled over, trying to find a comfortable spot to rest. But no matter what angle he chose, what position, after a moment or two of stillness, he could feel the mattress give way under him. It was slow, insidious, the way it seemed to collapse out from under him, drawing him down until he was sure he was going to suffocate. Like it was going to swallow him whole.The floor was looking more and more attractive. It might be hard, but at least it could be trusted.Giving up, he sat up, scrubbing his hands over his face. He resisted looking at the clock. However long he'd been lying here, it had been too long. And despite that, it was still far too early to get up. Steve considered his clothes, neatly folded on the chest at the foot of the bed. A quick patrol around the house might exhaust him to the point where sleep was possible, and even if it didn't, it would at least feel more productive than lying here, wondering why Stark bought mattresses filled with quicksand.Steve shoved the blankets back and climbed out of bed. At this point, anything was more productive.He checked on DJ first, opening the connecting door between their rooms as quietly as he could manage. The room was still and warm, and the curtains had been drawn back at the windows, letting moonlight spill across the floor. DJ was sound asleep, curled in a ball against the headboard, his legs drawn up against his chest, one arm wrapped tight around his pillow. His other hand was stretched out across the bed, his fingertips just brushing up against Furbro, sleeping in a furry pile next to his pillow. DJ didn't stir, even when the hinges of the door creaked, but the cat's head came up, one ear twitching.Steve crept across the room, giving the cat an idle scratch on the head before he pulled DJ's blankets back up. DJ half rolled over, and the cat stood, stretched, and followed him, lying down against the small of his back. “Keep him warm, okay?” Steve whispered to Furbro, who reached out with one paw, swatting idly at his fingers. Laughing under his breath, Steve slipped back out of the room, pulling the door shut behind him.The upper hall was silent and still, light filtering up from the main floor and through the windows on either end of the house. He paused, his hand sliding along the length of the banister, to look down into the great hall beneath him. There was something ghostly about it, when it was empty and dark, the intricate woodwork and artistic flourishes casting long shadows across the stone.He wondered what it was like when it was full. Once, there must've been grand parties here, full of grand people. Maybe there still were. He allowed himself a wry smile. Not like he would've been on the guest list, and even in this city, some things still stayed secret. It wasn't hard to imagine the lines of cars snaking up the long, winding driveway, the people in fancy dress strolling across the marble floors and down the rolling green lawns.Steve pushed himself away from the banister. They were ghosts of another age, but places like this must be full of them. Ghosts were different where he came from. They were thinner. Uglier. Angrier.He shook off the thought, and headed down the hallway, his footsteps muffled on the carpet. Halfway to the stairs, he caught a hint of movement out of the corner of his eye, and stopped, turning towards the windows. From here, he had a full view of the back lawn, all the way down to the pond by the far end of the property. Now that he was looking, everything seemed still, no hint of movement, and no one in view. But something had moved. Something had... He stared down at the greenhouse, wondering if what he'd seen has just been the moonlight reflecting off of the panes. He braced a hand on the sill, his eyes narrowing as he tried to make sense of it."Couldn't sleep?"Steve jolted, his body pivoting hard on one heel. There, just at the head of the stairs, Miss Potts stood, a large ledger cradled in one arm, her other hand trailing lightly over the newel post. She smiled at Steve, her gleaming copper colored hair loose around her shoulders. "I'm sorry," she said, her voice soft. "I didn't mean to startle you.""I'm-" Steve glanced over his shoulder towards the window, but the lawn was still now, the moonlight gleaming on the green expanse. Whatever he'd seen, if he'd seen anything at all, it was gone now. He took a deep breath, and turned back to Miss Potts. "I apologize. I'm a bit on edge."Miss Potts smiled at him. "I think we all are," she said. She stepped onto the stairs. "Come on, it's warm down in the kitchen, and Clint always leaves a pot on."Steve followed her, torn between following her down the back stairs or heading straight for the front door. "I was going to do a quick walk around the grounds," he said.Miss Potts nodded. "Then you can leave through the backdoor, through the laundry yard," she said. The look she gave him was half scolding, half amused. "Or are you going to let me go down in the dark, empty kitchen all by myself?” She pressed a hand to her chest, her eyes wide in mock alarm. “What if someone's waiting down there?"Steve's lips twitched. "In that case, maybe I should go first.""Yes, but I know the way better than you, don't I?" With another puckish smile, she slipped through the door and lead the way down the narrow stairs to the kitchens, Steve following close behind.Despite what Miss Potts had said, the kitchen was well lit, warm and smelling of coffee and yeasty dough. The counter was spread with stacks of ledgers and files, a tea pot resting beside the largest pile, steam curling from the spout. Steve glanced around. "I think you're safe," he said, making Miss Potts laugh."You don't know. There might be someone in the pantry. Will you check?" She set the ledger in her hands down next to her cup, and reached for the tea pot. "And bring out the basket of scones if your hands aren't occupied with invaders."Steve caught himself smiling, even as he opened the pantry doors. It, like the rest of the kitchen, was safely deserted, but he did spot the napkin covered basket on a shelf next to the door. He picked it up. "This?" he asked, returning to the kitchen.Miss Potts looked up from filling her cup. "Yes, thank you." She held up the tea pot. "Would you like a cup? Or some soup?"Steve set the basket on the table, glancing over at the stove. A large stock pot was pushed to the rear of the range, a weight holding the lid in place. “Why is there soup?” he asked.“Any number of reasons,” Miss Potts said, lifting the napkin off of the basket. “This household doesn't keep to conventional hours. There's always someone up, and likely as not, they're hungry. Clint doesn't like waste, so whatever odds and ends he has leftover from the day's meals, they'll end up in the soup pot.” She stirred her tea, giving the sugar bowl a considering glance. “And the deliveries start before dawn. Any number of drivers and couriers end up knocking on the back door, and few of them will turn down a meal.”Curious despite himself, Steve moved the weight aside, lifting the lid. A gentle waft of warm steam came with it, scented with onion and black pepper. “Potato?” he asked, considering the creamy liquid inside. “That sounds likely,” Miss Potts said, breaking a scone apart with her fingers. She gave Steve a gamine smile. “There are bowls there to the right of the stove.”Giving in with something close to grace, he ladled himself out a bowl, closing up the pot before he headed back to the counter. Miss Potts had returned to her ledgers, the pages open in front of her, but her eyes lingered on him as he took a seat. “That's a Stark pistol, isn't it?”Steve started, glancing down at his holster. “Yes.” He looked back up. “Yes. It is.”She pushed her tea cup aside. “May I see?”His fingers closed around the grip, and for a moment, he paused, somehow reluctant to hand it over. But he pulled it free and set it on the counter between them. Miss Potts picked it up, and the way she handled it made it clear that it wasn't her first time with a gun in her hand. Her head tipped to the side. “My, this has seen action.” She gave him a quick, gamine smile. “You've taken good care of it, but this has been used. And often.”Steve paused, his spoon halfway to his mouth. Slowly, he lowered it back to the bowl. “A bit,” he admitted. “It's been with me for a while.”She turned it over, her fingers cradling the barrel and the grip. “Army issue,” she said. She set it gently back on the counter, sliding it across to him. “That, I had expected. But I thought it might be military surplus, rather than an actual sidearm that had made it through the war.”“The department issues Colts now,” Steve said, returning it to his holster. “But I know this one, and it's never failed me. It's....” Comforting. Which was a bad word to assign to a weapon, and he knew it. A gun could become a crutch, far too easily. He knew men whose first, last and only response was to pull the trigger, no matter what the situation, and he couldn't imagine anything worse.“It's a good weapon,” he said, going back to his soup. It was silken and creamy in his mouth, warm and salty, richer than the potato soups he'd known as a boy, but somehow, still the same. He glanced up at Miss Potts. “Familiar.”She smiled at him. “That one was Tony's design,” she said, nodding towards his holster. “I'm sure he'd be glad to know it's served you well.”Steve focused his attention on his soup. “May I ask you a question?” he asked.Miss Potts took a sip of her tea. “Of course. I might even answer it,” she said, her lips curving against the china.He nodded. “That's fair.” He looked up at her. “StarkIndustries doesn't make weapons any longer, does it?”She shook her head. “No. We don't.”He wanted to ask why, but her eyes were shuttered now, blank and empty, her smile a polite mask, and instead, he asked, “What do you make?”Miss Potts's hand flicked through the air as she returned to her ledgers. "Any number of things," she said, flipping through the pages. She made a notation, and reached for a different book, checking the dates on the spine before flipping it open to compare it to the one she was working in. "Engines. Machinery. Generators." Her pen flowed over the page, smooth and easy. "Medical equipment. Car parts." She glanced up. "Mostly, engines. Plane, truck, car, if it makes something move, we can build it. And we do."Steve nodded. "Is there much of a market for that right now?" he asked, curiosity overwhelming him.Miss Potts laughed, short and sharp. "No." Her head shook. "Not at all." She reached for her teacup. "We're working at limited production right now, but we're working." She considered Steve over the rim of the cup. "When the world began to fall apart, when it was clear that things were going to be bad, after the first sequence of crashes, Tony gave the employees a choice, to keep everyone at limited shifts, at limited pay, or lay people off."The employees chose the former. So everyone took a cut in pay, a cut in hours, but everyone held onto their jobs," Miss Potts said. Her fingertip tapped against the china, the nail clicking against the side, soft and rhythmic. "StarkIndustries is still producing, with trained, experienced, loyal employees."She stopped, and Steve shifted in his seat. “If no one's buying, then-" His voice trailed away, the question implied rather than spoken."No one. For now, we're stockpiling." Miss Potts set her cup down with a click. "We're betting everything on the fact that Tony is right.""About what?"Her head tipped to the side. "Tony is a futurist," she said. "Do you know what that means?" Steve shook his head, and she smiled. "I think Tony made it up, actually." She stood, collecting her cup from the table. "A futurist is someone who attempts to determine what's coming. A person who studies the flow of information, of money, of power, and tries to accurately predict what lies ahead. In business, it means producing for what will be, not what is. It means positioning ourselves so that when things change, as things always do, we're the only one who can fill a need that no one else knows exists."She looked back at him. “A need that no one else will see coming. If he's right, then that means we'll have a captive market. We'll be selling, months, perhaps even years, before anyone else.”Steve dragged his spoon through his soup. “And if he's wrong?”“Well.” She considered that, her eyes narrowed, a finger pressed to her lips. “I think we'll manage to keep the house.”“Here you are.”Both of them looked up to find Rhodes standing in the door of the kitchen. He was dressed casually, in pants and long sleeve shirt rolled up to his elbows. He glanced at Steve, giving him a polite smile and nod, but his attention was clearly on Miss Potts. “It's late, Miss Potts.”She nodded. “I know, I know, but-” Her head tipped back, a gentle smile sliding across her features. “Our work knows no hours, Mr. Rhodes.”“No, but I'm driving you into the city at a very early hour tomorrow morning.” He crossed his arms over his chest, bracing one shoulder against the doorframe. “And despite what Mr. Stark might think, we both need sleep.”“Well, to be fair to him,” Miss Potts said, starting to close her ledgers. “He doesn't think he needs sleep either. So he's just holding us to his own rather insane standards.”Steve stood up, helping her pile the books up, and Miss Potts tried to wave him off. “Finish your soup,” she said. “Mr. Rhodes will be happy to help me bring everything up.”“Oh, will I?” Rhodes pushed himself forward, striding across the kitchen to collect the books that she held out to him. He gave Steve a smile. “I guess I will.”Steve smiled back, then sat down. He looked down at his bowl, but out of the corner of his eye, he saw Rhodes smile at Miss Potts, and she smiled back, her face lit with it. Steve flicked the spoon against the side of his bowl. “Excuse me,” he said, giving the soup a stir. “It's none of my business. But-” He glanced up, catching their eyes. “I'm good at keeping my mouth shut, and even better at minding my own business. So, if you're pretending for my sake-” His chin dropped in a slight nod. “No point to that.”They exchanged a look, Miss Potts' eyebrows arching, and Rhodes shrugged. The quick, nonverbal communication passed in a handful of gestures, two people used to reading each other with a single glance engaging in an in depth conversation.“We're used to it,” Miss Potts said, after a moment.Steve looked up. “I imagine so, and a crying shame it is, too,” he said. He smiled, just a little. “You shouldn't have to pretend here. This-” He waved a hand at the room. “This is your home, isn't it? I'm the interloper.” He shook his head. “No point in pretending for me.”“It doesn't bother you,” Miss Potts said, and it wasn't really a question, but Steve answered it anyway.“It's none of my business,” he said. “That's not the question.”Steve nodded. “I suppose not. Then, no. It doesn't. “ He paused. “When I was a kid, a girl in my building, her parents disowned her. They just stopped acknowledging her as their daughter, 'cause she married a boy whose parents were the wrong sort of Irish-”“The wrong sort of Irish?” Rhodes repeated.“Protestants, not Catholics,” Steve clarified. “Irish. But not-” He shrugged. “Not our kind of Irish. And my Ma said, she said, what a shame it was, to lose a daughter on the very day that they should've gained a son.”He scraped up the last of the soup, tipping the bowl to gather it together. “So it's none of my business, now is it, if you're-” He waved his spoon at them. “Together.”“Married, actually,” Rhodes said, and Steve smiled.“Congratulations,” he said. He stopped, his lips twitching. “Have you told Mr. Stark?”“He was one of our witnesses, but we're still not quite sure he knows,” Miss Ports said, her eyes dancing. “He was...” She glanced at Rhodes. “Distracted.”“Hungover,” Rhodes said, grinning. “I was trying to be diplomatic.”“That's a waste of time,” he said.“Well, considering that you were the reason for that hangover-”“I don't remember asking him for a stag night,” Rhodes said. “I bear no responsibility for that.”“Hmmm,” Miss Potts said, but she was smiling. Steve's spoon hit the bottom of the bowl, and he stood, collecting the empty china. “Well, I understand wanting to keep your secrets. I just wanted to say, I was raised to properly mind my business.” He gave them a slight smile. “And protect people I like.”He crossed to the sink, turning the tap on and rinsing the bowl. Miss Potts broke the silence. “Officer?” He turned, and she was right behind him, her hand extended. “My friends call me Pepper.”He looked down at her hand, then back at her face. He took her hand. “Steve.”Her smile lit her face, and he had the idle thought that his Ma would've liked her. Would've liked her a lot. “Glad to meet you, Steve.”Steve nodded. “Glad to meet you, Pepper.”“I have no friends,” Rhodes announced, and Pepper elbowed him hard in the stomach. He skittered out of reach, laughing as he did. “It's true, I have-”“Call him Rhodey, everyone who can tolerate him does,” Pepper said, and Rhodes brushed a kiss on top of her head. Her nose wrinkled up, her face flushing. “Get off, you.”Laughing, Rhodey extended a hand to Steve, who shook it. “All seriousness, Steve. Go to bed. Things're quiet, and you don't need to lose sleep over it.”Steve nodded. “I will, just-” He looked at the back door. “Just going to do a quick walk around the grounds. I thought...” He stopped. “I thought I saw something moving out by the greenhouse.”Pepper and Rhodey exchanged a glance. “Probably just the cat,” Rhodey said, a little too quick. A little too smooth.“Cat's upstairs with DJ,” Steve said.“There's more than one stray in the neighborhood,” Pepper said. She gave him a smile. “Steve. Go back to bed.”Steve considered her, and then Rhodey. “Is the greenhouse locked?” he asked.“Bruce is careful to keep all the outbuildings locked,” Rhodey said. “Just in case.”Steve nodded. Secrets on top of secrets. He looked back at the sink. “If you're sure.”“We're sure,” Pepper said.“Right,” Steve said. He turned off the tap. “I'll just have to take your word for that.”*“Are you going to spend all day down here?”“Yes.” In the silence that followed, Tony looked up. Rogers was staring at him, his face unreadable. Tony arched an eyebrow at him. “Was that a trick question? Because you asked, and I answered, and you're doing something with your face there.” He gestured at Rogers with his screwdriver, rotating the tip in his direction. “I'm not sure what it is, but I suspect that it's disrespectful, so...”Rogers sighed. “It's confusion, Mr. Stark. I'm confused.“You should get used to that,” Tony told him, amused. He glanced in DJ's direction. “How're you doing there, kiddo?” DJ held up a chunk of machinery. “Excellent. That's neither on fire nor leaking any sort of acid, engineering is proceeding as scheduled.”“Please tell me there's no acid-” Rogers started, and Tony leaned back in his seat. Tweaking the man had rapidly become one of his favorite games. “Only the mildest of solutions,” Tony told him. “Barely corrosive.”Rogers sighed. “Please don't let him-”Tony waved him off. “I promise I'll taste test anything he gets his hands on.” Rogers was trying not to smile. Tony wasn't sure how he knew that, but he did. He braced his hands on the workbench. "So if there's no problem, then-""The problem," Rogers said, his voice stern, "is that chances are, he's going to spend his entire working life in a small, windowless, poorly ventilated workroom. And even if that's not the case, he's going back to the city soon enough, so for the short amount of time he has access to, you know, sunlight?" He braced his hands on the other side of the workbench, his pose deliberately mirroring Tony's. "I think it would be awful nice for him to experience it."Tony studied him. "You don't have sunlight in Manhattan?" he asked."It's different with grass and trees and clean air,” Rogers said. “But if it's easier for you to handle, then no.” He smiled. “We don't have sunlight in Manhattan. So why not experience it now?”"Sunlight is overrated," Tony said, which was the wrong thing to say, he knew it even as he was saying it, even as the words slipped out of his mouth.But Rogers just rolled his eyes and straightened up. "A lot of things are overrated, and I guess that does depend on who's doing the rating, doesn't it?" He smiled at DJ, who was playing idly with the clock innards "Want to go outside?"DJ gave his clock a longing look, his fingers plucking a gear. His eyes darted from Tony to Rogers and back, his face strained. Tony shook his head, and reached for a rag. "Don't worry, my small assistant, I won't play with it while you're gone. I'll leave it right there, and you can come back to it when you're done frolicking through nature."Rogers stared at him. "Frolicking?" he asked, and there was that smile again, the one he tried not to hide. But there was laughter in his voice, and creases in his cheeks when he tried to keep his mouth set in a frown. Tony grinned at him."What, you don't frolic?" he asked, wiping his hands on a rag. "You ought to give it a try. All the best people are.”“I'm sure they are,” Rogers said. “Never going to find my name on a list of the 'best people,' though, so I think I'll leave that to the social set.”“Well, if you're not frolicking, what is your plan?” Tony asked. He reached for a wrench. Maybe a little bit of physical labor would get his head back where it should be. He doubted it, though, Rogers was already taking up more space inside his brain than he should.“Haven't got a plan,” Rogers said. “Other than getting him outside for a bit. Maybe take a walk around the grounds, or down to the lake.”Tony nodded. “There used to be a swing on the old oak there, on the North shore,” he said. “I think it's long gone, though.” He reached for a pad of paper, drawing a few idle lines on it. It wouldn't be hard to put another one up, rope and a solid board, find a solid limb... He tapped the tip of his pencil against the page. “Do you know how to swim?” he asked DJ. DJ nodded, and Tony smiled. “Aren't you a clever little monkey?”“Yes,” DJ said, and Tony burst out laughing. “He's clever, not modest,” Rogers said, reaching out to ruffle DJ's hair. “Too late for swimming, today, it's almost dinner. You've wasted all day tinkering, and now we've only got an hour or so before we have to get cleaned up and dress for dinner.”DJ's face fell, and Tony gave him a rueful smile. “Had enough of that last night, I take it.” He looked down at the page, where a clear outline of a swing had emerged from the scribbled lines. “Right.” He pushed himself to his feet, and headed for the door, punching the call button before turning back to face them. “You should have a picnic.”Rogers blinked. “A picnic.”“Why not. Combines all the kid's favorite things, like eating and not having to put on decent clothes with all of your favorite things, like not being down here and not having to make small talk with people,” Tony pointed out.“Also dressing for dinner,” Rogers said, his lips twitching.“Also that,” Tony agreed. “Maybe tomorrow,” Rogers said, even as DJ scrambled down from his stool. Rogers caught him as he tried to slip by, heading for the door. “It's too much to set up right now-”“What's to set up?” Tony asked. “Steal a sheet from the laundry room, ask that damn cook of ours to wrap a few sandwiches in butcher paper, grab some bottles of soda from the icebox. He can run around and you can, I don't know, what did my father do when we did this?” he scrubbed a hand through his hair, trying to remember if his father had ever shown up for the picnics his mother had thrown on the back lawn from time to time. “Read the newspaper?” He looked at Rogers. “You can read the newspaper.”“I... Could do that,” Rogers said, drawing the words out. “But-”“Wonderful. The dailies are in the billiard room, a couple of locals and a few out-of-town ones, but I don't know how up to date they are. There's also the library upstairs,” he mused. “You know where that is, there are books, if you'd prefer a book.” He stopped. “Do you like books?”“I like books,” Rogers said, one hand cupping his mouth.“There you go,” Tony told him. “The kid likes books, you like books, books, sandwiches, soda, it's easy to do and no one has to find shoes.”“Mr. Stark-”The door to the workshop opened, and Tony swung around. “Jarvis!”“Sir,” Jarvis replied, a faint hint of amusement in the single dry word. “Did you ring, sir?” “I did,” Tony said.“Ah.” Jarvis gave the button a curious look. “It's been so long, I hadn't thought it worked any longer.”“Sass does not become you, Jarvis,” Tony told him. “I repaired it last month.”“An excellent use of your time, sir.”“Apparently so, because here you are.” Tony waved a hand at DJ and Rogers. “The small goblin has not attempted to smuggle any of my tools out of the workshop today, and thus, should be rewarded.”“How benevolent of you, sir,” Jarvis said. “It is, so I'm going to ignore that sarcasm. He gets to skip dinner and have a picnic outside instead.”“A wonderful reward,” Jarvis said. He glanced at DJ, his face relaxing into a smile. “Come along then, young sir, and we'll begin preparations immediately.”DJ slipped away from Rogers, darting over to catch Jarvis' hand. Rogers straightened up. “We don't want to cause trouble, Jarvis, we can just have a sandwich on the patio, if that's all right.”“No trouble at all, sir,” Jarvis said, his voice calm. To DJ he added, “Shall we make lemonade?”Tony watched them go, a strange, almost unfamiliar feeling of satisfaction curling through him. He turned back to the workbench and caught Rogers' eye. “There,” he said, reaching for his coffee cup. “All sorted.”Rogers studied him, his face unreadable. “It's too late to start this,” he said.Tony pointed his coffee cup in Rogers' direction. “You, sir, should not doubt Jarvis.”*Steve shouldn't have doubted Jarvis.By the time dinner rolled around, he'd marshaled the entire household with what Steve was coming to recognize as his customary ruthless efficiency. While Clint and Natasha put the food together, Jarvis had sent Bruce and Steve across the rolling lawn with planks of wood and sawhorses balanced on their shoulders. He and May followed, carrying baskets of plates and wine glasses, thick white tablecloths cushioning the delicate crystal.While the makeshift table was being set up beneath the spreading limbs of the ancient oak, Peter and DJ had darted back and forth, arms full of snowy linen napkins, rattling baskets of silverware and boxes of tin mugs. They carried small chairs and cushions, old quilts and, finally, a massive silver tub filled to the brim with chipped ice, dragged across the grass between them.And once the stage was set, quilts spread on the ground and sheets fluttering in the breeze, they brought out the food. Clint lead the way, making the trip across the lawn half a dozen times, massive silver trays balanced on his shoulder or his hip, filled with platters of cold fried chicken, bowls of potato salad and cole slaw, baskets of crisp potato chips and jar after jar of pickles. There were tea sandwiches and and plates of sliced cheeses and meats, baskets of golden brown biscuits, and napkin-wrapped loaves of french bread, laid out one after another on the table. Bobbi and Natasha brought out pitchers of ice tea and lemonade, carafes of water and pots of coffee. Steve and Bruce hefted crates of soda, the glass bottles clattering together with every step. The bottles of wine they left to Rhodey and May, who carried them out of the cellar already wrapped in napkins to keep them cool.The hardest part, as it turned out, was getting Stark out of the basement. It was Pepper who was sent into the depths of the house, finally emerging with her arm tucked securely through his. He seemed confused by the situation, blink up at the clear blue sky with a bemused expression. "I have work to do," he said to Pepper, who rolled her eyes, her lips curled in an affectionate smile."And it will still be there after you've eaten," Pepper told him, her voice crisp and firm. She slipped the notebook from his hand, holding it out of reach. "This was your idea, Tony.”"This was my idea for other people, not me. I was not involved in these plans,” Stark pointed out. “All of my best ideas involve things for other people and not me.”“You still do need to eat. Fuel for the fire of genius,” Pepper told him, tapping his notebook against her cheek.“I'm being humored right now," Stark complained, as Pepper passed him off to Jarvis. He glared over his shoulder at her. "I know I'm being humored. Give me that."Pepper handed the notebook to Rhodey, who tucked it into the pocket of his vest. "You can have it back when you're done with your dinner," Rhodey said. "This is unacceptable," Stark said, even as a plate was placed in his hands by May, overflowing with chicken and potato salad. He stood there, clutching it in both hands, as if he wasn't sure what to do with it. "Are you all-"Pepper settled down on the well-worn quilt, tucking her legs under her and smoothing her skirts down around her knees. "Sit down and eat," she said, reaching for the crock of baked beans. "Natasha, did we bring out the chow-chow?"Stark blinked down at his plate. "I don't-"Jarvis hovered just over his shoulder, an array of plates balanced in his hands. "Biscuit, sir?" he asked, offering him the basket. "No," Stark told him. Then, "Do we have any honey?""Of course, we're not savages," Peter said, his nose in the air, and his aunt flicked him in the head with a napkin. "Manners," May said, her tone affectionate, and Peter grinned up at him. She shook her head. "Be useful and help DJ.""Yes, ma'am." Peter folded his legs under him. "You want pickled green beans, or cole slaw, or some cheese?" he asked DJ.DJ considered him, then the plates of food that surrounded him. "Yes," he said, his voice firm.Laughing, Peter grabbed a jar of pickles. "Okay," he said. "Let's eat.""I'm going to take mine inside," Stark said, and Natasha, kneeling on the other side of the quilt, poured wine into a tin cup. She held it up to him without even looking in his direction, and he took it, the movement conditioned. He juggled the things in his hands, trying to get a grip on it without dropping anything else. "Wonderful, one step above drinking straight out of the bottle, are we-"Clint said something utterly nonsensical in what Steve had come to recognize as his fake French, even as he distributed deviled eggs, the golden centers dusted with a dull red spice. Natasha gave him a look as she handed Bruce a cup of wine. "Mr. Stark doesn't need an egg," she said."I need an egg," Stark said. He sounded almost comically insulted."Then best you sit down and clear some space on your plate for it," May said, her voice tart. She filled a plate with three huge pieces of chicken, pushing it into Steve's hands. "Would you like a sandwich? We have tuna, chicken, egg salad, cucumber-""I want an egg," Stark said, still caught somewhere between petulance and confusion.Clint offered one to DJ, one eyebrow arched. "Oui?"DJ considered it, his face suspicious. "You can try it," Peter said, around a mouthful of bread. He gestured at the plate with his crust. "You like eggs, right? It's pretty good. For an egg.""I'll take it if you don't like it," Stark said, sinking down to the blanket. DJ peered at his plate, and Stark set it down, an affectionate smile creasing his cheeks. "Eat your own food.""Wine?" Natasha offered Steve."No, thank you, I'm not-" He made a grab for his plate as Bobbi slipped it out of his hands. "I don't need-""Is this the last of the corn?" Bobbi asked Bruce, who put an ear of roasted corn, still steaming in its charred husk, onto Steve's plate. "Did we get another bushel, or-""We can, but, uh, it'll be tough," Bruce said. He peeled back the husk, considering the neat rows of golden kernels with a narrowed eye. "Late season. Always hit or miss." He smiled at Steve. "There's butter.""I don't-" Steve said, as Rhodey handed him a jar.“Pickled beets?” he asked with a grin.“I'll take those,” Stark said, holding out a hand, and Rhodey held them out of reach.“Wait your turn,” he said, grinning at Stark.“I own the place, my turn is first,” Stark told him.Grinning to himself, Steve turned his attention to his meal.Steve had expected that they'd all drift away as soon as they'd finished eating, returning to their work and their routines. But no one did. One by one, they put their plates aside and just settled down with a cup of lemonade, lingering in the last of the afternoon sun. Even Stark had merely reclaimed his notebook from Pepper and settled back, his back braced against against the tree, his head bent over his work.Pepper leaned against the tree next to him, her hair loose and her cheeks flushed as she sipped her wine. Rhodey settled in for a nap, his head in her lap, and Pepper chatted with Natasha and Bobbi, her fingers playing idly over his hair. Bobbi was working on her third flower crown of the afternoon, weaving together the stems of clover, mums, dandelions and daisies, the flowers plucked from the pile in Natasha's apron.Next to them on the blankets, Clint and Happy were on their second or third serving of everything, locked in a battle of wills and stomachs that only made sense to the two of them. They were wearing the crowns that Bobbi had already finished, Clint's sitting slightly crooked on his head. Bruce, who'd managed to escape up until this point, peeled an apple, the knife sliding along the skin with slow precision. Furbro crouched nearby, his tail swishing as he watched the peel sway through the air as Bruce turned the apple in his hands. Every so often, he reached out with a lazy paw, batting at the end of the skin. Jarvis and May were perched on wicker chairs, a pot of tea on the tiny table between them. May had put her broad brimmed straw hat on Jarvis halfway through the meal, and to the delight of both DJ and Peter, he'd left it on, the ribbons tied neatly under his chin. Now, they watched the boys run across the lawn, their bare feet flying across the crisp, green grass as Peter tried to get a kite in the air. An occasional burst of wind swept over them, hard enough to send the leaves in the tree above them rattling, but not quite enough to keep the kite aloft.Steve watched them over the top of his book, smiling to himself as Peter ducked under the flapping kite, guarding his head with his free arm. Just a few steps behind, DJ made a grab for the tail, his fingers managing to brush up against the string before it slipped out of reach again. Peter made a hard turn, playing out the string, and the kite went crashing to the lawn. DJ followed it, laughing as he collapsed onto the grass. "Are you planning on flying that thing at any point?" Stark asked, not looking up from his work. The tip of his pencil darted across the page, and Steve wondered what he was doing.Peter braced his hands on his knees, his shoulders rising and falling with the force of his breathing. "I'm TRYING," he said, his voice tinged with insult.Stark's lips twitched. "Try harder," he said, and Steve hid his smile behind his book.DJ plopped down on the blanket next to Stark, his arms wrapped around the battered frame of the kite,. He grinned at Stark, his cheeks pink, his hair a wild tangle of locks, and his feet stained green from the grass. "Fix it?" he asked.Stark's pencil stilled against the page. "There's no fixing it," he said after a moment, going back to his calculations.DJ flopped onto his back, holding the kite up over his head. He squinted at the sky through the bright paper of the kite, his fingers sliding along the seams. "Why not?" he asked at last, his head tipping in Stark's direction."It's not worth it," Stark said, at the same instant that Rhodey said, "Because he's lazy."There was a moment of stillness. Rhodey never lifted his head from Pepper's lap. She grinned up at the sky, her expression amused. Stark stared at him for a long, silent moment. Then he closed his notebook and set it down next to him, placing the pencil deliberately on top of it."Excuse me?" he asked, his voice polite.Rhodey opened one eye. "You're lazy," he said, his voice laconic. He closed his eyes again, a smile curving his lips. "You're used to things working the first time, and if they don't, you toss 'em on the trash heap."Stark leaned forward, his eyes narrowed. "I do things right the first time," he said."What is this, a press release?" Rhodey said, and Steve choked on a laugh. Stark gave him a look, and Steve coughed into his fist, trying to pretend that he was still focused on his book. He didn't think Stark was falling for it, but it was worth a try. Rhodey shifted, his hands folded neatly on his flat stomach. "Stop being lazy. Fix the kid's kite."Stark looked at DJ, who grinned up at him, the kite now balanced on his head like a particularly flat, wobbly hat. "It's no good," Stark told him, and before DJ's face could fall, he was rolling to his feet. "Let's go, Rhodey.""Go? Go where?" Stark kicked him in the side of the knee, and Rhodey yelped. "Hey!""Up. You have opinions on my engineering?" Stark bent forward at his waist, his hands folded behind his back. He smirked down at Rhodey. "Then you can help me."Rhodey considered him, his eyebrows arched. "Help you?""We will be replacing this trash-" Stark swept the kite off of DJ's head. "With something structurally sound.""Hey!" Peter said, making a grab for the kite. Stark sidestepped him and gave the thing a toss. It floated across the grass, wobbling on its rapid downward path towards the ground. Peter frowned at it, then at Stark. "I did my best.""And I'm not holding it against you, you'll notice I'm involving you in phase two, go get the paper," Stark said. Peter stared at him, and Stark made a shooing motion. "Paper. String. Glue. We're burning daylight here, Parker."Laughing, Rhodey sat up. "You know, we can-""Oh, aren't we just full of opinions today?” Stark said. He clapped, sharp and quick. “Parker! Paper!”“I'm going!” Peter said, throwing his hands in the air.Pepper watched them go. “Darling, perhaps-”Rhodey got to his feet, dusting off the seat of his pants. “Yeah, yeah, I'll go keep an eye on them.”“It's so nice to know that you're there to keep them on the straight and narrow,” Pepper said, sipping her lemonade.Bobbi watched them go. “So. He's the responsible one?” she asked, her lips twitching.Pepper sipped her lemonade. “Oh, God, no, he's far worse than Tony when he gets going.” She smiled. “But he does like to think of himself as the responsible one.”“So, something's going to end up on fire,” Bobbi mused.“They're making a kite, I'm sure nothing will end up on fire.” She paused, her brow furrowing. “Unless they try to strap an engine to it.”“And we're not counting that out,” Bruce added. He popped a bit of apple into his mouth. “I'm telling you now. If I hear any explosions, uh, I'm heading to bed.”DJ leaned against Steve's side, working his way under Steve's arm. "Hello there," Steve said, smiling down at him, and DJ peeked up at him, his eyes bright. Steve smoothed his hair away from his forehead. "Don't you want to help Peter with his kite?"DJ peered at Steve's book, and Steve tipped it so he could see. “You can read with me,” he offered, “but my book's not a good one.”“All books are good books,” May said, pouring Jarvis another cup of tea. “But some are more interesting for children. DJ, dear, would you like to go and get a book from the library?” She smiled at him. “Then perhaps Officer Rogers will read it to you.”DJ's eyes went wide, and Steve grinned at him. “I can do that,” he said. “Want me to help you find a-” Before he could even finish the sentence, DJ was up and running towards the house. Steve leaned back, laughing under his breath. “I guess that's a no.”“I don't think we need to worry about him not having gotten enough to eat,” Clint said around a mouthful of potato salad.“Well, kids that age have a hollow limb or two,” Steve said.“And he'll discover a little more room when it's time for dessert,” May said. She craned her neck, looking towards Steve's plate. “Did you get enough, dear?”Steve gave a wry laugh. “Think I ate more in this meal than I have in the last month, ma'am.”“And you might still be hungry,” Jarvis pointed out. He sipped his tea. “There's more, if you-”“I couldn't eat another bite,” Steve said, holding up a hand. “Not if I want to be able to fit in my pants when this week is over.”“I'll have some more,” Happy said, reaching for the platter of chicken. Clint got there before him, and Happy made a grab for him. “Hey, you little rat.”“Too slow,” Clint said, sinking his teeth into a drumstick. He held the platter out of reach, ignoring the curses that Happy rained down on him. Steve watched, amused, as Clint braced a foot in the middle of Happy's chest, trying to hold him at bay.“It must be so nice for the two of you to have other children around to play with,” Natasha said, moving a pitcher of iced tea out of the way before the two of them could topple it.“Yeah, Peter's gettin' too mature for us,” Happy said, before the two of them crashed into the quilt. Jarvis took the chicken away from them. Neither of them seemed to notice.DJ returned from the house with the others close behind him, his arms wrapped tight around a large, leatherbound book. He crashed down on the quilt next to Steve, holding it out with a grin. Steve took it from him. “What'd you find?” he asked, turning it over in his hands. It was a large anthology of fairy tales, each page illustrated with glorious color pictures. “Okay. Want to pick a story?”“Yes,” DJ said, his voice firm, flipping the book open. With the utmost care, he started turning the pages, studying each one in turn."What nonsense are you reading him?" Stark asked, his arms full of thin wooden dowels and swathes of multicolored paper. He shoved some empty plates out of the way, clearing a space to work on the table.Somehow, there was no sting in the words, no sense of disdain or mockery. Grinning, Steve watched as DJ turned the pages of the book. "If you're that interested, you can come sit down and listen to the story, Mr. Stark," he said, giving DJ time to study the picture. DJ's fingers traced over the contours of the knight on horseback, just barely making contact with the page. Steve waited until he was done, until he pulled his hand back and looked up at Steve, his expression expectant. "It's looks like it'll be a pretty good one.""Nonsense about magic and dragons," Stark groused, as Peter popped up to slide a dowel out of his hands. "That's too heavy.""It'll work!" Peter said, darting back to the table."Nonsense is nice sometimes," Steve said to Stark, who still hadn't moved. "Sure, fairy tales are all about knights and dragons and evil witches. But they're also about loyalty and bravery, about doing things that are frightening, because they're still the right thing to do. They're about being creative and smart and learning from your mistakes, and remembering what your parents told you, but finding out things your parents couldn't have dreamed of."He tapped DJ on the tip of his nose. "Things aren't always about the things they seem to be about. Are they?"He looked up to find Stark studying him, a faint smile on his lips. Steve smiled back. "You want to pick the story?" he asked, his tone polite.Stark's smile stretched. "I shall leave the nonsense to you. I've got real world problems to solve.""Your loss," Steve said, and to his surprise, Stark laughed at that, his eyes bright. Flushing a bit, Steve looked back down at the book. "Where were we?" he asked DJ. DJ reached out, tapping the beginning of the page. "Ah, right. Thank you." He took a deep breath and went back to the book, trying to focus on DJ's reaction rather than the man hovering just a few feet away. Despite what Stark had to say about their choice of entertainment, he didn't move away. Instead, he took up a post at the table, well within earshot.Steve wondered if he did want to hear the story, or if he just hated to be left out.DJ shifted against his side, his fingers flicking against the edge of the pages, and Steve turned his attention to the words. "Once upon a time," he said, "there was a little boy who wanted to be a knight."One page became two, became ten, became twenty. In the waning, golden light of the afternoon, things took on a magical quality. Out of the corner of his eye, Steve saw the others come and go, Rhodey and Stark grumbling at each other and Peter did all the work on their kite. Jarvis and May collected the dishes, piling them high in Happy's arms as Clint and Natasha brought out pies and apple dumplings, plates of turkish delight and fudge, and jugs of cider.But Steve kept reading, almost as taken with the story as DJ was. About five pages from the end, Furbro popped up behind the book, one paw hooking on the spine and pulling it down. DJ laughed as Steve lay the book down, letting the cat pad across it and settle down for a nap. Steve grinned down at him. "And that's the end of the story, I suppose," he said.DJ plucked at the corner of a page, trying to turn it without pushing Furbro aside. "No," he said. He looked up at Steve. "Ending?"Steve dragged one leg up, bracing his arm on his knee. "I don't know," he admitted. DJ's face fell, and Steve smiled, just a little. "Well, it's your story. How do you think it ends?"DJ blinked, slow and careful. "Ours," he said."Right. Our story." Steve let his head fall back, looking up at the lacy pattern of the leaves above him. "So the knight has traveled a long way. He's met many people, people he's helped, and people who've helped him."Furbro reached out with one paw, playing idly with a long blade of grass. Steve straightened up. "And now he's at the end of that journey," he said. "Facing the dragon that's rampaged, unchecked, through his kingdom." On the table, a few of the dowels had been abandoned, almost within reach. Steve rolled to his feet, reaching for one. "And it's not his job. He's not really a knight, after all. Just a boy on a horse."His fingers closed on the dowel, flipping it around to hold it like a sword in front of him. He shifted his weight. "But he has his sword, a sword he made himself, a sword that he's had to use already. He has his sword, and the shield his mother gave him."DJ grabbed the discarded kite and held it up to Steve, his face alight. Laughing, Steve took it from him, his hand gripping the crossbar. With his 'sword' and 'shield,' he turned to face their 'dragon.' "He has the tools he's made, and the ones he's been gifted with. He has his courage, and he has something that must be done. No matter how much he doesn't want to do it."Steve brought the kite up, tucking his body behind it, but the dowel hung down low at his side. "Because he's come a long way, and he's never seen the dragon, has he? All these things, all these probems, all blamed on the dragon, and he's seen the problems, but never the cause. Until he does. He finds the dragon, and it is monstrous and terrible and inhuman. It's there, right in front of him."He went still. "So how does the story end?" Steve asked DJ. "What do you think?"For a long, still moment, DJ studied him, his dark eyes bright. He looked down at Furbro. "It lives," he said at last, and Steve smiled."I think so, too," he said. He brought his hand up, the dowel slipping free of his fingers. It dropped, straight down, the tip impaling into the grass. "Maybe..." Steve stepped away from it, half turning towards DJ. "Maybe our almost-knight stays right where he is, maybe he stays there, and watches. Protects. Protects the world from the dragon."DJ reached out, stroking Furbro's head. "Protects the dragon from the world," he said, and it was more words than he ever bothered to string together, and Steve grinned at him."And protects the dragon from the world," he agreed, his voice soft. "And that's-"He pivoted on one heel, still holding his shield, and found himself face-to-face with Tony Stark.Steve's stomach iced over, a sickening twist of humiliation slicing through him. For an instant he was frozen in place, trapped in his guise of a child playing dress-up, the kite still clutched in one hand, pinned by the realization that Stark must've seen the entire ridiculous thing. Stark had seen him swinging a stick at a cat, like the idiot that he was, hiding behind a damaged kite. And now he was standing there, one eyebrow arched in mocking consideration, his face amused.They were all there, the whole household, and Steve didn't know how he'd forgotten that, how he'd let himself forget that everyone was watching him, everyone was there and judging him and at any moment, the laughter would start, and he braced himself for that, hating himself for caring what they thought. What Stark thought. Because it didn't matter. It wouldn't matter. It shouldn't matter. But it did.Stark reached out, his hand closing on the dowel. He drew it with a flick of his wrist. "Kneel."Steve blinked at him. It took him two tries to get a single word past the lump in his throat. "What?"Stark looked up, his eyes meeting Steve's, clear and bright. "A protector of the kingdom deserves to be an actual knight," he said, swinging the dowel in a loose, easy figure eight. "In name as well as in heart." He smiled, and there was nothing cruel to it. "So kneel. And be knighted."The burst of laughter caught him off-guard, slipping out before he could choke it back. Stark grinned at him, his expression smug, and Steve wished he could figure him out, could make him make sense. "Oh, are you a king now?" he asked, his voice wry.“Everyone knows that I'm the king of New York.” Stark straightened his shoulders, his chin coming up, looking down the length of his nose at Steve. "Do you doubt it?" he asked, and there was laughter in his voice, just as bright and real as Steve's, and just as unexpected. "I don't-" Steve had barely gotten the words out before Natasha was there, throwing an old, ragged quilt around Stark's shoulders like a cape. And Bobbi was right behind her, slipping a crown of golden lilies and deep purple mums onto his head. Lacy white Queen Anne's lace filled the gaps between the petals, bright as stars against his dark hair.He made for a patchwork king, but there was something regal in his bearing, something brilliant in his smile. Steve was no knight, and he was no king, but somehow, it didn't really matter.He sank down to one knee, his elbow braced on his upthrust leg, his head bowing forward. "For your service to this kingdom of New York, for your bravery in the face of overwhelming danger and your efforts to defeat the greatest threat our kingdom has ever known-" He felt the gentle flick of the dowel against one shoulder, and the then other. "I dub the Sir Rogers," Stark said, and there was something unexpected in his voice, something Steve didn't quite understand. Steve glanced up, meeting his eyes, and Stark smiled. "Arise, Sir Rogers, and greet your adoring public."He pushed himself to his feet, his face hot, and DJ was there, his hands coming up in a burst of joyous energy, flower petals tumbling from his fingers. Laughing, Steve tried to dodge them, but DJ wasn't the only one throwing them now, Peter and Natasha and Bobbi were behind him, all of them tossing petals into the air, so many that it was like a storm."All right, all right," Steve said, and Stark was laughing now, a hand over his head, trying to fend off the petals. Without thinking, Steve brought up the kite, holding it above their heads like an umbrella, like the shield he'd pretended it to be. "I think we've killed enough flowers for the day, don't you?""It's fall, they'll be dying anyway," Natasha said, her fingers dancing through the air, letting a trail of tiny white petals float through the air in their wake. She grinned. "Bobbi?”Bobbi stepped up, a crown of white daisies and red flowers that Steve couldn't identify in her hands. “Daisies for loyal love and purity,” she said with a grin. “Gladiolus for faithfulness and honor.” She went on her toes, slipping it onto Steve's head. “Just right for a knight.”It had a strange weight, for something so delicate. He brought his head up and felt the petals shift against his hair, against his forehead. He gave her an uneven smile. “Thank you,” he said. He reached up, his fingers brushing over a flower. “Thank you.”Bobbi grinned at him. “It suits you,” she said, her eyes brilliant. “But most important,” Stark said, one hand holding his cape in place. “I want it known that I am, in fact, the king of kites.”A ball of paper arced through the air, hitting him in the back of the head. Without looking, he pointed behind him. “I know that was you, Rhodes, and I accept your disrespect as a sign of your innate jealousy.”“I'm going to break that 'sword' over your head,” Rhodey called, but he was laughing.Peter, clad in his own flower crown, held up a massive red and yellow kite. “I think there's enough light to give this one last try,” he said, grinning. “King of Kites!” Stark declared, swinging his dowel wildly above his head.Steve looked down at DJ. “Want to try?” He nodded, and Steve smiled, a strange sense of peace sweeping over him. He held out a hand for DJ to take. “Okay. Let's go.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“I feel like you’re not taking this seriously.”Tony leaned back in his chair, a model wing cradled in the curve of his fingers. “I’m surprised,” he said, frowning up at the model.“That I’d say that?” Obie said, tapping his pen against the blotter of Tony’s desk.“That you think I take anything seriously,” Tony said, reaching for a pencil. He dragged a pad of paper across the desk towards him, nearly upsetting Obie’s coffee cup. “Pardon me,” he mumbled, scowling down at the page as Obie rescued his drink.“I also get the feeling that I haven’t got your full attention right now,” Obie said, blotting at the spilled coffee with a napkin.“Another thing you ought to be be used to,” Pepper said. She moved another ledger onto the top of her stack. “Obie, I seem to be missing the latter half of 1930.”“Well, so am I, but I drank quite a bit to accomplish that,” Obie said, with a wry smile. He leaned over, moving his fingers along the spines of the ledgers. “Which also might explain why I have no memory of the books for that year. You should have them?”“I should, but I don’t,” she said. “Tony-”“I certainly do not have them,” he said, scribbling a few notes in the margins of his design. “It’s amusing that you’d think anyone would trust me with them.”“Yes, well, some of them are very thick, and you misplace your stepstool often enough,” Pepper pointed out. With a faint sigh, she settled back in her chair, reaching for her tea cup. “You are a master of re-purposing things.”“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Tony said. He surged to his feet, ripping the sheet free of the pad of paper. “Rhodey.”Without looking up from his book, Rhodey took the page from him. “We can’t do this,” he said.“Would you like to look at it before you pass judgment?” Tony asked him, throwing a hand in the air.“Not really, no.” But Rhodey closed his book, tucking it under his arm and turning his attention to the wing design. He blinked down at it, then at Tony. “Tony.”“Yes,” Tony breathed, bracing his hands on the desk.Rhodey held it out to him. “No.”“Right, you’re right, definitely yes,” Tony said, taking the cup of coffee out of Obie’s hand and draining it in one long gulp. “It’s brilliant.”Obie stared down at his empty hand. “Is there anything else you need?” he asked with a wry twist of his lips. “My shoes, perhaps? Half my lunch?”“It depends,” Tony said, handing him back the now useless cup. “What’re you having?”Laughing, Obie set the cup down. “Tony.”“I am hungry, did we eat?” Tony asked Rhodey.“I ate,” Rhodey said. He was frowning down at the diagram now, his eyes narrowed. Tony waited for him to process. It was enough to plant the seed. “Did I eat?”Rhodey studied him over the top of the page. “Do you hear yourself?” he asked with a wry smile.“I could eat,” Tony said. He flopped back into his chair, his legs thrown out in front of him, his head falling back. He frowned up at the ceiling. “I probably should eat.”“It certainly can’t hurt.” Obie stood. “Tony. You’re not taking this seriously.”Tony waved him off. “We’ve been through this.”“Yes, we have, and yes, we will again.” Obie leaned back against the desk, his arms crossed over his chest. “Until I feel that you’re taking the appropriate precautions.”Tony’s eyes fell shut. “Right. Of course.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, wondering when, exactly, he’d acquired this headache. “And what do we consider appropriate precautions?”“More guards, less visibility, and a general tightening of security,” Obie said immediately.“No,” Tony said. Obie sighed. “Tony-”“No,” Tony repeated in a faint, amused sing-song of a tone. He rolled to his feet. “I’m not opening my house to a bunch of thugs who’ll get in the way, cause nothing but trouble, and probably make a year’s salary selling a bunch of rumors to the muckrakers.”“I have good, loyal men already on the payroll,” Obie pointed out. “Men I already know, who you already know, there’s no reason-”“No,” Tony said, bored with the conversation now. He made a grabbing motion at Rhodey, trying to reclaim his plans. “Let me-”“Burn that,” Pepper said out of the corner of her mouth.“No, no,” Rhodey mumbled, frowning down at the page. “He might be onto something here, if we can just-”“Oh, God,” Pepper said, snatching the page from his fingers. “Will you please-”He tried to grab it back. “Wait, give me-”Obie took it from Pepper, folding the page neatly into fourths. “Children,” he said, his voice stern, “I need you all to focus.” He tucked the paper into the pocket of his vest. “Tony. Guards. I can have them here tonight and you'll never-”“No,” Tony said. “I don’t want them, and I don’t need them, and I won’t have them.” He took a seat, leaning back with a sigh. “Why are we still discussing this?”“Because I’m terrified that you’re going to end up with a bullet in your head,” Obie said, blunt about it, and everyone went still.Tony resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Obie…”“You need to start thinking of someone other than yourself,” Obie said, stabbing a finger against the desktop. “What do you think will happen if you end up injured, or, god forbid, dead?”“The same thing that’s happening now,” Tony said. He shrugged. “For all intents and purposes, Pepper’s been running the company for years.”“Yes, but your bullet ridden corpse might cause a loss of consumer confidence,” Pepper said, studying her ledger. “Right.” Tony nodded. “If I end up dead, drag my body down into the basement and tell everyone I’m drunk. It's logical and believable, you can make it work for at least a few months.”Pepper struggled not to smile. “I don’t think that burying you under the furnace is a sustainable solution, Tony.”“Yes, but short term, it’s an excellent plan,” Tony pointed out.“Tony,” Obie started, just as someone knocked on the door.“Thank God. If you’re not here to scold me, feel free to come in,” Tony called, rocking back in his chair.The door opened, and Natasha slipped inside. “Well, I hadn’t been planning to before, but now I’m having second thoughts,” she said as Rhodey choked on a laugh. Her lips twitched. “Mr. Stane, your car has arrived.”“Ah, thank you, dear.” Obie stood,crossing to the coat rack to reclaim his jacket. He shrugged it on. “This discussion isn’t over, Tony.”“Since I’m not budging on this, and you can’t make me, I’m fairly certain that it is,” Tony said. He stood. “But if it makes you feel better, I’ll pretend to consider your position of the matter.”“You’re incorrigible,” Obie said, with a fond smile. He buttoned up his coat and stabbed a finger in Tony’s direction. “I’m responsible for you, you know that. I promised your father-”“That you’d take care of me, no matter what,” Tony said. “I know, Obie, I know, but I think the old man has to acknowledge that there’s only so many years you can spend at that job.”“You clearly never signed one of Howard’s contracts, or you’d know that is absolutely not true,” Obie said. He took his hat from Natasha. “Thank you, darling.” He pointed at Tony. “Guards.”“No,” Tony said. “Tony-”“Enjoy your meeting, Obie,” Tony said. “I'll be sitting here, thinking very hard on your words.”Obie shook his head. “Tony.”“Like a hermit, lost in prayer,” Tony said. “Sackcloth and ashes. There might even be fasting.” “Let us know when you get to the vow of silence,” Rhodey said, and Tony gave him a look. Rhodey grinned at him, utterly unconcerned. “It would make a nice change.”“I'll remember this betrayal,” Tony told him.“I'll talk to you about this tomorrow,” Obie said, and before Tony could get another last word in, he was out the door, shutting it firmly behind him.“Thank you for not stabbing him,” Tony said to Natasha.“The only thing that really stops me is the knowledge that I’d have to figure out how to get the blood out of the carpet,” Natasha said. Tony was pretty sure she wasn’t joking. “Still. I expect that your appreciation for my restraint will be reflected in my Christmas bonus.”“I think I can afford that,” Tony said. “I’ll check the budget.”“You do know that the only difference between Natasha and every other woman who has to work with Mr. Stane is that she has access to more knives, don’t you?” Pepper asked.“I’ve told you, you can do an amazing amount of damage with a simple pen,” Natasha told her. She reached for a ballpoint on the desk. “Here, let me show you, just-”“Can you not make her more dangerous than she already is?” Rhodey asked her.“We’ll talk after dinner,” Pepper said in a stage whisper. Laughing, Natasha handed her the pen back.“Speaking of dangerous, where is our guest?” Tony asked, rolling his head back towards Natasha. “Do I need to call out the dogs?”“The small guest or the big one?” she asked.“I’m assuming you’ve got the little one under control,” Tony said.“Excuse me, sir,” Natasha said, one eyebrow arching, “but we have both of them under control.”Tony held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Begging your pardon, I would never dream to imply that you didn’t.” He flopped back on the couch, throwing one leg over the arm. “Where’s the urchin?”“Again, you need to be specific about-”“DJ,” Tony said, ignoring the way that Pepper was giggling. “He’s downstairs in the kitchen,” Natasha said. “Helping them prep the last of the cherries for preserving and pies.”Tony frowned. “He was doing that three hours ago.”“And he’s still doing it,” Natasha said. “He seems to enjoy the task, we’ve offered him something different to do several times, but he seems content with what he’s doing.”“I’m sure that the steady diet of praise and pastries he’s getting from Mrs. Parker and the chef makes it a bit more palatable,” Rhodey mused, paging through a massive book. “It doesn’t hurt,” Natasha agreed. “And we’re going for a swim before lunch,” Pepper said. “So that’ll be a natural stopping point.”“That’s nice of you,” Tony said.She pointed her pencil in his direction, her head still bent over her ledger. “That’s nice of you,” she said.Tony stared at her, his mouth pursed. “Just for the record, I never agreed to this.”“And when has that ever stopped her?” Rhodey asked.Tony fished his pocket watch out of his vest pocket, frowning down at it. “Never,” he said. “And I think I have a meeting-”“I set all your meetings, so I can be fairly confident in saying no, you don’t,” Pepper said with a sugary sweet smile. “Eleven. Be ready, or I’ll have Happy toss you in, suit and all.”He put his watch back in his pocket. “I like this suit,” Tony said.“Then find a bathing costume,” she said. “It’s as easy as that, Mr. Stark.”“Right, you do make it seem quite simple,” Tony said. His eyes rolled in Natasha’s direction. “And the larger of our troublemakers?”“Patrolling the grounds again,” she said. She paused, one eyebrow arching. “He’s quite dedicated to his job.”“It’s a confusing concept, to be sure.” Tony grinned, amused despite himself. “Has he taken a brick to any part of the green house yet?”“No, but he’s checked the door every single time he’s in its general vicinity,” Natasha said. “He’s rattled that doorknob about once an hour for the past two days.”“Man needs to sleep,” Tony said. He rolled to his feet. Rhodey snorted. “That’s rich, coming from you.” He snapped his book closed, returning it to the shelf and reaching for another. “When’s the last time that you’ve gotten more than five or six hours in a row?”“Possibly before the war,” Tony said. To Natasha, he added, “Keep him occupied.”“We’ll do our best,” she said. “But he’s making Bruce tense.”“Never a good idea.” He took the book out of Rhodey’s hands, ignoring his objections. “See if he swims.”Natasha’s eyebrows rose, but whatever she was thinking, she didn’t say it. “Of course. Anything else?”He peered at her over the top of the book. “Do I have a meeting?”“You have a meeting,” she said. “I’ll send him a message, see if he can reschedule.”“We both know how that’ll go,” Tony said, biting back a smile. “But give it a try anyway.”“I shall do my utmost,” she said. “For the sake of my bonus.” With a quick nod, she slipped out of the library, pulling the door shut behind her.Tony could feel Pepper’s glare. He did his best not to acknowledge it. Or even look in her direction. “Let’s get the-”“So we do have a meeting that I didn’t set up,” Pepper said, her voice flat.“We don’t have anything,” Tony said, because there was zero chance that this was going to go his way. “I have a meeting.”“With who?” Pepper said, her voice sharp.“With the Agent,” Tony said. Rhodey groaned, and Tony ignored him. Instead, he glanced towards Pepper, who was staring at him, her mouth a flat line. “I know.”“You say that, but I’m pretty sure that you don’t,” she said.“She’s upset with me,” Tony said to Rhodey.“Uh-huh.” Rhodey took his book back, flipping it back around in his hands. “You should be used to that by now.”“I’ve done my best to build up an immunity, but she manages to make every time a new and ever more terrifying experience,” Tony said. “I think it’s because-”“If you bring Washington down on us right now, I will show you the true meaning of terror,” Pepper said, her voice dire. Tony gave her a wary look. “I’m going to need you to remove all her writing implements,” he said to Rhodey.“If you think I’m getting between you and her right now, you’re out of your mind,” Rhodey said. “I’m your chief designer, not your bodyguard.”“I should get one of those,” Tony mused. Pepper stood, her hands braced on her desk. “You are playing with fire right now, you know that, don’t you? Between Rogers and now Washington-”“You were the one to bring Rogers into this,” Tony pointed out. “I neither asked for, nor approved-”“Perhaps not, but you certainly are enjoying flirting with the poor man,” Pepper said.Tony opened his mouth. Closed it. “I’d argue that point, but right now, Pep, you should be pleased I’m not climbing him like a tree.”She stared at him, her expression torn between amusement and dismay. “Thank you so much for your restraint, Mr. Stark.”“See? Was that so difficult?” Tony asked her. He leaned back against his desk, his hands braced on either side of his hips. “It’s not that I’m flirting with him-”“You absolutely are flirting with him,” Pepper said.Tony ignored her. “It’s just that he’s so much fun to fluster.” He grinned. “I’ve never known a grown man to blush that much, or that easily.”“I need you to stop tormenting him,” Pepper said.“His ears go pink at the slightest provocation,” Tony mused. His head tipped to the side, his fertile brain coming up with a few rather racy images about just how he could make the good officer turn beet red. “How far down do you suppose it goes? Because his neck gets all-”“Stop it,” Pepper said, her lips twitching. Tony gave her an innocent look. “Tony. You’re not a cruel person.”“Oh, that’s patently untrue,” Tony said.“You’re cruel when you have reason,” Rhodey said. “You don’t have any reason here, you’re just tormenting the man, and there’s no reason for it.”“He keeps reacting,” Tony said. “That’s, that’s all the reason I need.”“Tony-” Pepper started, just as another brisk knock at the door brought their heads around.“Come in,” Tony called, glad for the interruption.The door opened, and Jarvis stepped aside, letting DJ come bouncing past him. “We are ready for swimming time,” Jarvis said, his voice calm.“Really,” Tony said, staring down at DJ. DJ grinned up at him, his lips and chin stained red with cherry juice. “I see we’ve had an unfortunate accident.”DJ held up both of his hands, which were just as red. “Cherries!” he said, sounding proud.“Cherries, or you’ve gone on a killing spree,” Tony said, smiling down at him. “How many did you eat, my little scullery rat?”“Some,” DJ said, with all due gravity.Tony looked at Jarvis. “It was, in fact, some cherries,” Jarvis said.“Ah, ‘some’ is now a concrete term of measurement, I see,” Tony said, offering his hands to DJ. DJ grabbed them, his grip firm. “Well, then. Is it time for ‘some’ swimming?”“Yes!” DJ leaned back, swaying on his feet and letting Tony support his weight.“Good.” Tony smiled at him, trying to ignore the way his chest ached. “Let’s go.”*This was a horrible idea.Steve perched uneasily on the edge of a wicker chair, not quite sure how he’d ended up here. Like with everything else that had happened to him this week, he'd had a clear plan and a strong sense of determination. And just like with everything else, it had meant absolutely nothing. He'd been swept out by a rip tide before, the sand beneath his feet dissolving as he found himself pulled out to see, far over his head. Struggling was useless, against the might of the ocean, and the tide didn't care if you lived or died.Steve was starting to suspect Stark Manor had it's own hidden currents, just below the calm surface, and all of them were dangerous.“Are you sure you don’t want to come in?”Steve jolted, his head swinging around. Rhodey was floating at the edge of the pool, his arms braced on the tile. He smiled at Steve. “Tony keeps a wide variety of swimming costumes, just for guests, bet you can find one that fits you.”Steve shifted his weight, the chair creaking under him. “No. Thank you, but-” He looked across the pool to where DJ was sitting on the stairs, tracing the patterns on the tiles with his feet. Nearby, Pepper swam back and forth, following an easy arc within easy reach of DJ should something happen. Not that Steve thought anything would; the kid could swim. And so could he, but this was no Coney Island beach, crowded with families with their old sheets spread on the sand and their meager lunches carried in old shoe boxes to protect them from the sun. Instead, the pool stretched out before him, the water warm and clean, smelling faintly of chlorine. Jazz music echoed in the cavernous space, amplified by the water and the massive arched ceiling, massive windows opened wide to let in the light.“Steve?”Steve glanced back down at Rhodey. “Thank you, but, no, I’m-” He smiled. “Not much of a swimmer.”Rhodey smiled. “During the middle of winter, when the snow’s piling up on the skylights and day lasts about three and a half minutes before it’s dark again? Let me tell you, during January?” His head tipped back his eyes falling shut. “It’s something else.” Steve smiled back. “I bet it is.”“Who's ready for a swim?”“We're already swimming, Tony,” Rhodey said, not bothering to open his eyes. “You're the one who's late.”“I can't be late, it's my pool,” Stark said, and, trying not to laugh, Steve turned in his seat to face him.He immediately regretted it.Stark was wearing some sort of silk dressing gown, tied loosely at his waist, the hem fluttering around his thighs as he walked. His legs were bare beneath the edge of the robe, and Steve felt his face heat. Before he could turn away, Stark caught his eye. “Are you not coming in?”Steve cleared his throat. “No,” he said. He sounded disapproving. That was fine. He was all right with that, he should be disapproving. That was a lot of skin on display. Even for a swimming costume.Stark paused in the act of untying his robe. “Can you not swim?” he asked.“I can, I'm just not-”That was as far as he got before Stark shrugged off his robe, the silk sliding off of his shoulders and down the length of his muscular arms, and Steve swallowed his tongue. Clad only in a small, mid-thigh length pair of crimson red shorts, Stark tossed his robe at the nearest unoccupied chair. “What are you wearing?” Rhodey asked, and he was laughing, there was laughter in his voice, as if he wasn't seeing the same thing that Steve was, as if Stark wasn't standing there, all but naked.“Like it?” Stark gave him a wide, glittering smile. He reached up to push his hair back from his forehead, and Steve lost his breath. “Its's all the rage in Europe.”“We're not in Europe and that's indecent,” Rhodey said. He splashed water at Stark's feet, and Stark took a hopping step to the side, avoiding the water as it splashed along the tile.“Yes, but we'll catch up eventually.” He raised his voice. “Pepper, you like it, don't you?”“I am refusing to look directly at you,” Pepper called, still swimming in slow, graceful strokes. “For fear that I'll swoon and drown.”“DJ will save you,” Stark said. “Won't you, moppet?” DJ gave a firm nod. “See? Nothing to fear.” He propped his hands on his hips, drawing the fabric tight, and Steve knew he had to stop staring before he gave himself away.He was so far from shore now that he wasn't sure that he'd ever find it again.“Mr. Stark. We have a meeting.”Stark turned, and for an instant, that was a relief, until Steve caught a glimpse of the curve of his ass in those shorts. “Ah. Agent.”Startled out of his voyeurism, Steve looked up in time to see a tall, slim man in a plain black suit come striding across the room, his well-polished black shoes beating a steady tattoo on the damp tile. He had a briefcase in one hand, and a faint, enigmatic smile on his face. His dark eyes found Steve's, going narrow for an instant, and then he turned back to Stark.“We have a meeting,” the man repeated. “Hello, Miss Potts. Mr. Rhodes. Officer Rogers.”Steve's skin iced over, but he kept his face still. In the pool, Rhodey raised his arm in a wave. “You going to be staying for lunch, Agent Coulson?”“I doubt I'll have time.” The man shifted his case to his other hand. “To my regret.”“I regret it more than you, it's such fun watching you give cooking lessons to the chef in French,” Stark said. He gave the pool a wistful look. “I don't suppose I could convince you to combine business and pleasure?”“As pleasant as that might be, I doubt the paperwork would survive,” Coulson said. “May we adjourn somewhere a bit less...” He paused, eyebrows arching. “Damp?”“Such an unpleasant word. I resent it.” Stark leaned over, his fingers closing on the fabric of his robe, and Steve watched him, mesmerized by the play of muscle and bone beneath his golden skin. Stark straightened up, tossing the robe over one shoulder. “I'll dress and meet you in the usual spot.”Coulson frowned. “We're already behind schedule.”“In my defense, I tried to reschedule, and I'm not catching cold because you can't read a note.” Stark strode across the tile. “All right, my little pigeons, I'm off to handle some things. Don't have too good of a time in my absence.”“We'll try to keep the party to a dull roar,” Rhodey said with a yawn. He braced his chin on his folded arms. “For a while at least. Out of respect.”“I appreciate that,” Stark said. “Come on, Coulson. You're looming. It's disconcerting.”If Coulson had a reply to that, Steve didn't hear it. He sucked in a breath, the tang of chlorine stinging the back of his throat. Get dressed. Get dressed. Why would Stark be getting dressed, the house was warm enough for him to wander about in nothing but that robe, and it clearly wasn't shame that drove him to find a pair of pants. So what-The answer hit him like a physical blow. The green house. It made no sense, but at the same time, it absolutely made sense. It might've been a stretch, but if there was even a slight chance, Steve was willing to take it. “You know what?” he said to Rhodey, who opened his eyes, blinking up at Steve. “I think I will see if I can find a-” He waved a hand towards the pool. “Something to swim in.”Rhodey grinned at him, his eyes crinkling up at the corners. “Looking to follow his fashion trends?”“What?” It took a moment for that to sink in, then Steve felt his face heat. “No. No, I think-” He shook his head. “No.”“Don't worry, he keeps the truly outrageous things for himself,” Pepper called. “There's plenty of more staid selections in the closet to the right of the entrance.” She held out a hand to DJ, who allowed himself to be coaxed off the stairs. “Pick whatever fits, and that you're comfortable with.”DJ waved at Steve, who waved back. “Be careful, and don't cause trouble, all right?” he asked.DJ ducked low in the water. “Trouble!” he echoed, making Pepper laugh.“Trouble,” she agreed, giving him a kiss on the forehead. “Go ahead, Steve, you can get changed in the powder room there on-”“I think I'll just, I'll go to my room,” Steve said. He stood. “So I might be a while.”“We'll be right here,” Rhodey said, pushing away from the wall and stroking in Pepper's direction. “Take your time.”“Thanks.” He should probably feel bad about this. Probably. But he wasn't surprised that he didn't, that lying to them came just a little too easily. Gritting his teeth against the thought, he headed towards the hall.*The door to the greenhouse was open.Just a crack, barely an inch, as if someone hadn't quite pulled it shut behind them after walking in. But it was most certainly open. From the shelter of the house, Steve eyed it, waiting for someone to realize their error, to appear to push it closed and lock it.But the minutes ticked by, and the grounds remained deserted in all directions. With one last glance over his shoulder, Steve headed across the lawn to the greenhouse. Even as he reached for the doorknob, he was still waiting for someone to appear to stop him.No one did, and the door opened easily when he gave it a tug. In another moment, the was through the portal and inside the greenhouse. Startled by just how easy that had been, he paused, trying to get his bearings.The front of the greenhouse was divided in neat rows by massive metal tables and low, broad beds of plantings. Pots of flowers and rows of seedlings marched along the length of the aisles, each marked with wooden stakes topped with gleaming silver tags. Huge clay containers hung from the crossbars over his head, leaves swaying in the heavy, damp air. He'd expected to hear someone talking, but there was nothing but the soft sounds of the leaves moving.Steve picked his way up the main aisle, frowning down at the beds of delicate greens and vegetables he had no name for. Everything smelled faintly of wet soil, that thick smell that came in the wake of a heavy rainstorm, and the floor was still damp. He glanced up, staring at the network of pipes that ran along just under the glass panes of the ceiling. There were sprinkler heads there, some of them still dripping.With each step he took away from the door, the less space he found he had, the plants growing up steadily on both sides of the walkway. By the time he was halfway through the greenhouse, he was pushing swaths of leaves out of his way, forcing his way towards the back. Feeling like he’d somehow entered a jungle, he ducked his way past what seemed to be a full grown tree, finding his way at last to something approaching an open space.It was dominated by a massive, shining metal still, surrounded by big, heavy wooden casks.Steve stared up at it, stymied. It was flanked on all sides by huge metal tables, piled high with boxes of bottles and tubs of glassware. There were other tables, there, smaller ones covered with a variety of unfamiliar equipment, and racks upon racks of seedlings. There were round glass jugs labeled with rows of what seemed like random letters, and metal tins stacked on wooden shelves. But mostly, there was a still.“What’s the password?”He jolted, his hand going to his hip, grabbing for the gun that wasn’t there. Mentally cursing himself, he spun on his heel, turning just in time to see She was dressed in a simple white shirt, the sleeves rolled to her elbows, and a pair of brown trousers held up by a pair of suspenders. She was wiping her hands on a big red handkerchief, trying her best to scrub the damp soil from her fingers. A flat cap was pulled low on her forehead, with only a few strands of her pale hair slipping free from under the brim.She glanced at him, her blue eyes sharp under the line of her brows. “What’s the password?” she repeated, tucking the handkerchief into her back pocket. Steve exhaled. “Joe sent me,” he said.Morse started to laugh. “Look at that. He’s got a sense of humor,” she drawled, doffing her cap with a half bow. Her blonde hair tumbled down her back, and she tossed the cap towards one of the workbenches. “And here I thought that cops had that surgically removed when they took the badge.”Steve tried not to smile. “I ducked that part of the ceremony,” he said. “They left the door unlocked, so...”Her eyelashes dipped, slow and languid as she tied her hair back with a bit of cord. “I’m sure it was,” she said, striding past him to check the pressure gauges on the still. “Since you respect locked doors so much. No chance you would've forced one open.”“I thought Mr. Stark was in here,” Steve said.“And I’m sure that he wanted you to think that,” she agreed. She crouched down, her blunt fingernails tapping against a curl of copper tubing. She made a considering sound under her breath. “I told him this would go badly.”“Mr. Stark?”She glanced up at him. “What?” She braced her hands on her thighs and straightened up. “Oh! No. I meant Bruce. I’ve told Tony things will go badly, too, of course, but this, this is all Bruce.” She ducked around him, snagging a silver bucket from a shelf and coming back around Steve’s other side. He tried to step back, out of the way, and she waved a hand in his direction. “You’re fine.” “Is that what all this secrecy is about?” Steve asked, a little deflated by the idea. “You’re telling me that Stark doesn’t bother locking his workshop, he’s got piles of plans and diagrams and blueprints piled up in the library, but this?” He glared at the still. “This, you keep under lock and key?”Morse propped her hands on her hips, rocking back and forth on her heels. “Yep,” she drawled. Steve stared at her. She stared back, her head cocked to the side. “You do realize that Prohibition is over, don’t you?” he asked. “You can… Buy liquor now.”“Oh, yes.” She was checking the valves now, slow and methodical. “And I do.”Steve nodded. “So why are you still brewing your own?”Her eyebrows arched. “Oh, see, that’s the problem, you think I built this-” She tapped the silken bronze surface of the still with one knuckle. “Because I had to?”“Yes.” She smiled at Steve, who resisted the urge to sigh. He shoved a hand through his hair. “Why else would you?”“We’re very different people, you and I,” she said, laughter audible in the words. “I do it because I can, and Tony pays for it.”“Right,” Steve said. He studied the still. “Why?”“You remind me of my sister’s kid. He’s three. And everything is ‘why,’” Morse said. She straightened up, blowing a strand of hair out of her face with a quick, sharp exhale of breath. “Why, why, why.”“The world is confusing and people don’t make sense,” Steve mused. “He and I, we’re just trying to figure it out.”“Can’t fault you on that,” Morse said. “But I also don’t have answers for you, officer.”Steve nodded. “Understood, ma’am.” He turned to go, and paused, his hand floating over edge of one of the tables. “One more question?”“Heck, I’ll give you two,” she said. “Might even give you honest answers.”“I’ll take ‘em.” Steve turned back to her. “Is this what Mr. Stark hired you for?”Her eyes narrowed. “I’m a woman of all work, Officer. I do a bit of gardening, a bit of housekeeping. I chop some wood, I polish some brass, including this brass,” she said, gesturing at the still. “He's... Satisfied by my output.”“Which is not an answer, and yet, I think it tells me more than you intended to,” Steve said. “If you can read between the lines, I’m an open book,” she said, leaning back against a workbench, her hands braced on either side of her narrow hips. “And if you can’t, well, it’s not my job to teach you how.”“Understood,” Steve repeated. “Second question. Where did he find you?”Her teeth flashed in a smile that was sharp and dangerous. “Jail.”Steve blinked at her. “Ah.”She rocked forward, pushing away from the workbench. “Yeah,” she agreed. “Family business didn’t work out so well for me, but neither did the chemistry phd, so I guess maybe the problem was me.” She turned her back to him, reaching for a rack of test tubes. “Any other questions, officer?”“I think I’ll stick to the terms of our agreement,” Steve said. He dipped his head in a slight nod. “Appreciate your time, ma’am.”She glanced back at him. “Feel free to stop by anytime, Officer. You sure do improve the scenery.”“Glad I could be of service,” Steve said. “And does that mean the door’s going to be unlocked from now on?”“I doubt it,” Morse said, her ponytail swinging behind her as she moved. “After all, I’m pretty sure Tony just unlocked it to throw you off of his trail.” She grabbed a heavy jug, swinging it up onto the workbench. Steve wasn’t sure if it held whiskey or something a great deal more caustic. “Didn’t he?”Steve took a deep breath. “I think he did.”She popped the cork. “He’s quite clever, Officer. Better watch yourself.” She gave him a look, her lashes sweeping low over her eyes. “Once you get deep enough into the labyrinth, you might have a hard time finding your way back out.”He looked up, at the heavy weight of the vegetation that pressed in on them, a confusing tangle of impenetrable leaves and stems and blossoms, so thick that it threatened to block out the sun. He could feel it, the damp air a physical pressure on his skin. And wondered if that warning was coming far too late.“I’ll keep that in mind,” was all he said.She was already focused on her work. “See? You’re learning already.”*“Here you are.”“Here we are,” Tony agreed. He rolled his head on his neck, trying to loosen the muscles. “Right where you left us.”Rogers paused halfway across the workshop. “Yes,” he said, exasperated. “This is where I left you. Two hours ago.”“Right,” Tony agreed. “DJ, hand me the pliers, I need-'“I think he's done for the night,” Rogers said. “It's well past his bedrime, and-”"No," Tony said, and that sounded like a whine, there was a distinctly whiny note to his voice just then. He squinted down at the interlocking gears of the mechanism, trying to clear his vision. "No, I need my child labor. Tiny. Tiny hands. Good for holding things. It's..." He stopped, not sure where he was going with that. "Necessary," he managed at last.Rogers stared down at him. He did not look impressed. "He's asleep, Mr. Stark. He's-" Rogers waved a hand down at DJ, and Tony followed the motion. DJ was flopped forward, his cheek pressed against the bench, his eyes closed, his moth gaping open. Tony was pretty sure he was drooling. "He's of no use to you," Rogers continued. "Because he's asleep."Tony glared at DJ. DJ did not appear to notice. "Prop up his hand. I need it."Rogers gave him a look. It was a very disrespectful look. "Go to bed, Mr. Stark." He reached down, big hands sliding under DJ's legs and back. He straightened up, DJ cradled against his chest, and DJ pawed at the air."Wooooooooork," he said, and Tony was very proud of him, right up until he started snoring."I'm docking your pay," he said to DJ, who twisted around in Rogers' arms, burying his face in Rogers' shoulder. "No use crying on the help, my mind is made up. You've failed me, there will be nothing but bread and water for the foreseeable future, unless it's the good kind of bread, and then it's-" He didn't know where he was going with this. Judging by the look on Rogers' face, neither did he. Tony waved a hand through the air. "Take him away. Work. I have work. You're in the way. He is definitely in the way, all the tiny little limbs and things, and-"He looked up, and Rogers was smiling at him, just a little, his mouth kicked up at the corners. Tony glared at him. "Are you... Smirking at me?" he asked, suspicious. He pointed a wrench at the blasted man, his eyes narrowed. "That looks like a smirk.""You're nothing but a fake, aren't you?" Rogers said, his voice soft. Tony stiffened, but Rogers was still smiling at him. "There are more lost lambs in this house than the one he came from." He ran a hand up and down DJ's back, the gesture slow and comforting. He didn't seem to be aware of doing it, the movement pure instinct. "Have you ever put anyone out, Mr. Stark? In your entire life, have you ever really thrown anyone to the wolves?"Tony brought his chin up. "You're angling to be the first," he said. He turned back to his work. "Dispose of the urchin. And put a note on him that he is not to be fed in the morning.""Even if I did, I don't think anyone here'd bother to obey it," Rogers said. Behind him, Tony heard the heavy, measured tread of his feet towards the workshop door. He didn't bother to look up, or back.Seeing the door close behind them would've been depressing in a way that he didn't really want to think about. Tony shook off the thought, bending over the piece of machinery he was working on. He could almost remember what he was doing, and he paused, rubbing a hand over his face. “Focus, Stark,” he muttered. “So you're alone. That's fine. You've been alone before. You've done this alone before.” He reached for a set of wire cutters. “And you're going to be doing this alone for a long time to come. Best you get used to that now, no matter how depressing it is.”Work was the solution. Work had always been the solution, and it would always be the solution. After all, he thought with a wry twist to his lips, it wasn't like had another one.He wasn't sure how much time passed as he worked, but by the time he was nearly done, blinking hurt. He struggled to focus as he tried to brace the strut in place with the back of his wrist, fumbling across the workbench for a pair of pliers. "Stay put, you damned-"An arm reached past him, and Tony jerked upright, adrenaline knocking his heartbeat into overdrive. He rocked backwards on his stool, and collided with something big, warm, and solid. "I've got it," Rogers said, his voice right next to Tony's ear. His fingers slid under Tony's hand, nudging him out of the way. "What are you trying to do?"Tony's back was right up against Rogers' chest as he leaned over Tony's shoulder. Each word seemed to vibrate through his frame, and Tony felt his heartbeat accelerate. "Uh," he managed, and that wasn't helpful at all. He felt Rogers' body shift against his, and he shoved himself upright. "Fix it. I'm trying to fix it."There was a beat of silence, and then Rogers said, "Right. How?"The question was like a splash of cold water, straight to the face. Tony gave his head a shake. "Is that sass?" he asked, reaching for the pliers again. Rogers got there first, fingers curling around the grip as he handed them over. "Is that working class sass I hear in your voice?"Rogers leaned in. "Pure Irish cheek," he said, with a broad, almost comical brogue. "What's it t' ya, pally?"The bark of laughter caught them both off balance. "Don't do that again," Tony said, trying to get himself under control. "Just- Don't, I do not need-""An' who cares what the likes of you needs? Me, I'll be needing a bed an' I ain't gettin' it as long as you need a nurse maid," Rogers said, and he was laughing now, too, his shoulders jerking with it. He rocked forward, his chest brushing against Tony's back, and Tony had to work hard at not relaxing into the shelter of his body.Tony smacked his fingers lightly with the pliers. "Hold still, you're of no use if you're shaking the whole structure, so-”Rogers leaned forward. “Get to work, Mr. Stark.” He chuckled, and the warmth of his breath ghosted against the curve of Tony's ear, making him shiver. “Impress me.”The words were like a shot of adrenaline, straight to the basest part of his brain. Tony sucked in a long, slow breath, trying to ignore the sudden spike of arousal that curled through him. There was something wrong with him, he'd always known that, but he was pretty certain that the combination of that voice and those words were going to haunt his dreams in the best possible way in the days to come.He apparently had a very odd idea of what constituted dirty talk, but damn if this wasn't working for him.Tony gave his head a brisk shake, trying to get some blood back into it. “Watch and learn,” he said, and if his voice sounded husky and a bit raw on the edges, well, he could chalk that up to the late hour and the sheer amount of coffee he'd drunk. But his hands were steady as he started making adjustments, his fingers flying over the mechanism, putting things to right with a speed that impressed even him."There." He rapped Rogers' wrist with his knuckles, the skin to skin contact fleeting. "All set. You may go.""I may go?" Rogers echoed. But he did take a step back, and as much as Tony missed the heat of his body, that did make it easier to think."Yes." He flipped his hand towards the door. "Go. Bed. Rest of the righteous, and all that." Rogers didn't move, and Tony glanced at him. "Is there something else you need, Officer Rogers?"Rogers crossed his arms over his chest. "I think you're forgetting something, Mr. Stark."Tony let his eyes roll up towards the ceiling. "Fine. Thank you." Rogers' eyebrows arched, and Tony hid a smile behind his coffee cup. "You proved an adequate replacement for an eight year old street urchin. Your ancestors should be very proud.” He pointed the cup at Rogers. “You should be proud."Rogers' lips quirked up. "My ancestors would be wondering why I haven't blacked your eye yet." He leaned in. "And while I appreciate your approval, that wasn't what I was talking about." He pointed at the door. "It's bedtime, Mr. Stark.""You know you're not actually my body man right?" Tony asked him. Which was a shame. It was a crying shame. Of course, if he had Rogers dressing him every morning, and undressing him every night, he wouldn't last the month. Shaking off that lovely thought, he gave Rogers a wry smile. "Or my nurse maid.""No, sir, I'm your state assigned guard." Rogers leaned a palm on the edge of the workbench, the muscles of his arm bunching beneath the thin fabric of his shirt. "My job, so my Captain tells me, is to keep any harm from coming to you.""And I'm perfectly safe down here, so...""At this point, I think you're a threat to yourself," Rogers said. He leaned forward, his blue eyes steady and sharp. "So are you off to bed, Mr. Stark?"Tony considered that. "Tempting. But no." He glanced at the bench, and reached for the toolbox. "I've got work that I have to-""Right." Rogers straightened up. "I'm getting Jarvis."Tony bobbled a wrench. He managed to snag it from mid-air, clutching it to his chest. "Excuse me?" he asked, incredulous.Rogers gave him a wide, bright smile. "I'm going to go upstairs," he said, and there was a note to his voice that Tony had never heard before. Low. Dark. Almost threatening. "I'm going to wake Jarvis. And I'm going to tell him that you're in danger of lighting yourself on fire or losing a limb down here." His teeth flashed in a grin that did very interesting things to Tony's blood pressure. "And make this problem... His problem."Tony realized he was still hugging his wrench. "You wouldn't dare," he said. Rogers leaned in. "I think," he said, and yes, that voice was going to haunt Tony's dreams in the best way possible, "you'll find that I'll dare quite a bit, Mr. Stark." His eyes narrowed. "Especially when I'm dealing with a high class fella doing his level best to throw his weight around."Tony leaned back against the bench, his head tipped to the side. "How, exactly, are you still employed as a public servant?" he asked, amused despite himself.Rogers grinned, wide and boyish and bright, and Tony lost his breath. "I"m an Irish war hero, and Tammany's still a thing in this city.""That it is." Tony drained the rest of his coffee and tossed the cup back on the workbench. He slid down off of his stool, stretching his arms over his head. Everything ached, and he set his hands at the small of his back, trying to work out the kinks in his spine. "All right, my flatfooted friend, you win."“Imagine my relief, Mr. Stark,” Rogers said. “Yes, well, don't get used to it.” Tony waved a hand in his direction. “And the 'Mr. Stark' thing is beginning to annoy me. Call me Tony, everyone does.”Rogers paused, one eyebrow arching. “Everyone.”“Well, my friends do,” Tony said. He moved towards the door, only to find he was alone. He paused, looking back over his shoulder. Rogers was standing there, a very strange expression on his face. “I don't think we're quite friends, Mr. Stark.”It should've stung, but somehow it didn't. Tony smiled at him. “That's all right,” he said, and it was easy, it was so easy. “All of my insubordinate help does, too.” That startled a laugh out of him, sudden and real, before he clapped a hand over his mouth to muffle it. Tony grinned at him, warmth blooming in his chest. “See, Rogers? We can be friends. Humor me.”Rogers' hand dropped back to his side, but his mouth was still twitching, his eyes dancing. “Steve,” he said.Tony shook his head. “No.” He tapped his chest. “Tony. To. Nee. It's-”Rogers' eyes rolled up towards the ceiling. “It's Steve,” he said, cutting Tony off. His head fell forward, then came back up, his eyes warm beneath the firm line of his brows. He was smiling when he added, “The only ones who call me Rogers are commanding officers who think I'm going to obey them.”Tony tucked his hands in his pockets, mostly to keep them from grabbing the front of Rogers' shirt and dragging him down. “Steve,” he said, the word felt like a victory on his tongue.Steve's cheeks looked pink in the low light. “Tony,” he said, and that was definitely a victory. Tony took a deep breath. “Now that we've reached such a deep and abiding accord, I think it would be best if I were to-”“Go to bed, Tony,” Steve said, and, laughing, Tony headed for the door. He'd pushed his luck enough for one day.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“Coulson knew him.”“I love how that’s what we’re choosing to focus on,” Tony drawled, his fingers working their way into a narrow gap in the prototype’s frame. He gritted his teeth, trying to find an angle that would give him the access he needed without scraping half the skin off of his knuckles. “As if that’s what’s important.”“Well, you have to admit, darling, it’s a bit worrying,” Jan said, her nose buried in a report. Tony glanced up just in time to see her flip the page, her fingers flitting across the paper. “In that most of the things that Coulson knows about are…” She paused, her lips pursing into a perfect bow. “I don’t know quite the right word.”“Terrifying?” Rhodey offered, offering Tony a screwdriver. “If you take that off, don’t forget-”“I won’t, I won’t,” Tony muttered, jamming the tool between his teeth.“I’d say ‘worrying,’” Pepper said. She was reading over Jan’s shoulder, her eyes narrowed into slits. “Very worrying.”“I’ll be honest,” Bobbi said, her head bent over a stack of notes, “I’m less worried about the fact that he knew him, and more that he felt he had to tell us he knew him.” She made a see-saw motion in midair with one hand. “He usually plays everything on a ‘need to know’ basis.”“Guess he thought we needed to know,” Bruce said. He was pacing around the room, his gait quick and uneven, almost jerky. He glanced over his shoulder in Tony’s direction, making eye contact for just a moment before he looked away again. “Speaking of, uh, where is he?”“Coulson, or Rogers?” Tony asked. “The former, I have no idea, and I’m happier not knowing.” He let his eyes float closed, finding his way through the interior of the prototype by touch. “As to the other…”His voice trailed away, and Natasha picked up the thread without missing a beat. “We left the northside gate unlocked. He’s…” She stopped, and Tony opened one eye to peer at her. She handed a knife to Clint, who took it with a broad, self-satisfied grin. “He’s very disappointed in us.”Tony let out a bark of laughter. “Oh, God, I’m sure he is.” He handed Rhodey the remains of a screw. Rhodey looked at the sheared off end and made a face. “Agreed,” Tony told him. Then, to Natasha, “How long do we think that’ll keep him busy?”“Well, Happy and Thor are ‘patrolling’ with him,” she said with a slight smile. “I trust they’ll have him poking his nose into all sorts of utterly useless nooks and crannies.”“Knowing Happy, he’ll make up some new ones, too,” Tony said.“Knowing Thor, they’ll be on the roof in twenty minutes,” Jan said. She closed the file and offered it to Pepper. “Want a closer look?”Pepper rocked back in her chair. “I’ll be honest,” she said. “There’s so much redacting in that file, that nothing short of a microscope would allow me to look ‘closer.’ We’ve got locations, and dates and the implication that someone, probably multiple someones, think he’s very important.”“True.” Jan held it out to Bruce, who gave his head a hard, sharp shake.“No, thanks, I’m-” Another shake of his head, hard enough to send his hair bouncing. “I’m better off not knowing.” He pivoted on his heel, his arms folded tightly over his chest. He was hunched into himself, his body swaying to some internal rhythm. “Just-” He managed a flat smile for Jan. “Just give me the gist.”Jan smiled back. “He’s trouble,” she said, her voice gentle. “Right,” Bruce said, nodding once, and then again. “Right.” He looked at Bobbi. “I don’t suppose you can add anything to that? About what kind of trouble he, uh, he might be?”“The legal kind,” she said, one boot heel bouncing against the floor. “So. No. I can’t.” She looked up. I do have a question, though.” She looked at Tony. “How did he end up here?”“A very interesting question,” Tony said, his voice arching. He pulled out a wire, ignoring the way it sparked between his fingers. “Pep? Do we have an answer to that very interesting question?”She crossed her legs, her head tipped to the side as she considered that. “Because Hill wanted him here.”“Because Hill wanted him here,” Tony agreed. “The question is…” He wiped his hands on a rag. “Why?”“What was she hoping to accomplish?” Rhodey asked, leaning against the edge of the workbench. He crossed his arms over his chest. “She had to know he was going to be discovered, he’s not cut out to be a spy.”“Too blunt,” Tony agreed. He considered that. He knew he was an idiot, but considering Steve Rogers was fast becoming one of his favorite pastimes. He shook off the thought. “Maybe it’s a cover.”Clint grumbled a random string of syllables, and Tony waited patiently for Natasha to translate absolutely nothing. “Do we have something to share with the class?” he asked, and his French wasn’t particularly good, but at least it was Goddamn French.Natasha gave Clint a look, and he shrugged. She turned back to Tony. “It’s not cover,” she said, one leg swinging slowly back and forth through the air, her skirts swishing with the movement. “It’s a job application.”Everyone stilled. “I wasn’t aware I had any openings,” Tony said, tossing the filthy rag back in the general direction of the workbench.One of Natasha’s shoulders rose in a slight shrug. “You are putting together quite the orchestra,” she said, her voice considering. “And you don’t like Hill.”“I am fine with Hill,” Tony said.“That’s a lie,” Pepper said.“I don’t like Fury,” Tony said.“That’s a little closer to the truth,” Rhodey said. “Either way, they’ve got a horn player they want you to consider for the lineup,” Natasha said. “But you’re not going to take their recommendation.”“She has a point, darling,” Jan mused. “Best way to judge a musician is to see if he can play with the group you’ve already got.”“Doesn’t matter how good a trumpet player is if he’s going to put his foot through the bass drum ten minutes into the set,” Bobbi said, grinning. “Or if the drummer’s going to take a cymbal to his.”“This metaphor is getting out of hand,” Tony said.“It’s not the only thing,” Bruce said. He rocked forward and back on the balls of his feet. “We’re also, uh, we’re going in circles.” He glanced around the room. “So, what are we going to DO about it?”Wordlessly, Jan held the file out to Tony. He considered it, sensing a trap that he wasn’t sure he could avoid. “Whoever he is, he’s got quite the file,” he said. He took it from Jan. “Shame we won’t get to read it.”He turned it over in his hands, studying the stenciled words on the front. Project: Rebirth. He wasn’t sure why, but the words made him uneasy. He took a deep breath, and held it out to Pepper. “Put it downstairs.”Her eyebrows arched. “And when Coulson comes back looking for it?”“We tell him that he should be more careful with his possessions, it’s not our responsibility to take care of them, and he shouldn’t expect us to,” Tony said. “If he does, he’s delusional.”“I suspect he expects nothing less,” Pepper said. She reached for her bag. “Which is why this contains about twenty legible words.”“He’s tricky,” Tony agreed. There was a knock at the door, and he glanced at Pepper, making sure she’d put the dossier away. “What’s the password?” he called.Peter poked his head into the room. “We have cookies?”“If that wasn’t the password before, it’s the password now,” Rhodey said as Peter stepped aside, letting DJ bounce into the room, a plate clutched in his hands. There was flour all over his shirt and hand, his hair dusted with white. “What’ve you got there, sport?”DJ grinned up at him. “Cookies!”“Excellent.” Pepper stood. “Did you make them?” DJ nodded, and Peter leaned up against the workbench. “Aunt May helped,” he explained, as DJ offered the plate to everyone. “With measuring and that sorta stuff.”“She’s a very helpful lady,” Jan said. She held her hands out to DJ. “Hello, my darling. Come here, you’re covered in flour.”“He was very enthusiastic about mixing,” Peter explained, taking a cookie before DJ headed across the room to Jan. He took a big bite. “An’ everything else.”“Getting into your work is a sign of an advanced mind,” Jan said. She took the plate of cookies from DJ, handing them to Bruce. “Here, Bruce, have a cookie, it’ll be good for your nerves.”He took them. “My nerves are fine, Jan.”“Then eat a cookie because it’ll settle my nerves,” she said, her voice arch. She pulled a handkerchief from her purse and started wiping DJ’s face. “And because DJ was kind enough to give you one.”Bruce studied the cookies. “I’ll ruin my dinner,” he said. Jan sighed. “You can prove to be a bad example at least once, Dr. Banner.”“What time is it?” Tony reached into his pocket. “Peter, shouldn’t you be in school? You’re still going to school, aren’t you?” He frowned down at his watch. “I seem to recall schooling.”“I went to school,” Peter said with a grin. “Then school ended, and I came home. I did my homework in the kitchen, and DJ helped with that, which was very nice of him. Now I’m eating a cookie.”Tony stared at him. “Fascinating,” he said. “Well, you did ask,” Rhodey told him. “And I have learned my lesson.”Jan had DJ in her lap now, blowing gently on his hair. Flour floated through the air like snow, making him giggle. “Have you anything fun planned for Sunday?”“He’s sweeping the chimney,” Tony said, frowning down at his paperwork. “That’s the end of the week,” Jan said. Tony stared at her, and her lips went thin. “The end. Of the week, Anthony.”Everyone was staring at him, everyone except DJ, who was kicking his legs and grinning at the resulting flour storms. Out of his line of sight, Pepper, pointed at DJ, her face set in a fierce frown. Tony shrugged. “What are you-”“The end of the week, Tony,” she said. ‘The end of the week that DJ is spending with us.”Tony froze. “It hasn’t been a week already,” he said.“You might not be the best at keeping track of time, Mr. Stark,” Peter said. “Or schedules.”“I have people for that,” Tony told him. “And those people have clearly been falling down on his job, because I am not sure when-” He stopped. “Right. End of the week. No. We do not have any plans. I’m not sure what plans I should be-”“We could go to the theater,” Jan said, interrupting him, and Tony was grateful for the excuse to stop talking. She leaned over, meeting DJ’s eyes. “Would you like to see the ballet? Or go to the opera?”“That… Might be a bit much,” Pepper said. “The performances can be awfully long, Jan, and…”“Baseball season’s over,” Rhodey said. “Otherwise, that would’ve been fun.”“How about a movie?” Peter said. “Movies are great.” He picked up another cookie. “DJ, have you ever been to a movie?”DJ shook his head, and Peter grinned at him. “You’ll love it. I used to go more when I was your age, there was an old nickelodeon near where we lived in Queens, and my uncle’d give me a few dimes, an’ I’d stay there all day.”Jan made a face. “Isn’t a movie rather… Ordinary?”“Let’s work up to the opera,” Tony said.“Let’s never do the opera,” Bobbi mumbled into her notes.“You can come with me next time,” Jan told her. “You and Pepper and Natasha. I’ll bring you a gown and we can be a mysterious band of glamorous and-”“Hard pass,” Bobbi said, trying to hide a smile.Jan huffed out a breath. “No one lets me have any fun,” she complained. She rested her chin on DJ’s head. “Tony. Let me have fun.”“No,” Tony said.“DJ, tell him to let me have fun,” Jan said. She ducked her head behind his. “Tony, you should let Jan plan our movie night!” she said, mimicking a little boy’s voice.“Really, DJ?” Tony asked. “You trust that maniac?”“Of course!” Jan said, as DJ nodded. “She’s very nice and she loves me and she loves you, Tony! She loves you and wants you to be happy!”“I sincerely doubt this,” Tony said. But he reached for a cookie. “I’m telling you now, kid. You’re going to regret this.”Jan peeked over DJ’s shoulder. “Is that a yes?” she asked hopefully.“It’s a ‘I doubt I could stop you, even if I tried,’” Tony said. He jammed a whole cookie in his mouth. “I’m accepting my fate.”“On several levels,” Pepper said. Tony gave her a look, and she reached for her bag. “Now. If you’ll excuse me. I need to go downstairs.”*“Miss Van Dyne has notified us as to her plans,” Pepper said.Steve looked up from his sketchpad. Pepper was standing just inside the door of the workshop, a letter held in one hand, an exhausted expression on her face. “This is your fault,” she said.“Most things are,” Tony said, working at a stubborn screw. “At least as far as you’re concerned.” He glanced over at DJ, who was organizing his extensive array of screwdrivers by size. “Which one’s your favorite?”DJ considered them, and then chose a flathead with a polished black handle.“Yes, that’s a quality one, hand it over,” Tony said, holding out a hand. “Are you paying attention right now?” Pepper asked him.“Yes,” Tony said, squinting at the hole. “Absolutely.”Pepper propped her hands on her hips. “What have we said about not giving Miss Van Dyne carte blanche?” “That it’s a very poor idea?” Tony asked.“Yes, it is, and yet, you’ve done it again.” Pepper slapped the letter down on the workbench. “Which has resulted in her renting out Radio City Music Hall.”Tony gave the letter a suspicious look. “Who’s paying for that?”Pepper’s eyes fluttered closed. “Who do you think?” she asked.“Right,” Tony said. But his lips were twitching. He glanced at DJ. “Isn’t that great? You’re going to see a movie.”DJ propped his chin on the edge of the workbench. “Movie,” he said, his eyes bright.”“Why do I try?” Pepper asked the ceiling.“Because you refuse to give up on any of the many lost causes in your life,” Tony said. “DJ, do you want to-”“Excuse me,” Steve said. “We’re going to see a movie?”“As a special treat,” Tony said. Steve glanced at Pepper, who nodded. Steve took a deep breath. “You rented a theater to see a movie?”Tony looked at him, his eyes narrowed, as if he was looking for some sort of hidden meaning in Rogers's very straightforward words. “Yes,” he said at last. It sounded a bit like a question. “I mean. I’m not. Jan is. Because Jan doesn’t have any idea how to do things by half measures. It’s part of her charm, but sometimes, honestly, she’s-”“She rented Radio City Music Hall,” Steve said, cutting him off. “Yes.” Tony said.“For you and DJ,” Steve said, just to clarify.“For Pepper and DJ,” Tony said, going back to his work. Pepper gave him a look, and he shrugged. “Rhodey likes movies, I'm sure he'll go, and you're welcome to join them. There's plenty of seats.”“Yes, there is,” Steve said. “Radio City Music hall seats, what, fifteen hundred people?”“Closer to six thousand,” Pepper said.“Six THOUSAND,” Steve repeated. “Six. Thousand.”“I'll take your word for that,” Tony said.“Right,” Steve said.Tony heaved a very deliberate sigh. “I'm sensing there's something here that you're not saying, and I'm tired, I'm very tired, so how about we just get to the point?”Steve tried not to smile. It was harder than it should've been. “The point, Mr. Stark,” he said, biting off the words with crisp precision, “is that you've rented out a six thousand seat house to plop a single child in the middle of a very grand, very empty room.”“Yes?” Tony said, and he was confused. Steve could see it on his face. He was honestly and truly confused. Pepper, meanwhile, was hiding a smile behind one hand. DJ was watching them both, his eyes darting between them.Steve braced his sketchbook against his knee. “That sounds like the loneliest experience I can imagine,” he said. I mean, what's movies, what's the theater, other than finding the human heart of a story? To laugh at the same time as the fella next to you, to see a girl crying real tears over a pretend person?”“The audience exists because the theater owner wants to make money,” Tony pointed out. “And packing 'em into the seats is the best way to do that.” He shook his head. “The movie doesn't care if you smile, Officer Rogers. The actors have long since gone on with their day, and the celluloid doesn't care if it's playing to a packed house or a single person.” He arched an eyebrow. “And I prefer the single person.”“Which is fairly obvious, as you spend your life alone, in a basement,” Steve said. Pepper made a sound that might’ve been a choked off laugh. Tony’s head snapped up, and Steve gave him a pleasant smile. “With the occasional visitor, who exists to be expelled as soon as possible.”Tony's mouth opened. Closed. Steve kept smiling. “It's a special treat,” Tony managed at last. “The movie. Not the-”“I understand that,” Steve said. “And it's very kind of you to take him.”“It is,” Tony said. “Wait, for me to-”“It's also a colossal waste,” Steve said.“I can afford it,” Tony said.“Yes, but there's no reason for it to be a waste.” Steve slashed his pencil through the air. “It's pointless. You've already paid for the seats. You've already spent the money. Why not use that, and make people other than DJ happy?”Tony pinched the bridge of his nose. “You're an exhausting human being, you do know that, don't you?” he asked. But Steve was pretty sure he was hiding a smile.“Been told as much by everyone from my Ma through to my Captain in slightly less polite terms,” Steve said. “Stubborn as a hungry hog half a foot from the trough is how my Ma phrased it.”“Colorful,” Tony said, but yes, he was definitely smiling now, the sort of a smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes and softened the sharp line of his jaw. “All right, then, officer, I'll bite.” He braced a hand on the workbench, leaning into it. “Who, exactly, do you plan on putting in those seats?”“Oh, I don't know,” Steve said, pretending to think about it. “Thought Pepper said something about a factory full of workers in your employ.” He looked at Pepper, his expression innocent. “Didn’t you say that?”“Oh, my, I did,” she said. “I did say that.”“Bet some of them have kids of their own. But I bet you know best,” Steve said to Tony. “That’d only make sense. I mean, I’m sure none of them would be interested in seeing a show.”Tony blinked at him. “Well, I mean-”“And there's another fifty little boys where DJ comes from,” Steve said. “Who weren’t lucky enough to get picked.” He paused, letting that sink in. “Most of them probably never saw a movie, either.”“Well-”“I mean, at least not without having to try to sneak in through a back door, or past an usher,” Steve pointed out. “Knowing some of them, I’m sure they’ve made a try or two, but might be nice for them to see one without having to worry about being carried out by their ear.”“All right, then-”“Most of them don’t have any idea if they’ll be fed tonight, so it-”Tony stared at him. “What will it take to make you stop?” he said, and Steve grinned at him.“Way I see it, Tony,” he said, tapping his pencil against the pad, “it’s gonna cost you the same if you make one little boy happy, or a whole room full of people happy.” He arched his eyebrows. “So, which’ll it be?”Tony looked at DJ. “Don’t you want to be special?” he asked.DJ considered that. “No,” he said at last, and Steve burst out laughing.“Fine. Fine. You’re all against me.” Tony braced his hands on the edge of the workbench. “Potts. You have to distribute tickets at the factories.”“Of course, sir,” she said.Tony pointed a finger at Steve. “You are responsible for keeping the urchins under control.”“I could,” Steve said. “But if Miss Potts is handling your employees, and I’m handling the boys from Hammer’s House, then who’s going to be taking care of DJ?”Tony stared at him, and Steve stared back, utterly unconcerned. “DJ, would you like to see a movie with me?” Tony asked at last.DJ grinned up at him. “Yes,” he said, and offered Tony a screwdriver.“Wonderful,” Tony said.“Well, then, since that’s settled,” Steve said. “Miss Potts, if you’ll let me know if you need me to do anything?”“Oh, trust me, Officer Rogers, you will be the first one I come to, from now on,” Pepper said. “You’re not allowed to recruit him for your little cabal,” Tony said. “You. Not allowed.”“Of course not, Tony,” she said, and with a wink in Steve’s direction, she left the workshop.Tony pointed the screwdriver at Steve. “Are we satisfied?”“For now.” Steve looked back down at his sketchbook. The random doodles that he’d been working on somehow seemed to have turned into a detailed drawing of Tony’s hands. He stared down at it, wondering if he could even trust himself anymore.He turned the page and started over, trying not to think about Tony’s smile.*“I think we should keep him.”Tony paused, his cup halfway to his mouth. Slowly, he looked up, meeting Peter’s eyes over the top of his paperwork. “We’re not keeping him.”Peter blinked at him, almost vibrating with leashed energy. “I think we should,” he said. Tony made to step past him, and Peter matched him, step by step. “I think it’s a good idea.”Tony sighed. “Peter.”“I know, it’s none of my business, Mr. Stark, I know that-”“And you’re still going,” Tony said to no one in particular. “This… This is still happening.”“I agree, it’s not something that is any of my business,” Peter rushed on, the words bumping up against each other. “It’s not.” Tony slipped into the library, trying to close the door before Peter could slip through, but he was remarkably quick. Sighing, Tony headed for his desk, Peter dogging his heels the entire way. May, who was tidying Pepper’s desk, gave him a sympathetic look. “Peter-”“I know!” Peter rushed out. “And it’s not something I should ask, but I think he’s good, I mean, we’re good for him, and he’s good for us-”“Us?” Tony echoed. “Peter. There’s no ‘us,’ you’re too young to sign adoption papers, and I’m too old to think that’s at all a good idea, so there is no us, there’s just-”“I think that things have been better since he got here, don’t you?” Peter asked, and he was so earnest, he nearly radiated it. Tony stopped walking, and so did he, just about tripping over his own feet as he turned to face Tony. “I just-” He tucked his hands in his pockets, his shoulders flexing in something like a shrug. “I think it’s been better.” He blinked at Tony. “Don’t you?”Tony took a deep breath. “Parker.”Peter straightened up. “Mr. Stark?”“Do you want a dog, Parker? Is that what this is all about?” Tony slapped the file folder against his leg. “Because I can get you a dog.”“Excuse me?” May’s head came up, her eyes narrowed into slits of pure fire.“I can ask your aunt if I can get you a dog,” Tony amended instantly, winning himself a pleased nod. “Better?” he asked her.“No, because now it’s my fault that he can’t have a dog,” she said, her voice stern.“It was-” Tony spread his hands wide. “It was always your fault that he couldn't have a dog, May, that was one hundred percent on you.”“And now it’s a topic of conversation again,” she said, collecting the empty cups and plates from the desk and piling them up on a tray balanced on her hip. “And it’s your fault.”“Most things are,” Tony admitted, staring helplessly at the ceiling.“At least you admit it,” May said, heading for the door. “Peter. Behave.”“Right. I’m behaving. I’m totally behaving. I don’t want a dog,” Peter said, and Tony gave him a disbelieving look. His mouth worked. “All right, I do, I do want a dog, but that’s not what this is about.”“Fine.” Tony threw himself into his library chair, his head pounding already. “So. What is this about?”On the other side of his desk, separated from him by that gulf of polished wood, Peter paused. He swallowed, his throat bobbing. “I know the only reason I’m here is because Uncle Ben died at the factory,” he said, and it was so small, so quiet, and it fell like a rock into the space between them.The spike of nausea caught him off guard, so sudden and so complete that it left him reeling. He reached for his coffee cup, and had to ignore the way his fingers were trembling. “You’re here,” he said, his voice hard, “because I needed a housekeeper, and your aunt is a damn good one. You were just part of a package deal, and at the time when I hired her, you were small and quiet and I assumed that she would be putting you in an empty closet or shed of some sort.”Peter’s lips twitched. “She did. I got out.”“Yes, I noticed that,” Tony grumbled. “You kept forgetting to lock the door,” Peter said.“I lose keys, they’re small and unimportant, but so were you, the point is, you should have been polite enough to stay where you were put and not ended up wandering around the house and touching things, touching everything, it’s just unconscionable, your fingerprints are on-” Tony waved a wild hand at the library. “Everything.” Slamming the cup down, he grabbed a folio at random from the blotter, flipping it open. “At this point, college is going to be a bargain.”Peter smiled. “I’m not going to college, Mr. Stark.”Tony glared at him. “You,” he said, stabbing a pen in Peter’s direction, “are absolutely going to college. I didn’t force march you into two separate prep schools so you could give up and go be lazy just when it comes time for you to finish your training and start taking over the boring, mundane tasks that I do not want to do.”“I don’t want to do them, either,” Peter said.“Yes, and that’s why I’m paying for your college education, so that you’re beholden to me and you have no choice but to handle things like board meetings, press conferences and Pepper.”Peter’s mouth worked. “I don’t want to handle Miss Potts.”“Should’ve thought of that before you moved in,” Tony said with a tight smile. “That was a bad choice.”That was met with silence, and after a moment, Tony glanced up to find Peter smiling at him. “It’s worked out okay for me,” he said.“Yes, you’re clearly a well adjusted young man who has caused absolutely no problem for this household,” Tony groused. “Just, you know, eating your weight in pastry daily and destroying my orchards-”“That tree was not my fault,” Peter said. “Bruce-”“Says it was your fault, and Bruce is more trustworthy than you,” Tony said. “All right, but-”There was a soft knock at the door, and Tony looked up, grateful for any interruption that he could get. “Come in and take this away,” he called. “I want this individual evicted from my library immediately.”Jarvis slipped into the room, stopping just inside the door. “Your aunt thought you might be getting into trouble,” he said to Peter.“Absolutely not getting into trouble,” Peter said.Jarvis arched an eyebrow. “And are we discussing things that we were absolutely instructed not to discuss?” he asked, his voice brisk.“Not those specific things, not specifically,” Peter said. Jarvis’ other eyebrow raised. Peter huffed out a breath. “I might have breached a subject or two, in a very roundabout way.”Jarvis looked at Tony, who busied himself with signing whatever paperwork had been left on his desk, whether they needed a signature or not. Jarvis looked back at Peter. “You are, of course, the soul of discretion,” he said dryly. “But perhaps you should go downstairs and assist your aunt in setting the table for dinner.”Peter’s eyes darted towards Tony, and then back to Jarvis. “I just think-”“I think,” Jarvis said, cutting Peter off with his usual ruthless efficiency, “that we have done enough thinking for today.” He paused. “Don’t you?”Peter’s shoulders slumped. “Yes, sir.”“Thank you. I appreciate your discretion,” Jarvis said, placing a gentle hand on Peter’s back and nudging him towards the hall. “Please tell your aunt that we will be down promptly at seven.”“Yes, sir.” Peter gave Tony one last hopeful look, which Tony did his best to ignore. Only after Peter was gone, the door closed firmly behind him, did he relax. “He’s not allowed to talk to me any more.”“Of course, sir,” Jarvis said, not missing a beat. Tony gave him a suspicious look, and Jarvis smiled, just a bit. “He’s not allowed to do many things. Unfortunately, every attempt his aunt has made to make him understand his rather unenviable position as the child of the help has been undermined by her employer.” He folded his hands behind his back, his body canting forward just a bit. “Leaving him with a sense of himself as a valued and appreciated member of the household.”“He’s not. He’s just- He’s very convenient to blame things on,” Tony pointed out. “So I don’t like him. He just had a purpose. Scapegoat.”“Ah, yes. Scapegoat. How could I have forgotten?” Jarvis said. “We shall lock him in the basement until you have a disaster that he can absorb for you.”“See, you do understand how this house is supposed to run.” Tony tapped his pen against the stack of pages. “He was talking crazy, by the way, and I don’t appreciate it. Has there been gossip below stairs? Are you gossiping?” Jarvis gave him a pitying look, and Tony made a face. “I have rules.”“Yes, but they change so often that we’ve all found it easier to ignore them until we know which one you’re planning on enforcing on a particular day,” Jarvis said. “And then apologize.”“Those apologies better be profuse,” Tony said.“Of course, sir.”“Of course.” Tony scraped a hand down his face. “I cannot keep a child, Jarvis.”“So what will you do?” Jarvis’ voice was quiet, almost gentle.“I don’t-” Tony scraped a hand over his face. “I don’t know. Why does anyone expect me to know?” He glared at Jarvis over the screen of his fingers. “Why do you expect me to know? You, more than anyone else, know that I haven’t a clue what I’m doing from minute to minute, so why do you possibly expect me to have a plan?”Jarvis’ lips twitched, the smallest little flicker of amusement crossing over his face. “Because you do.” Tony snorted in disdain, and Jarvis gave him a look. “You might be able to fool the others,” he said, a faint barb to the words, “but I’ve known you from the time you were in short pants, and despite how much time you spend denying it, you do have a plan.” “Do I,” Tony said, and it wasn’t really a question.“Yes,” Jarvis said. He reached for the visitor’s chair, dragging it away from the desk and settling down into it, his hands folded in his lap. “I suspect, however, that you don’t like to admit to it, because it’s easier to be praised for quick thinking and creativity under pressure than it is to be blamed for a precise battleplan not working out to quite your satisfaction.”Tony opened his mouth. Closed it. He leaned back in his chair. “Well, who doesn’t like praise?” he asked, his voice flippant.“Despite my best efforts, you never seem to have gotten comfortable with it,” Jarvis said. He smiled, just a little. “What are you going to do about DJ?”Tony’s jaw worked. “Buy an orphanage?” he asked. “Can you buy an orphanage? Is that something that goes on the open market?” “I suspect we won’t find a listing in the financial pages,” Jarvis said. “But I also suspect that Miss Potts has ways around such a trifling problem.” He leaned forward, picking up the decanter from the corner of Tony’s desk. He flipped over two tumblers and filled each one with a hefty dose of amber liquid. He offered one to Tony. “But I don’t think that buying any number of orphanages will solve your problem, sir.”“Really.” Tony took the drink from him, but made no effort to drink it. “And what is my problem?”Jarvis considered him over the rim of his tumbler. “That there is one very particular little boy who needs you.”Tony’s stomach rolled over. “I don’t want to be needed, it’s, it’s very stressful, that’s not something I want to handle, I don’t think that’s something I can handle.”Jarvis nodded. “Then will you send him back?” he said, his voice soft. “For however long it takes you to buy an orphanage? Will you-”“I don’t know,” Tony said.“A choice has to be made, and-”“Fine.” Tony slammed the glass down on the desk, sloshing brandy over his fingers. He ignored that, and took a deep breath. “Fine. You want a plan? Fine. I have a plan.” Jarvis nodded. “Wonderful.” He smiled. “And what would that be?”Tony pointed a finger at Jarvis. “You can adopt him.”Jarvis’ lips twitched. “Sir.”“It’s the perfect solution,” Tony pointed out. “I’ll pay for it. Of course. That’s only fair.”Jarvis’ head tipped forward, giving Tony a chiding look from under the line of his brows. “Sir.”“I get to stop hearing questions that I don’t want to acknowledge, let alone answer, and you get to have a new, fresh child to spoil within an inch of his life.” Tony gave a firm nod. “The other one was getting large and awkward, he’s no longer cute, it’s, it’s not a thing anymore when he shoves half his face into a blueberry pie, remember when that was cute and not just a cause for concern?”“Sir.” Jarvis took a sip of his drink.“Perfect solution,” Tony told him.‘Sir.”Tony grinned at him. “Jarvis?”“Try again,” Jarvis said.“I see no reason to try again, there’s not a single thing wrong with my plan,” Tony pointed out.“Well, there’s the fact that I’m not what he needs,” Jarvis said. “But more importantly, I am, as one might say, too damn old for fatherhood.”Tony choked on a laugh. “Lies,” he said, taking a sip of his drink. “Embarrassing lies. You’re a spring chicken, Jarvis.” Jarvis laughed, and Tony opened one eye, peering at him. “You should have grandchildren by now. If you hadn’t wasted your life picking up after me, you’d-” He stopped, shaking his head. “You should have grandchildren.”Jarvis sighed. “Yes, sir. I should. I’m doing my best to accomplish that, right now, and you’re proving to be the biggest impediment to the process.”Tony made a face. “I suspect that’s the story of your life, Jarvis.”“It’s becoming a bit of a tired refrain, it’s true.” Jarvis took a sip of his drink. “So. What is the backup plan?”Tony took a breath. “I haven’t figured that out yet.” Jarvis nodded, and Tony tapped his finger against the side of his glass. “What do you think I should do?” It came out more plantative than he’d expected, hollow and empty. He sounded like a child, and he hated it. “Never mind. I know what you think.”“I think,” Jarvis said, from the depths of his drink, “that you will do what you can. And I’ve found, sir, that that is all that you need to do.”“The bare minimum?”“We can start there,” Jarvis agreed.“Wonderful.” Tony took a drink, savoring the taste. “And where do we go from there?”For a long, silent moment, Jarvis studied him. Then he put his glass down. “Sir. Do you want to be better?”Tony smiled. “I don’t know how.”“You just try. Every day. You try to be a bit better than you were the day before. You might not manage it every single day, but we become better by striving for it. You can. And you will.” Jarvis stood. “I do know one thing.” There was something ominous about how he’d phrased that. Tony considered him over the rim of his glass. “And what would that be?”Jarvis smiled at him. “If that child is going to go back to the orphanage,” he said, his voice quiet, almost gentle. “You will be the one doing it. It will not be Miss Potts. Or Officer Rogers. Or me.” He straightened his jacket. “If you make the choice that he is better off there, than he would be here, then you will be the one to carry that out.”The liquor burned in his mouth, and Tony made a deliberate effort to swallow. It hurt, the whole way down. “What?” he said, with a tight smile. He set his empty tumbler down on the desk. “You think I won’t?”Jarvis smiled at him. “Oh, sir,” he said. “It’s not that you won’t. It’s that you can’t.”Tony slumped a little lower in his chair, rubbing his forehead. “Clearly, you haven’t been reading my press clippings.” His lips twisted in a wry smile. “Or you’d know better.”Jarvis made a slight, soft humming noise under his breath. “I’d like to think I do, sir.” He gave Tony a smile. “But I suppose we’ll see who’s right in the end.” He turned to the door. “Won’t we?”Long after the door closed behind him, Tony was still staring at his empty glass. “Yes,” he said at last. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”*Steve had given up on the bed by the third night.Every night, he dragged the linens and the pillows down to the floor, and slept there, huddled at the end of the bed. And every morning, he dragged the whole mess back onto the bed. It wasn’t the best solution, but it was the only one he’d found that worked for him.Right up until the cat stepped on his face.“Hi,” Steve said. He pushed Furbro aside before he ended up losing an eye. Furbro tumbled onto the floor next to him, and Steve stroked his head in apology. Furbro’s head tipped, rubbing against Steve’s palm. “What’s up, cat?” Furbro blinked up at him, big golden eyes gleaming in the low light. Then he turned around and padded back into DJ’s room. A moment later, Steve heard the sound of the cat scratching at something. Curious, he pushed himself to his feet, following Furbro through the half open door.DJ’s bed was empty. Steve took a deep breath. “Deej?” he called, his voice pitched low. Furbro wound his way around Steve’s ankles, then headed across the room. He stopped in front of the closet, rearing up to paw at the door. He looked back at Steve. “Deej?” Steve tapped on the door. “Can I open this?”There was no reply, and he gave the knob a slight tug. DJ was huddled in the bottom of the closet, curled up in a ball, his face buried in his arms. Steve crouched down in front of him. “Did you have a bad dream?” he asked. “Or just got scared?”DJ raised his head, just far enough to look at Steve. His eyes were red, but dry. He didn’t reply.“Want to go for a walk?” Steve asked. He braced his elbows on his knees, leaning into them. “We can explore a bit?”DJ sniffed, scrubbing his the back of his wrist over his nose. “Yes,” he said, the word almost inaudible. “All right.” Steve straightened up, holding a hand out to DJ. “Let’s go. We can patrol together. Maybe we’ll be a little more tired when we’re done.”DJ slipped his fingers into Steve’s, clinging to his hand. He leaned into Steve’s side. “Ready?” Steve asked, and DJ squeezed his hand. “Okay.”They looped around the top floor first, the carpet muffling the sound of their steps, and Furbro padding along behind them. DJ trailed his fingers along the polished wood of the bannister, and Steve kept a careful eye on the gallery below them. For once, the house seemed quiet and still, and there was no movement outside. DJ hopped down the stairs, his feet together, his hand still held tight in Steve’s. On the first floor, he paused, his head tipping towards the billiard room. “Want to check that one?” Steve asked. DJ nodded. “All right. Let’s go.”The room was empty, but still warm from the remains of the fire still smoldering in the hearth. Steve reached for the lamp on the side table, not sure if Tony had finished the repair work on the light fixture. DJ peered over the top of the tabletop, his fingers stroking over the green velvet. Smiling, Steve picked up a ball from the rack, rolling it across the table towards DJ. DJ caught it, rolling it back and forth between his hands.In front of the fireplace, there was a small table, the top set with a pattern of black and white squares, and a deep drawer set in the side. Steve gave it a tug, revealing a set of carved chess pieces. He picked up the black king. “Hey, Deej. Do you remember this?” His face lit up, and he deserted the billiard table. Steve moved aside, showing him the contents of the drawer. “Want to play?” he asked.DJ’s fingers closed on the white king. “Yes,” he said.“All right. Let’s see if we can remember where the places go,” Steve said, pulling an armchair over for DJ. “All the pawns in front, and the bigger pieces in the back, right? Where does the king go?”“Ah, so I see it’s fine for you to keep him up past his bedtime.”Steve jerked upright, his heart in his throat. Tony was hovering in the doorway, his shirt open at the throat, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He reached up, pushing his hair back. “Chess?” he asked DJ, who held up a piece in each hand.“I’m sorry,” Stevee started, but Tony was already waving him off.“I think you’ve found the one thing in the house that neither of you could damage, even if you tried,” he said. He braced his arm on the back of DJ’s chair, smiling down at him. “Are you going to beat him?” DJ nodded. “Good. Confidence is good.”“He might,” Steve said, taking a seat in the other chair. “He’s just learning, I have an old set at home. So he’s hard to predict.”“I just bet he is.” Tony looked at the board, his eyes narrowing. “Can I play on your side?” he asked DJ. “You can show me your tactics.” DJ nodded, his face lighting up, and Tony smiled back at him. “Come here, then.”He lifted DJ out of the seat, then sat down, settling DJ in his lap. “All right,” he said, as DJ relaxed back against his chest. “What are we doing here? Who are we moving? What’s the plan, Napoleon?”DJ pointed. “Knight,” he said, reaching for it.“A bold move, for a bold young man,” Tony said, and Steve ducked his head to hide his smile. When he looked back up, he found Tony smiling at him, his eyes warm. “Let’s see just how he handles this.”“With a lot of confusion,” Steve said, reaching for a pawn. “Now, we can move this one,” Tony said, pointing to a piece. “Or we could-” DJ grabbed a piece, setting it down on the board with a great deal of force. “Or that. That’s also a move that we could, we could do that. It’s a legal move. I don’t know why we’d move there, but- We definitely can.” DJ grinned up at him, giggling.“You did that just to see my reaction, didn’t you?” Tony asked him. DJ gave a firm nod. “Also a legitimate strategy.” He looked up at Steve. “I take it that this is going to be a bit of a wild ride.”“You have no idea,” Steve said, reaching for the board.For a while, they just played, with Tony trying to coax DJ into making a good move. He failed more than he succeeded, but he just kept trying. “What’s our move?” Tony asked, and DJ just twisted around with a yawn, burying his face in Tony’s chest. Tony tipped his head to the side. “General?”“I think he’s done for the night,” Steve said, even as DJ latched onto Tony’s shirt with one hand, pulling himself a little closer.“The history books will record this act of monumental cowardice,” Tony said, reaching for a pawn. He moved it. “Luckily for you, you have an able lieutenant, and I’m here to save this army from ruin.”Steve paused. “You don’t have to,” he said. Tony glanced up. “Yes,” he said, a faint smile crossing his face. “I’m aware of that.”Steve felt his face heat. “I mean, I was only playing with him because he couldn’t sleep. I don’t care if we, you know, finish the game.”“Oh.” Tony leaned back in his chair, one hand cradling the back of DJ’s head. “Are you surrendering, then?”Steve’s mouth fell open. “Am I what?”“Surrendering.” Tony waved a hand at the board. “Capitulating. Yielding to my benign rule over your lands as your sovereign and rightful lord, who will guide your life and your people with a firm but gentle hand-”Steve cupped a hand over his face. “Fine. Reset the board, and we’ll play. Just-” He peeked out from between his fingers. “Stop talking.”Tony’s teeth flashed in a sharp grin. “No need to reset it. We’ll play the pieces, just as they are.”“Are you surrendering?” Steve repeated. “Because there’s no way you can win, not with what he’s left you.”Tony’s eyes dropped to the board, and then came back up, sharp and clear, and Steve found it hard to breathe. “I can work with this.”“You really can’t.”This time, when he smiled, it was the most beautiful thing Steve had ever seen. “Don’t ever underestimate me,” he said, and the words slid over Steve’s skin like a physical touch. Tony reached out, his fingers cradling a discarded piece. He tapped it against his cheek, his eyes locked on Steve’s. “It’s your move. Make it a good one.”It took an embarrassingly long time for Steve to convince his arm to move, to reach out and select a piece. It clicked against the board, and Steve slumped back in his chair, trying to ignore the feeling of arousal that now curled low in his belly. “Your move.”Tony smiled. “Bold,” he said, and Steve wondered if that was a compliment or not. Tony reached out, moving a pawn with a quick flick of his fingers. “Does he have a hard time sleeping?” he asked.Steve moved his bishop, collecting Tony’s pawn. “The beds here are horrible,” he grumbled. Tony’s lips twitched. “That explains so much about the nocturnal movements of this household,” he said. His hand hovered over the pieces. “Perhaps we just need new mattresses.”Steve glanced up at him. “Or better locks,” he said.“You really think so?” Tony made a humming noise under his breath. “I don’t know. They seem to be keeping you out, just fine.” He nodded at the board. “Your turn.”Steve moved a pawn. “Did you leave the greenhouse unlocked on purpose?” he asked.Tony’s hand slid up and down DJ’s back, his head tipped to the side. “I’ll answer your questions if you’ll answer mine,” he said.It felt like a trap, but Steve wasn’t sure he cared. “Fine.” He looked up. “Did you leave the greenhouse unlocked on purpose?”Tony’s lips curled. “Yes.” He moved his queen. “Why were you so fixated on it?”“Because it was the only door you bothered to lock.” Steve reached for a knight, and paused, his fingers not quite making contact. “Why did you lock it?”“Bruce locks it,” Tony said. “He’s a bit paranoid, but it makes him feel better.” He braced his chin on his palm. “Did you find what you were looking for?”Steve stared at him. Tony met his gaze without blinking, those remarkable, beautiful eyes locked on Steve’s. “Did I?”Tony laughed, soft and gentle. “Foul,” he said. “You didn’t answer the question.”“Then, no,” Steve said. “I didn’t.” He took a breath. “The orphan thing wasn’t your idea, was it?”“Obie thought it would be a good PR move,” Tony said.“Foul,” Steve said, his voice soft. “YOu didn’t answer the question.”Tony smiled. “No. It wasn’t my idea. But I didn’t stop him, either, so I suppose it is my fault.” He lifted a pawn from the board, but didn’t finish his move. “What happened to his parents?”Steve’s eyes shot to Tony’s. “His-” He looked at DJ, but DJ was still sleeping, his breathing slow and even. “They’re long gone. Why do you-” Care. The word stuck in his throat. It seemed wrong, somehow, and he didn’t know why. Probably because he was stroking DJ’s hair, and he didn’t seem to know he was doing it. “Why do you want to know?”“Because I need to know if they’re coming back for him,” Tony said. He set the pawn back down. “So what do you mean by ‘long gone?’ Did they leave him, or are they…”His voice trailed away. Steve shook his head. “They’re not coming back,” he said. He moved a piece, and he wasn’t even sure what it was. “If they’re still alive, they’re telling themselves that he’s better off where he is then where they are. If you can’t feed your kid, then it’s better, you tell yourself that it’s better. At least in a home like Hammer’s, they’ll be fed.”Tony nodded. “What was your play?”Steve looked up. “My-”“Pepper said you suggested DJ. That he was your choice, not hers.” Tony moved a piece, and it was somehow worse that he wasn’t looking at Steve. “So. What was your play?” He looked up. “Because you didn’t trust me, and you didn’t like me, and you told her to take him anyway.”Steve stared at him. “You skipped my question.”Tony smiled. “I guess I did.” He set a piece down, the base clicking against the board. “Discover check.”“What?” Steve’s head snapped down towards the board. “Son of a-” His breath came out in a burst of laughter. “You did that on purpose. To distract me.”One of Tony’s shoulders rose in a slight shrug. “Perhaps.”Steve shook his head. “Well, that was underhanded,” he said, and god, he didn’t even care.Tony smiled. “You should take it as a compliment,” he said. “It’s rare for something to require my full attention.” He yawned. “Let alone someone.”Steve sucked in a breath, and he ached, right down to his core. “I’ll try not to let it go to my head,” he said, pushing himself to his feet. “I think it’s time to put him to bed.”“Mmm.” Tony went to stand, and Steve moved to intercept him. “I’ve got him, it’s-”“It’s hard to get your balance, let me-”Steve moved in, at the exact moment that Tony stood, and suddenly, they were there, chest to chest, face to face. They both froze, and Tony was there, his eyes wide and dark and Steve’s heart stuttered to a stop.He wanted to kiss him.For an instant, he needed the taste of Tony’s lips more than he needed to breathe, and damn the consequences. For an instant, he lost his mind, he lost his grip on reality, and Tony’s eyes were fluttering closed, his lips parting as he sucked in a breath.Steve’s hand came up, and he wasn’t sure what he was reaching for, but before he could get there, DJ shifted between them, one leg kicking out and catching Steve in the side.Reality hit like a bucket of icy water to the face. Steve took a step back. “Sorry,” he said, and his voice sounded raw. “I’m-” Before Tony could say a word, Steve was scooping DJ out of his hands, wrapping the boy up against his chest. He took a step back, and nearly tripped over his own feet. “I’ll put him to bed.”“It wasn’t mate.”Steve froze, halfway to the door. But he knew better than to look back. “Excuse me?”“It was check,” Tony said. “Not mate.” Steve heard him take a deep breath. “Game’s not over, Steve.”Steve nodded. “For tonight, it is,” he said, and then he was out the door and gone.He did his best not to run. After all, the only thing waiting for him was a very hard, cold floor, and a very long night.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“I’m confused.”“I’m considering making that the new family motto,” Tony said. Obie gave him a look over the tops of his gold rimmed spectacles. “I’m serious.”“That was also in the running,” Tony admitted, tapping his pencil against his cheek. “Not as popular, though, since honestly-” He braced a foot on top of his desk. “No one believes me when I say it.”“Tony,” Obie said, a faintly amused note undercutting the scolding look he gave Tony. “Obie,” Tony responded, in the same chiding tone.“Would you like to explain what’s happening here?” Obie asked.“So many things,” Tony said, scowling down at his plans. “Among other things, whoever approved this is an idiot and deserves to be fired.”“I’m not talking about the plans, Tony.”“Then can we narrow it down a bit?” Tony asked. “I’ve got a very full day planned, I don’t really have time for a rousing round of 20 questions.”Obie frowned at him. “What do you think-”A shriek of high pitched laughter cut him off, almost mid-word, and Tony glanced towards the door just in time to see a small, very bare form go streaking past. Amused, Tony pushed himself to his feet. “Hold that thought,” he said to Obie, striding across the library.“Tony, I-”Tony leaned out the door, almost colliding with Steve. Tony jerked back, out of the way, but Steve was already skidding to a halt, his feet scruffing along the rug. “Was that child naked?” Tony asked, because verbal confirmation seemed to be in everyone’s best interest. “Was- Is there a naked child making the laps of my halls right now?”Steve gave him a withering look. “He’s surprisingly slippery when he’s wet,” he said. Steve was damp, too, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the knees of his pants soaked through. His face was flushed, his hair wet, dripping over his forehead. It should not have been attractive, but on him, it worked.Tony really wished it didn’t.“The soap might have something to do with that,” Tony said, because he loved being helpful. He especially loved being helpful when it made Steve look like he was considering strangling him. Tony smiled at him, bright and easy. “You did remember the soap, didn’t you?” Steve snapped his fingers in an exaggerated gesture. “Aw, shucks. Golly gee, Mr. Stark, sir, I knew we were forgetting something.”Tony bit his lip to keep from laughing. “Excellent. Glad we could get to the root of your many failings.” He braced an arm on the doorframe. “What were-”“We used soap,” May said, coming up the hallway behind Steve, a folded stack of towels cradled in her arms. She smiled at Tony, her eyes dancing. “I am beginning to think he dislikes clothes.”“Yes, well, there are rules here, Mrs. Parker,” Tony said, reaching out to take a towel from her. He unfurled it with a snap of his wrist. “And I’m pretty sure this is against them.”“Yes, as we all know, you are the only one allowed to run naked through the halls before five,” May said, her voice tart, and Tony grinned at her.“Madam, I would never. At least not while sober.” Tony tossed the towel over his shoulder and started rolling up his sleeves.. “Officer Rogers, I believe you’ve lost control of this situation.”“Can’t imagine what you mean, Mr. Stark,” Steve said, wide eyed and with a great deal of mock confusion. Behind him, DJ darted past, hopping gleefully along the hallway runner. Steve smiled, and he just looked crazed. “Everything seems perfectly normal from what I know of this household.”Tony choked on a laugh. “What’s your play, Captain?” he asked. An expression flickered across Steve’s face, there and gone in an instant, that Tony didn’t understand. His eyes narrowed. “Steve? What’s the plan?”Steve nodded, just once, a jerk of his chin. “You go left, I’ll go right,” he said, his voice clipped. “Herd him towards the stairs and Mrs. Parker.”May nodded. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t head upstairs,” she said, her voice serene. “If you can-”DJ ran past again, showing no signs of slowing down, and Steve made a grab for him. DJ ducked under his hand, still laughing, and Tony took off in the other direction. “Quit playing around, Rogers,” he said, running full tilt along the hall. He circled the length of the hall, keeping half of his attention on Steve as he moved, his feet flying over the carpet.He was breathing hard as he skidded to a halt at the top of the stairs. DJ came around the corner and screeched to a halt, his bare feet catching on the polished marble floor. He stared up at Tony, his eyes narrowing. Tony raised a hand in a little wave. “Hi. Where are your pants? We have rules here. And pants, they are on the rules, so-”He lunged for DJ, who backpedaled, almost crashing into Steve’s legs. Steve made a grab for him, and so did Tony, but DJ slipped out of reach, ducking under their arms. Tony crashed into Steve’s chest, and they both froze, face to face and chest to chest, and DJ grabbed the newel post, swinging himself around and hopping down the steps.Tony extracted himself from Steve’s arms with more speed than grace, his face hot. “All right, you damn brat,” he said, but DJ was already halfway down the grand staircase. Without thinking, Tony grabbed hold of the bannister and boosting himself onto it in one smooth hop. Which was probably a mistake. He hadn’t slid down the bannister in a couple of decades, and he’d weighed a lot less the last time he’d done it. He grabbed for the wood, trying to slow himself down, or stop himself entirely, he didn’t even know, but gravity had other ideas. Tony bit back a curse as he barreled downwards, somehow managing to keep his balance right to the end. He landed on his feet, and he wasn’t at all sure how, but he also wasn’t about to question his luck. Jerking back upright, ignoring the way his heart was lodged in his throat, he managed a grin up the stairs. “Think you can outmaneuver me in my own house?” he crowed. “Think-”DJ darted right past him, laughing the whole time.Tony stood there for an instant. “Again,” he finished, because he didn’t know what else to say.Steve came jogging down the stairs, shaking his head the entire way. “Apparently he can,” he said. He sounded incredulous, but Tony could hear the amusement under the words. He gave Tony a look. “Are you out of your mind?”Tony considered the length of the bannister, his hands propped on his hips. “I think it’s entirely possible,” he admitted. “Possible,” Steve repeated.“I’m considering the possibility,” Tony said. “I really think we have to-”“Boys!” Mrs. Parker headed down the stairs, shaking her head. “If you’re done playing, you have a job to do. Can we please focus?”“Going,” Tony said, and he went, and Steve was right behind him. He was pretty sure that Steve was laughing, and even more sure that Steve thought he didn’t know. He glanced over his shoulder, giving Steve a bright grin. “See what you did?”“What I did?” Steve asked.“Got me in trouble with the boss, if I get fired, I’m holding you responsible,” Tony said, pointing a finger in Steve’s direction. “You. Personally responsible.”“Well, if you get turned out, I can call in a favor or two, see if I can’t get you a job sweeping the streets or moving cargo down on the docks,” Steve mused. “You think-”“BOYS!” May called, and Tony picked up the pace.“On it!” he yelled back, and then, in an undertone. “Where’d he go?”“You don’t know, do you?” Steve asked.“Would I have asked you if I knew, do you think I just enjoy having this conversation with you?” Tony asked. He spun on his heel, facing Steve as he walked backwards. “That I just find an excuse to bring up questions that-”“Judging by how many extra words you use every time I’ve spoken to you, I gotta say, yes, it does seem that you just like the sound of your own voice,” Steve said. Tony stared at him. Steve smiled. “Could be wrong, though. Could just be that you take so long to get to the point that by the time you get there, you’ve forgotten what it was that you were trying to say.”Tony struggled not to burst into laughter. “You fear neither god nor man, do you?”“I got a bone to pick with both, so…” Steve shrugged. “He’s behind the tree.”“The-” Tony turned back towards the hall just in time to see the potted plant in the corner make a scooting movement sideways. “Right. Herd him towards the billiard room?”“I’ll go left,” Steve said, and he was grinning.“Right,” Tony said. “The direction, as well as the agreement, I can see that you’re a little confused as to what-”“Just go, Stark,” Steve said, and laughing, Tony went.But nothing could be that easy. DJ saw them coming and took off running. He shot across the great hall, straight for the open door of the billiard room. Tony was right behind him, clearing the door in time to see DJ go scrambling across the floor, ducking under the pool table and rolling across the carpet. Bouncing to his feet, he grabbed the edge of the side table, tipping it over and sending the chess board crashing to the floor. Chess pieces spun in all directions, clattering across the empty fireplace. “Okay, that’s enough,” Steve said, and it wasn’t loud, it wasn’t angry, it was just… Firm. Absolutely certain. And DJ froze, his eyes wide.Tony grabbed him before the shock could wear off, wrapping the towel around DJ and sweeping him off of his feet. “Gotcha,” he said, heaving DJ into his arms. For a moment, he found himself holding a struggling, twisting mass of cloth. Grinning, he flipped the corner of the towel back. DJ blinked up at him, his face flushed and his eyes bright.“Hi,” he said, and he sounded very proud of himself.Tony choked on a laugh. “You are a shameless child, absolutely shameless.” He scrubbed at DJ’s face with a corner of the towel, making him giggle and squirm. “Where are your pants?”DJ considered that. “Upstairs.”“Right, of course, how foolish of me to ask.” Tony grinned at Steve over DJ’s head. “Did you know his pants were upstairs?” he asked.“Well, that is where we left them,” Steve said. He leaned over, picking the table up. “DJ, you could’ve broken something.”“You’re probably going to break a lot of things,” Tony told DJ. “There are a surprising number of breakable things in this house.”Steve paused, his expression very disapproving. “Tony-”“Give me one good reason I should still take you to the movies tonight,” Tony said, deliberately away from Steve. “One good reason.” DJ flopped forward, his head tucked against Tony’s shoulder. Tony tried not to laugh as DJ peeked up at him, his face sad. “All right, that is a very effective argument. However, I refuse to be seen in public with a boy who has soap in his hair. How will we be handling this?”“I’ll take him, sir,” May said, striding through the door of the billiard room. “I can-” Steve started, as May scooped DJ out of Tony’s arms.“You cannot, you have your own bath to handle, and Miss VanDyne will be most upset if you don’t wear the suit she sent over,” May said, her smile tempering the stern words. May kissed DJ’s forehead, her expression full of warm fondness. “Hello, you wicked boy. Causing such trouble.” Her mouth pursed. “There shall be no dessert for you tonight.”“Yes, because he’s going to be eating his weight in candy at the theater,” Tony mumbled under his breath. May gave him a look, and Tony tucked his hands in his pockets, rocking forward and backward on his heels. “Am I wrong?”“You are undermining my authority,” May said, her voice very stern, and Steve smirked at Tony from behind her back.Tony resisted the urge to make an obscene gesture in his direction. “Yes, ma’am.” May nodded. “And as for you, Officer Rogers, perhaps you should be going?”“Yes, ma’am,” Steve said, and when May turned towards the door, Tony wiggled his fingers in Steve’s direction in a little good-bye wave. DJ, peeking at him over May’s shoulder, giggled. Steve arched an eyebrow, but before he could retaliate, May nudged him towards the door. Steve threw his hands in the air, a clear gesture of surrender. “I’m going!”“Not fast enough. And as for you, Mr. Stark-” She glanced back at him. “If you’ve so much extra time on your hands, perhaps you can pick up the mess you’ve made in here.”Grinning, Tony stuck out a foot, nudging a chess piece under the table. “The mess I made?” he asked.“You should’ve stopped him before he got this far,” May said. “Pardon me, Mr. Stane.”Obie, who’d just stepped into the billiard room, moved out of her way. “My apologies, Mrs. Parker.” He nodded in Steve’s direction, but his attention was focused on Tony. “Officer.”“Mr. Stane,” Steve said. His eyes darted from Tony to Obie and back, but he followed May out of the room.Obie shut the door behind them. “Well, that was quite the spectacle,” he said, his voice quiet.Tony paused, his fingers just brushing up against a chess piece. “Does it count as a spectacle if no one actually sees it?” he asked, his tone flippant. He scooped up the black king, tossing it back on the table before chasing down a few pawns. “It would seem to me that I need an audience to properly make a spectacle of myself.”Obie crossed his arms over his chest. “I saw it.”Tony pointed a bishop at him. “And you’ve seen me do far worse, so I’m not certain why you’re surprised.” He straightened up. “What difference does-”“Why is the child still here?”Tony froze, his fingers flexing on a piece until it bit into his skin. He set it down, the base clicking softly against the tabletop. “The week’s not over,” he said, just as quietly.Obie nodded. “When will he be going back?” he asked.“Maybe never.” Tony took a deep breath, looking around for more pieces. “I haven’t decided yet.”Obie sank into a chair, and it was the one that Steve had sat in last night, and for some reason, Tony resented that. Obie reached out, picking up a piece from the table, rolling it between his fingertips. “Tony.”“I haven’t decided yet,” Tony said, and he did his absolute best not to let that sound like a lie. He took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders. “Look, it’s not-” He shook his head. “It’s not a big deal.”Obie’s eyebrows shot up. “Not a big deal?” he repeated. “Tony. You’re talking about, what, letting him stay? For how long?” Tony didn’t reply, and Obie heaved a sigh. “Tony. I think you need to be very careful about this. When you have your own children, this will make things complicated. Heaven forbid the child-”“DJ,” Tony said, and Obie stopped. Tony forced a smile onto his face. “His name is DJ.”Obie nodded. “Yes, of course.” He smiled. “DJ. What happens if he thinks that he’ll be in the line of inheritance? Or, worse, what if his real parents show up?”“I’m not sure what we’re worried about here,” Tony mused, the words tart. “Is it his hypothetical parents, or my hypothetical children?”Obie’s smile went tight, but his voice was still quiet. “You’ve always had difficulty being-” He stopped. “Practical about some things, Tony. So many things have come so easily to you, so many things that you’ve managed to do, that no one else would’ve been capable of. You are a singular, unique man, but there are some things, that perhaps…” He sighed. “Perhaps there are some things you’re just suited to be.”Tony focused on setting the chess pieces back on the board, avoiding Obie’s eyes. “I mean, there’s many things I’m not suited to be,” he said. “Can we narrow it down?”“I loved your father like a brother,” Obie said. “You know I did. And I admired what he did, how he moved mountains, how he made entire industries from next to nothing.”Tony’s fingers lingered on the black king, rotating it in slow circles on its base. “He was a hell of a businessman,” he agreed. “And he knew how to make money.”“He was brilliant,” Obie said. “And unlike many brilliant, technical men, he never let anyone take advantage of him. He made money for himself. For his family. For his legacy. He raised this family from next to nothing to a powerhouse in a single generation. He was-”“Can we skip the history lesson?” Tony asked. “I’ve heard it before.” He jerked his hand back, and the king toppled over, clattering to the board. “Dad liked to give me this exact lecture whenever I didn’t measure up, and you know it.”“Well. You weren’t the only one who didn’t measure up,” Obie said with a wry smile. “I heard a version of it myself.”“Yes, but he kept his best material for me.” Tony crossed his arms over his chest. “Is there a point to this?”“You need to think about this rationally,” Obie said. “You need to stop being so-” He shook his head. “Emotion cannot factor into this, Tony, it’s-”“I am rational, and-”“He’s simple, Tony,” Obie snapped, and Tony stopped, blinking. Obie’s mouth worked, his face suddenly florid. “He’s of inferior genetic stock, and he’s- He’s simple.”“He’s actually not,” Tony said, but Obie didn’t seem to hear him. “You do have a legacy to think of, your father did everything possible to raise the Stark name to be one that was respected, and you could destroy that in one poorly considered sentimental gesture,” Obie said. “Is that what you want? Is that really how you want to repay your father for everything he did for you, everything he left you?”Tony took a deep breath. “He’s not simple,” he said, and Obie threw his hands in the air. “He’s not. He’s almost done with his clock, did I tell you that? Put it back together, without instruction, without plans, by memory, it’s-”“Tony.” Obie scraped a hand over his face. “He can barely string two words together, and you’re seriously considering, what, having him brought up as a pet project?”“Even if he was, I’m not sure why it matters,” Tony said. He tossed a few pawns onto the table. “He’s a child. His intelligence, or lack of it, really shouldn’t determine if he’s worthy of being-” He stopped, not sure how to verbalize it. “He deserves a family, because-”Frustration overwhelmed him. “Because I said so,” he finished, and it was stupid and childish and he didn’t care. If there was one thing his father had taught him, it was that Starks made their own reality. The rest of the world be damned. If he wanted to do it, he did it, and to hell with anyone who said differently.He looked at Obie. “I know you loved my father. Maybe more than I did, because, after all, you knew him better than I did,” he admitted. “And you’ve always done your best to protect his memory, his legacy. And I appreciate that, I do.”Obie heaved a sigh. “But?” he prompted.“But he’s dead,” Tony said. “And the list of things I’ve done that he wouldn’t have approved of starts about a mile and ten years back. I’m not living for for what he wanted, Obie. I can’t.”“You mean, you won’t,” Obie corrected.“I mean, I haven’t decided what I’m doing, but for now, DJ is here and when I figure out what I’m doing, I’m sure I’ll let you know, but that’s something I have to decide on my own,” Tony said. He scowled down at the empty spaces on the chessboard. “Where the hell have the rooks gone? Were they even here to begin with?” He crouched down, peering under the billiard table. “Do you see them?”“Let the staff find them,” Obie said. “Unless you’ve forgotten why you have staff.” Tony looked up, startled by the ugly note in his voice. “Excuse me?” Obie shook his head. “You don’t listen to me, but you listen to them, don’t you?” he asked. He surged to his feet, slamming his hands down on the table had enough to make the pieces shift on the board. His broad fingers went white around the knuckles with the pressure, his shoulders hunching forward. “You’ve always let your servants get above their station, every single one of them needs to be reminded of their place, and it should be done immediately.” He stabbed at the chessboard, the movement short and violent. “And if you can’t do it, I will, Tony.”Tony faced him, his chest tight. He took a deep breath. “Obie. I am very thankful for everything you’ve done for the company, and me. Because God knows, you were dedicated to Dad, and you’ve been dedicated to me. To StarkMunitions, and even though you thought it was a mistake, you followed me right into StarkIndustries, with every bit of loyalty and enthusiasm that I could hope for.”He leaned over, collecting a rook from the base of the chair, where it had ended up. “But if you want to talk about hired help getting ideas above their station-” He set it down, gently, so, so gently, into its spot. “The same would apply to you.”He looked up, and Obie’s face was pale now, his lips almost white. Tony smiled. “I know you’re trying to protect me. You always have.” His head tipped to the side. “But if I catch you interfering in my household, we’re going to have words, and you will not enjoy it.” He met Obie’s gaze straight on. “Do we understand each other?”For a long moment, Obie just studied Tony, his face unreadable. Then, slowly, he smiled. “Never doubt that you are your father’s son,” he said, his head falling forward. He took a step back from the table, and leaned over. When he straightened up, there was a rook in his fingers. He held it out to Tony. “Some days, you are his spitting image.” Tony bridged the space between them, taking the piece from his hand. “Even I can rebel once or twice a decade,” he said. He considered glossy black surface of the rook, his thumb sweeping along the clean lines. “I don’t know what I’m doing. Not yet.”Obie nodded, tucking his hands in his pockets. “Well. When you figure it out, do let me know what your plans will be.”“Right now, my only plans are to see a movie tonight,” Tony said. He paused, a wry smile twitching the corners of his lips. “If everyone finds a pair of pants, of course.”“All the best places do have a dress code,” Obie agreed. He paused. “Tony. Have you considered what will happen if you do keep this child, and you can’t handle him?”Tony turned his attention to straightening the chessboard. “Well, the Stark family has a tradition for what to do when that happens,” he mused. “I think it’s called boarding school.”Obie burst out laughing. “There is that,” he said. He reached out, slapping Tony on the back. “Your father would be proud.”Tony smiled. “I’m sure he would.” He took a step back, studying the board. Then, not really sure why he was doing it, he reached out, plucking one of the white knights from the board. He rolled it back and forth between his fingers. “I’m sure he would.”He headed for the door, slipping the piece into his vest pocket. “Now. What were we talking about?”*Justin Hammer was a trying man under the best of circumstances. The middle of the Grand Foyer of Radio City Music Hall twenty minutes before the show was due to start was not the best of circumstances. With the crowd pressing in at all sides, and more people pouring in off the street with each passing moment, he was inescapable.Tony looked like he really, really wanted to escape.“Now, Tony, can I call you Tony?”“Is there any way to stop you?” Tony asked, his voice just barely polite. Steve choked on a laugh, and when Tony gave him a look out of the corner of his eye, he managed a benign smile.Hammer, for his part, burst into laughter, a little too loud and a little too sharp. Even in the crowded space of the lobby, heads turned in his direction. “There's that famous Tony Stark humor!” Hammer said, his hands propped on his hips. “Amazing. Just amazing.”“I've never been funnier,” Tony agreed. He slipped a hand into his pocket, pulling out a pocket watch. “Ah. How unfortunate, it's almost time for the show to start.” He snapped the watch shut with a flick of his fingers. “If you'll excuse us?”“Right!” The hint sailed over Hammer's head with about a foot and a half to spare, and he started fumbling in his own pockets. “Now, where did I put that ticket?”Tony met Steve's eyes, his expression almost desperate. Steve gave him an innocent look. Tony's jaw went tight. 'Help me,' he mouthed, something uncomfortably like affection stirring in his chest.“Shame it's starting so soon,” Steve said. He made a show of glancing over his shoulder, as if looking to see if they were being observed. It was enough to make Hammer shuffle in a step, sensing a secret on the offering. Steve rubbed a hand over his mouth to hide his smile. “There's a bar, not far from here, where the chorus girls go, after the show.”Hammer's eyebrows jerked upwards. “Really.”Steve gave him a sage nod. “Well, so they say. I've never been, myself.”Hammer leaned in; the possibility of doing something exclusive had him hooked. “Really,” he repeated. “And why not?”“There's a password,” Steve said. “Leftover from the Prohbition days, I suppose, but even though anyone can get in, if you don't have the password, the barman won't let you into the back rooms.” He locked eyes with Tony. “I mean, fella like me wouldn't have the password.”Hammer immediately looked at Tony, and Tony's eyes narrowed. “Such a shame to miss the movie,” he said. “I couldn't, of course, what would it look like, I bring these boys here, and then immediately leave? People would notice.” He smiled. “No reason the two of you couldn't get along, though. Be a nice break from your usual grind.”Steve nodded, doing his best to look disappointed. “I would, but it'd mean my job if I'm caught in a bar when I should be watching you.”Hammer's shoulders slumped, and Steve set the proverbial hook with a smile. “But if I'm here, maybe Happy...” He let the words trail away, leaving the rest to Tony.Tony didn't miss a beat. “Well, we can ask.” He leaned back. “Happy!Happy, who was hovering at the candy counter with the boys, looked up. “Coming, boss.” He slipped a few coins to one of the boys, setting of a round of cheers, then came jogging over to Tony. “Whatcha need?”Tony made a show of digging in his pockets. “You mind going and having a beer instead of staying for the show?”Happy grinned. “Never going to turn down a drink,” he said cheerfully. “Especially if you're paying, boss.”“Good.” Tony pulled a few bills from his wallet and folded them over between his fingers and thumb. “Take Mr. Hammer here, and-” He leaned in, whispering a few words into Happy's ear. Happy's eyebrows twitched, but he nodded.“You got it, Mr. Stark.” He tucked the money into an interior pocket, straightening his jacket as he did.“I knew I could count on you.” Tony threw an arm around Hammer's shoulders. “Such a pleasure meeting you, it's not often I get to talk to a man like you.” He glanced back at Steve. “Such a pleasure.”Grinning, Steve caught Happy's elbow, whispering an address to him. “Just give the barman a few dollars and tell him Rogers wants this guy tucked away for a few hours. He'll let you in the back and treat you like a king.”Happy slapped him on the back. “Can this guy hold his beer?”“Absolutely not,” Steve said.“All the better.” Happy straightened up. “Mr. Hammer! So you're my ticket to pretty girls and good times!” He thrust out a hand, catching Hammer's and pumping it up and down with a great deal of enthusiasm. Startled, Hammer just tried to hold on. “Knew you were a lucky fella, when I first saw you, I knew it.”Hammer's spine straightened, his chin coming up. “Glad to be of service, Mr. Hogan. Especially when I benefit.”Laughing, Happy wrapped an arm around Hammer's shoulders. “Call me Happy. All my friends do.”“Right, right, of course, call me Justin.”“Oh, I couldn't, one doesn't call one's betters by their first name, me Ma'd be rolling over in her grave,” Happy declared, and just like that, he was maneuvering Hammer through the crowd with an admirable sort of grace. In a minute, they were absorbed by the crowd and gone.Tony pinched the bridge of his nose. "Thank you," he said, and he sounded exhausted. "It is as if God created that man specifically to enrage me."Steve bit his lip to keep from smiling. "That's... A fairly common opinion, actually," he said. Tony gave him a look, and he shrugged, unrepentant. "You get used to him."Tony's hand fell back to his side. "How."Steve choked on a laugh. "I hear alcohol helps," he admitted. "Which is why we've sent Happy to a bar.""Odds are even that Happy's just luring him into the nearest alley to mug him," Tony said. Steve nodded. "Really? No response to that?""Am I supposed to have one?""As an officer of the law, I would assume you're required to handle reports of potential crimes."Steve rubbed a hand on the back of his neck. "I'm finding it hard to care," he admitted, and Tony ducked his head, trying to hide a smile. "Besides, you're not exactly a reliable informant, you know.""In that I'd like for the potential victim to get mugged in an alley?""In that you might've ordered it."Tony burst out laughing. "Officer, how dare you! I did no such thing!""Because Happy had the idea before you did?" Steve asked."He's very, very good at picking up non-verbal cues, it's true," Tony said. "And he does get a raise every time he makes a problem disappear.""Considering how many problems you have, his salary must be obscene by now.""Not really, because I've still got them," Tony pointed out. He slanted a teasing smile in Steve's direction. "If anything, he's falling down on the job.""Or he's a mortal man and your life is beyond his comprehension," Steve said, just to make him laugh again. It worked, and he stifled an irrational sense of pride. “Why did you even bother humoring him?” he asked. “You don't seem the sort to suffer fools gladly.”“Because he's going to have to sign the paperwork for DJ,” Tony said, and Steve paused. Tony looked at him, his face unreadable. “Won't he?”“Suspect you're right,” Steve said. And he wasn't thinking about that. Instead, he looked back at the candy counter, where DJ, surrounded by the other boys from Hammer's, was considering the possibilities. Steve did a quick headcount, and came up short. “We're missing one.”Tony stared at the boys, all of them jostling for space and nearly bouncing off one another. “I'm going to have to take your word for that,” he said at last.“Billy,” Steve called, and the tallest of the boys turned. “Where's Seamus?”“He wanted to look at the arty things,” Billy called back.“Right,” Steve said. He looked at Tony. “I'll wait until Pepper and Rhodey are back, then I'll go find him.”Tony rolled his eyes. “Dealing with the hall management will take forever. Go find him.”“I don't want to leave you alone,” Steve said.“I shall surround myself with orphans,” Tony said. Steve opened his mouth, and Tony gave him a long suffering look. “I will be fine on my own for five whole minutes, Steve, but if we come back short one child, I have no doubt that Hammer will charge us full price, so-”Steve shook his head. “Stay here,” he said. Tony waved him off, and he took a deep breath. “Are you going to-”“My hand to God, I shall be here when you return, whole and unharmed and surrounded by small, well sugared children,” Tony said. “You may go now.”“Oh, may I?” Steve asked, and it wasn't as frustrating as it should've been. Probably because Tony was smiling at him, that slight, lopsided smile that he always wore when he was at his most insufferable. Steve told himself, very firmly, that it wasn't attractive.He didn't really believe it, but he could at least try.Tony made a show of checking his watch. “You're going to miss the show at this rate,” he pointed out.“Keep at me, and I'll go fetch Hammer back instead of Seamus,” Steve said, and before Tony could come up with a reply to that, he turned, heading through the crowd. “Stay here.”The grand foyer of Radio City Music Hall was a cavernous space, built to awe and impress. Right now, every inch of the space was packed, and people were still pouring in, families in well-mended coats and carefully polished shoes, every one of them clinging tight to the StarkIndustries tickets that had gotten them past the staff manning the doors.Despite the crush, Steve located Seamus without much difficulty. The red-headed boy was staring up at a small inset mural, his freckled nose wrinkled. “You shouldn't wander off,” Steve said, catching his attention."I never knew you could clean up so good,” Seamus said, giving Steve a gap-toothed grin. He made a show of looking around, his thumbs tucked into his pockets. "Where's the dame you're trying to impress?"Steve rolled his eyes, telling himself that he wasn't as hot as it felt. The suit that Miss Van Dyne had sent over fit him like a glove. Not that he'd expected anyone to notice. Certainly not Tony, who was used to people wearing things that, well, fit properly. "You scared her off," he said. "Can you at least button your shirt properly, Seamus?"Seamus considered that. "Nah," he said, and Steve reached for his collar. Seamus tried to fend him off, but Steve was faster than him, bigger than him, and distinctly more determined than him. A moment later, the boy scrambled out of reach. "Geez, get off!""Yeah, why would I possibly want you to look presentable?" Steve asked, cuffing him lightly on the side of the head. Laughing, Seamus fended him off, waving his fists like a prize fighter. "Let's go. Everyone's waiting.”That won him an elaborate shrug. “We'll catch up.”"Helpful." Steve caught Seamus by the shoulder, turning him around and nudging him away from the stairs. "Did Hammer bring everyone?""Kickin' an' screamin' the whole way," Seamus said cheerfully. “Hiself don't like being outmaneuvered.”"I'm surprised he came at all,” Steve said.“Well, accordin' to Billy-”“A font of wisdom, if ever there was one,” Steve said, ducking around an elderly couple.“Ain't saying he's always right, but he's got ears everywhere,” Seamus pointed out. “But he said a big, cheerful looking fella came calling yesterday, and made Mr. Hammer quite the offer.”“Really.” And that explained why Hammer and Happy hadn't needed an introduction. Steve wondered if it had been Pepper or Tony that had set it up, and what, exactly their offer had been.Watching Seamus stare up at the foyer, his expression awed, Steve wasn't sure he cared.Back at the candy counter, Rhodey and Tony were deep in conversation, DJ leaning against Tony's legs, his face a bit tense. But Tony was stroking his hair, and he seemed comfortable enough where he was, sheltered from the crowd.Pepper, for her part, was smiling down at the boys who were crowding around her, her face amused. “Shove off, all of you,” Steve said, cutting through the crowd. “Let the lady breathe.”“Don't you worry, Officer,” Billy said. “I'm keeping the rabble at bay, aren't I, Miss Potts?”“Oh, brilliantly,” she agreed.“Billy,” Steve started, just as Seamus said, “Oh, is she the reason why you're dressed all fancy?”“No,” Steve said. “Billy-”“Then where's the dame?” Seamus asked, his hands on his hips. “You wouldn't put that suit on for no reason.”Steve's face felt like it was on fire. “Billy-”"It's fine, Officer Rogers. I'd like to think he's a friend of mine," Pepper said, as Billy dipped a low bow over her hand, doffing his cap with a flick of his wrist. She struggled to keep a straight face as he gave her a theatrical kiss on the knuckles. "And quite the gentleman.""He thinks he is," Steve said, catching the boy by the collar of his shirt. "Okay. That's enough, Romeo."Billy gave a hopping skip sideways, his feet pedaling comically in midair. "I'm workin' here, officer! Why can't you let an honest fella make an honest living without facin' this kind of harassment?"Steve stared down at him, torn between amusement and complete disbelief. Behind him, someone was laughing, and he didn't know if it was Rhodey or Tony. "You're something else, you know that?"The boy straightened his threadbare vest, his chin coming up with a smirk. "A right businessman, that's what I am, and you oughta respect that.""I oughta toss you into the street is what I oughta do," Steve told him."Officer, I'm shocked." The boy did a quick sidestep around Steve, his feet flying across the carpet in a wild sort of softshoe. "Shocked, I say. You're-""How old are you?" Tony asked. He was struggling not to smile, his eyes dancing.The boy snatched his hat back off of his head, holding it in front of him in both hands "Fifteen next year, Mr. Stark, and an old fifteen it'll be."Tony nodded. "Come see me next year. I could always use a businessman of your..." He chuckled. "Unique talents."Billy's grin stretched. "Did I say next year? I meant next week.""Good try," Steve said, making another grab for his shirt, and Billy ducked under his hand, popping back up on the far side of Pepper. Steve gave him a look. "Billy."The warning was very clear in his voice, and the boy held up both his hands. "I think I hear one of the little ones callin' me," he said, his eyes dancing. He gave Pepper a wink and a cheeky grin, and took a couple of hopping steps backwards. "Still your humble servant, Miss Potts, you need anything, you talk to me first, understand?""How could I forget?" she asked, her eyes dancing. She looked at Tony. “If you’re done with your hiring, we should be heading in?”“Happy’s off getting a drink,” Tony said, ruffling DJ’s hair. “Do you want to stay with the other boys?” he asked, and DJ nodded. “Then we’ll go with Steve and the others, and meet you at the end of the movie.”Pepper frowned at him. “Are you-”Tony’s head bobbed towards Rhodey. “Rhodes, you’ll keep an eye on Miss Potts?”Rhodey nodded. “Yes, sir.” “Officer-” Pepper started.“I’ll keep an eye on him, Miss Potts,” Steve said, and she nodded.“Then I’ll leave him in your capable hands,” she said.Steve wished that was the case. “We’ll see you after the film.”*The song and dance before the movie was enough to enthrall the boys within a matter of minutes. Tony, for his part, had more fun watching them than the chorus girls. Next to him, DJ bounced in his seat, his hands braced on the edge of the cushion. Every so often, Tony bumped his foot against DJ’s, and DJ would bump back, even if his eyes never left the stage. At the far end of the row, Steve was leaning forward in his seat, his eyes bright, looking almost as excited as his young charges. Every so often, Tony would catch him swaying back and forth in time with the music, his feet tapping along with a great deal of enthusiasm. Tony watched him out of the corner of his eye, doing his best to be subtle about it.He wasn’t a subtle man, but luckily for him, there was nothing subtle about Radio City Music Hall.As the last song came to an end, the dancers taking a well deserved bow, the boys burst into applause, stomping their feet and cheering. Someone blew a sharp, enthusiastic whistle, and DJ flinched, his hands coming up to cover his ears. Tony, clapping politely along, gave him a curious look. He looked up, but for once, Steve was oblivious to what was happening. Tony reached for DJ’s shoulder. “What’s-”But the lights were dimming, the mammoth space of the theater going dark, and DJ rocked back in his chair. Tony squinted at him through the gloom, but the movie was starting now, the light of the projector flickering over the crowd. All around the massive auditorium, people were shifting in their seats, excited murmurs and applause drowned out by the sound system roaring to life.DJ lost it.For an instant, Tony was frozen in place, caught too off-guard by the sudden meltdown to process the situation. DJ was curled into a ball, his fingers clawing at his ears, a thin, high pitched shriek pouring out of him. Tony stared at him, shocked into immobility.Then it sank in; something was badly wrong. This wasn’t a child throwing a tantrum. This was a child in pain.Tony scopped DJ out of his seat, heaving him up into his arms. DJ twisted in his grip, his body a live wire of panic, and Tony just concentrated on holding onto him as he slipped down the row to the aisle. Steve was on his feet, his face tight, and Tony shook his head. “Stay here,” he said.“I can-”“Stay with them,” Tony said. “I’ve got him.” Without even looking back, he hustled up the aisle, his head up, his jaw tight. It was dark enough that he couldn’t see individual faces, but he could see the heads turning as he stalked past. He ignored them, his jaw getting tighter with every step.The usher threw the door open ahead of him, and Tony shot through it, blinking at the bright lights of the foyer. “I need somewhere quiet,” he said, his words brisk. “And private.”The boy was already nodding. “Yes, sir, Mr. Stark. There’s a lounge not far from here, this way, please.”The trip was mercifully short, barely a minute later, the boy was opening a door, letting Tony slide in. “Can I get you anything else?” he asked.There was a chaise inside, far enough from the door to muffle the sounds from the foyer. Tony headed for it. “A cup of water, please,” he said. The boy nodded, and disappeared back through the door. Left alone, Tony lowered himself down onto the chaise cushions. “All right,” he said, trying to sound calm. “All right. We’re all right. You’re all right. You’re safe.”The words didn’t really make sense, a nervous, uneven rattle of syllables. He talked for talking’s sake, instinct driving him on. DJ was still crying, but it sounded normal now, just an exhausted, frustrated child. He pressed his face against Tony’s shoulder, burrowing into the fabric. Tony stroked a hand up and down his back, smoothing his hair, patting him gently when his breathing hitched.Tony waited it out, the best way he knew how.There was a soft, hesitant tap on the door, and then the usher peered inside. “Sir? I brought-”“Thank you,” Tony said, holding out a hand. The boy handed over the cup, his fingers shaking hard enough to make the surface of the water vibrate. Tony gave him a reassuring smile. “Can you watch the door for us?”The usher nodded. “Yes, Mr. Stark.” Seemingly happy to be given a task he could accomplish, the boy darted back out, letting the door shut softly behind him.Tony held the cup up. “Want a drink?” he asked, his voice soft. “It’ll help. I promise.”DJ stared up at him, his eyes and nose red. His grip wasn’t steady, so Tony held onto the cup for him, guiding it to his lips. DJ drank, a few quick, greedy gulps, before pushing it away, his head falling back on Tony’s shoulder. But he was calming down now, and Tony let him, waiting until the sobs tapered away to rough gasps.“Better?” he asked.DJ’s mouth worked, but he couldn’t seem to manage a word. Instead, he just nodded, his face exhausted. Tony considered him. “What happened?”DJ pushed out of his arms, scrambling down to sit next to him on the couch. Tony offered him the cup, and this time he took it, wrapping both hands around it. He took a drink, letting the cup linger against his lips, as if that could ward off any further questions.Tony took a deep breath. “Do you know what a diagnostic is?”DJ glanced up at him,, his eyes huge, dark holes in his pale face. Tony waited, letting him process, until he finally shook his head. Tony nodded, leaning forward in his seat. “The things we make, the machines, they’re big and complex,” he said, bracing his elbows on his knees. “Engines. Generators. Things like that. And complex things fail in complex ways.”He glanced up at the ceiling, at the crisp, clean lines of the room and the walls. “And sometimes, everything on the surface looks fine. There’s no way to know if a tiny little part, buried deep down inside, is what’s causing the problem. Or if there’s two, three, ten gears that are misaligned. You can’t just assume you know why something’s not working. Even if you fixed a problem yesterday, and it seems like this is the same problem, you can’t-” He waved a hand through the air. “You can’t assume. So we do a diagnostic.“It means we go through everything, step by step, line by line. We check every little piece, every wire, every place where things could slip. No matter how deep, how hidden.” He glanced at DJ. DJ stared back, his breathing still coming in slow, ragged bursts. Tony reached out, tapping him on the nose. “So we stop. Stop everything.”DJ’s eyelids fluttered, his lips parting. “Stop,” he repeated, fighting the word the whole way.“Stop,” Tony agreed. His fingers flexed, and he folded them together to keep them still. “And figure out what’s wrong.” His head tipped to the side, holding DJ’s gaze. “I’ll ask you questions.” DJ’s face went tense, and he rushed on. “Easy questions. Yes and no questions. All you have to do is think about what I’m asking, and then nod, or shake your head.” His eyebrows arched. “Can you do that for me?”A long moment of silence, then a slow, careful nod. Tony smiled at him. “All right.” He took a deep breath. “Did you want to see a movie?”Nod.“Did you want to see a movie today? Tonight?” Tony said. Broad, to specific. Narrow the scope. Pull it in, degree by degree. DJ nodded again. “Did you like seeing everyone? Did you like seeing the theater”This nod was slower. Tony nodded back. “Was this the first time you’ve seen a movie?”Nod.“Did it scare you?” Tony asked, and DJ went still. For a moment, he seemed to struggle, his face twisting into something like confusion, like fear. Tony tapped him on the tip of the nose. “Stop,” he said, and DJ’s face relaxed. “Bad question. Let me try again.” He rocked forward, trying to find the right way to phrase it. “Did it startle you?”DJ nodded, with enough force to shift him forward in his seat. Tony smiled. “Okay.” His finger tapped against the angle of his knee. He thought about how DJ had folded in on himself, his arms wrapped around his head, his eyes squeezed shut. “Was it too loud?”Nod.“Too close? Too big?” DJ nodded. “Was it too-” Tony stopped, trying to find the way to phrase it. “Was it too much, all at once, for you to handle?”The relief on DJ’s face was answer enough. But he nodded anyway.Tony’s head bobbed. “Do you want to leave?” he asked, and DJ went still. Tony smiled at him. “We can. I came here for you. I like movies. I want you to like movies, too. And if this is-” He patted the seat next to him, the plush cushion giving easily under his fingers. “And if this is too much for you right now, than that defeats our purpose for coming here.“We can leave. We can come back later. Another time, or to a smaller theater, or I can build a theater, the screen wouldn’t be a problem and the camera would really be the only problem, if we were-” DJ was staring up at him, his brow furrowed, and Tony pulled himself up short. “We can go. I won’t be mad. No one will be mad, DJ.”He leaned forward, his head tilted towards DJ. “Do you want to leave?”For a long moment, there was nothing but the echo of the soundtrack, a faint ghost of sound that hung around them, soft and ethereal. DJ took a deep breath. He shook his head.Tony smiled. “Okay. So. How do we make this better?” He kicked his legs out in front of him. “Too loud. Too big. Too many people. Too much.” He looked up, up at the ceiling above them, the germ of an idea forming in his head. “Let’s go upstairs.”He looked back at DJ. “There’s empty seats. Up on the mezzanine, the balcony. It’ll be farther away. And there’s fewer people up there, so if we need to leave, we won’t be in the way. Likely, no one’ll even know.” He straightened up. “And-” He shrugged out of his jacket, draping it gently over DJ’s head. “There. If it’s too bright or too loud, you can make it- Make it less. You can muffle it, or make it stop entirely.”He leaned in. “The important thing is, you can control it. You can control how this happens.”DJ reached up, his fingers tangling in the fabric. He tugged the collar forward, over his head, until it hung like a mask in front of his eyes. He rocked to the side, peeking under the edge, and ducking back out of sight again. Tony waited, his arms folded on his knees, as DJ fumbled with the cloth. “Does that help?” he asked, at last.DJ slipped the jacket down to his shoulders, clutching it there like a cape. “Yes,” he said, and his smile was bright and hopeful and heartbreaking.“Do you want to try again?” Tony asked. A nod. “Upstairs?” Another nod. “Do you promise me that if you’re uncomfortable, you’ll do whatever you have to do to make it better?” This nod was slower, but firm. Tony leaned in, his forehead bumping against DJ’s. “Will you let me help?” he whispered.DJ’s fingers closed on the front of Tony’s shirt, holding on tight. “Yes.”“All right.” Tony leaned back. “Better?”He nodded. “Better.”Tony smiled. “Okay.” He stood up, tucking his hands in his pockets as DJ gathered himself, pulling Tony’s jacket in close to his sides. “Hey.” DJ looked up, and Tony tried to smile. “There are people,” he said, the words clumsy on his tongue, “who are going to call you weak. Who are going to say that you should be able to do things that you can’t, because they can. So why can’t you? They’ll tell you that you’re difficult, that you’re wrong, that you’re… Weak.”He paused. Took a breath. “They’re wrong. No one’s in your head. No one knows what you have to, to handle. To bear. No one knows, just how strong you are.” He crouched down, face to face with DJ, his arms braced on his knees. “And you are. You are strong. How you handle things, how you deal with them, that’s-” His eyes shut. He took a deep breath. “You’re the only one who knows what you have to bear,” he said at last. “No one else will ever know that. The good ones, they’ll… Try. To understand. Some people might actually get an idea. The bad ones, they won’t bother.”Tony forced his eyes open. Forced himself to look at DJ, no matter how much that made his chest ache, made his throat close up. “The best ones will just accept, that you know what you can bear and what you can’t. That they’ll never know, but they can believe.”He reached out, his fingertip ghosting over the tip of DJ’s nose. “They’ll believe you are doing everything you can, and sometimes, it’s just…” His voice trailed away.DJ’s mouth worked, silently at first, and then, at last, “Too much.”Tony managed a smile. It felt wrong on his face, foreign. But he smiled anyway. “You are stronger than anyone knows. Don’t ever forget that.” DJ reached out, one little finger tapping the tip of Tony’s nose. Tony wrinkled it up, scrunching his face into a squint, and DJ let out a giggle. “Better?” Tony asked. DJ nodded. “Better.”Tony tapped him on the nose, once, and then twice. “Diagnostic over for now. But if you ever need another one, and we don’t figure that out, then you can do that, right?” He repeated the gesture. “One, and two. That means something’s wrong and we need to figure out what it is.”He leaned over. “Diagnostic?”DJ reached out, tapping Tony’s nose with one little finger. “One,” he said carefully. “Two.”“You got it,” Tony said. He pushed himself to his feet and dusted off the seat of his pants. “Do you want to go watch the movie now?” He held out a hand, and DJ took it, his grip surprisingly strong. “Yes.”“Good. Me, too.” Tony lead the way out of the lounge, matching his steps to DJ’s. Letting him set the pace. Outside the door, the usher was still waiting, his face tense, his shoulders tight. As soon as Tony pushed the door open, he sprang to attention.“Do you need anything, Mr. Stark?”Tony gave him a slight smile. “Thank you, but no.” He looked back towards the main staircase. “Actually. Yes. Can you go up to the Mezzanine and find us an area, near the front, that’s unoccupied? I’d like a little-” He wiggled a hand in mid-air. “Breathing room.”The usher nodded. “Yes, sir. Of course. I’ll be right back.”“That’s fine, it’s-” was as far as Tony got; the boy was already off and running, his long legs eating up the length of the massive corridor. Tony shook his head. “Want to wait here?” he asked DJ. DJ shook his head, and Tony smiled down at him. “Me, neither. Let’s go follow him.”Halfway to the stairs, he spotted a girl carrying a tray of candy and cigarettes. “Miss?” He gestured at the girl, who darted over, her gloved hands clasped tight on her tray. Tony smiled at her. “I need you to go find someone for me.”She blinked up at him, all huge, dark eyes. “Yes, sir?”“I don’t know the row, but almost smack dab in the center of the orchestra seating,” Tony said, “there’s a fella riding herd on a bunch of boys.” He held a hand over his head at roughly Steve’s height. “Big, blond. Looks like he should be in the pictures, not watching them.”Her cheeks went pink. “I think I saw him come in, yes.”Tony grinned at her. “I figured you might’ve noticed him,” he said. He fished in his pocket. “I need you to go up and let him know that I’m taking the kid up to the balcony. Just tell him Mr. Stark went upstairs with the boy. He’ll be worried if this one-” He dipped his head in DJ’s direction. “Doesn’t come back. He’s got the rest of the boys, so he can’t come looking?”The girl nodded. “Yes. I can tell him. Mr. Stark took the boy upstairs,” she parroted.“Right. Where it’s a little quieter,” Tony said. He held out a twenty dollar bill to her. “If he has a reply, will you bring it to me?”“I’ll find you right away, Mr. Stark.” She looked at the bill, her teeth digging into her lower lip. “You already gave the whole staff a tip, Mr. Stark, I’m happy to-”“Miss Potts gave the staff a tip,” Tony said. He caught her hand, and pressed the bill into it. “Because Miss Potts is better at these things than Mr. Stark is.” He gave her a quick smile. “I don’t want to take him back in there, so I’m trusting you’ll deliver the message.”She nodded. “Yes, sir.” She smiled down at DJ, who leaned against Tony’s side, his hand locked in Tony’s. “I’ll let you know right away.”“Thank you.” Tony ruffled DJ’s hair. “Let’s go. Find some seats that suit us a bit better, all right?”“Yes,” DJ said, one hand in Tony’s, the other still holding Tony’s jacket in place. He smiled up at Tony, and Tony smiled back.“Let’s go, we’re missing all the good parts.”*DJ made it halfway through the movie before he snuggled up in Tony’s coat, his eyes at half mast. Not long after that, his breathing smoothed out, his head lolling to the side. He was sound asleep long before the credits rolled, and even the lights coming back up did nothing to rouse him.“Hey.” Tony reached out, his fingertips stroking DJ’s hair away from his forehead. “All right, then, the movie’s done, you great waste of money..” DJ kicked out with one foot, digging deeper into the nest he’d made of Tony’s jacket. Tony caught himself smiling down at the oblivious brat. “So what’s this? You live here now? You’re not going to come-”The words died in his throat. Home. Come home. What right did he have to say that to a child, to this child? And if couldn’t, what could he say?Tony pushed himself to his feet. “You can’t stay here,” he said, because that was true. That was one thing that was true, that he could understand. That he could believe. “We can’t stay here. This is a fantasy, a fairyland. We can’t-”He looked up at the soaring ceiling, at the gleaming arches that surrounded the stage. Down below them, the crowds were moving, people flowing from their seats and into the aisles. Everyone moved slowly, clinging to the last moments of magic. Tony supposed he could understand that.“We can’t stay here,” he said, and that, he could manage. He leaned over, sliding his hands under DJ’s body, taking the boy’s small, slight weight against his chest. Tangled in the fabric of Tony’s jacket, DJ turned his face into Tony’s shoulder, his fingers catching on Tony’s shirt. Tony went still, shifting DJ higher into the cradle of his arms.The weight wasn’t as foreign as it should’ve been.Tony headed for the stairs. Action suited him. Movement. Forward momentum. He might not have known where he was going, but he was damn sure going forward.He spotted Steve when he was halfway down the main staircase. He was a measure taller than most of the crowd, and more than that, he was surrounded by a seething mass of little boys. His head was pivoting from side to side, his face strained, his shoulders tight. Tony watched, amused, as he snagged a boy by the back of his shirt, dragging him back into line, without even seeming to notice that he’d done it.Tony knew the moment that Steve had spotted him. In an instant, the tension went out of his frame, his shoulders relaxing, his brow smoothing out. He ducked his head, speaking a few tense words to Billy, before cutting his way across the lobby. Tony took a moment to watch him move, admiring the smooth grace with which he slipped through the crowd. All that leashed strength and surprising grace was a thing of beauty, and for all he knew that the concern on Steve’s face was for DJ, he allowed himself a moment of fantasy, allowed himself to wonder what it would be like, to have Steve be looking for him.For Steve to be reaching for him.“I’ve got him,” he said, still descending the stairs.. Steve stilled, one foot braced on the bottom of the stairs, his hands still hovering in the air. “Are you sure?” he asked, and he sounded torn. Tony gave him a lopsided smile. “I think you have your own problems,” he said, his voice arch. “Besides. What’s the point of a grand PR gesture if I’m not seen being properly affectionate?”Steve’s lips twitched. “Oh, this is all a PR move?”“You’re the one who harranged me into inviting half of New York,” Tony pointed out. DJ shifted in his arms, his legs kicking as he settled against Tony’s chest. He tucked his head under Tony’s chin, and Tony turned his head to give him more space to move. “If he drools on me, you’ll be picking up my dry cleaning bill.”“I’ll let Jarvis know to put it on my tab,” Steve said, clearing the way for Tony as they crossed the lobby. “Jarvis won’t do that,” Tony pointed out.“Which is why I’ll be telling him,” Steve said cheerfully. He stopped in front of the boys. “You little punks have anything to say to Mr. Stark?”“Thank you for the movie, Mr. Stark,” they chorused. It almost sounded sincere.“That was terrifying,” Tony told them.“We have to tell Mr. Hammer we love him every day,” Billy said. “We’re good at kissing-” Steve made a grab for him, and laughing, the boy darted out of reach. “I love you, Officer Rogers!”“Good to know. I don’t like you much,” Steve told him, setting off another wave of laughter from the kids. Steve glanced at Tony. “I need to get them to the streetcar before Hammer leaves without them.”“Rhodey’ll be around with the car, so-”“Stay here until I’m back,” Steve told him, and Tony blinked at him.“Excuse me?” he asked, amused despite himself.Steve’s face was tense. “Stay here, until I get back,” he said, and Tony arched an eyebrow at him. “Mr. Stark-”“Get them to the streetcar before I’m stuck with them,” Tony said. To the boys, he added, “Have we stuffed our pockets with all the candy we can carry?” Laughter and a chorus of ‘yes’ answers made him smile. “Good. Now, be good for Officer Rogers.”“We ain’t been before, why start now?” someone asked, and Steve shook his head.“You really sassing the man who’s paying your return fare?” he asked, making a shooing motion. Laughing, jostling, the boys allowed themselves to be herded towards the doors. Steve looked back towards Tony. “Stay here.”“Of course,” Tony said, because it was cute that Steve thought that was going to happen. Steve scowled at him, his eyes narrowing, and Tony tipped his chin towards the door. “That little redhead’s trying to steal one of the flower vases.”Cursing, Steve shot off after the boys, and Tony wandered after them, grinning to himself. It took him a few minutes to work his way through the lobby, nodding and smiling at people as they passed, accepting stumbling, shy thanks from children clinging to their mother’s skirts and their father’s hands. Outside, the sidewalks were swarming with people, parents making sure that their children were bundled up against the cold, adults buttoning their coats and tugging on gloves. Light spilling from the lobby doors spilled out into the city streets, lit by the lamp posts and the cars speeding by. Despite the hour, it was busy, full of light and noise and people, the way only New York seemed to be.Grinning to himself, Tony turned, looking towards the curb for the car. A woman with a child holding onto each her hands walked in front of him, and he stepped back, out of her way. She passed, barely glancing in his direction, and before Tony could move forward, a man stepped up, blocking his path.His hand came up, and the light caught on the gun in his hand.Time slowed down, Tony’s breath stilling in his lungs, his heart going silent in his chest. The barrel of a gun, was a hollow, a hole through the world, a black void, tiny and empty and infinite, and he had an instant to realize that it was going to swallow him. There was an instant of knowing. Of certainty. Of remembering.Pain. Fear. Blood.He could feel it again, the way his flesh tore, the way he ceased to exist, in an instant of pain that melted into nothing, that melted into a darkness that would swallow him whole.An instant, and he knew how this would end. He's slipped through Death's fingers before, leaving a trail of blood on the sand behind him, leaving something else along with it, some shattered and fragmented part of himself.Memory echoed through him, and something like laughter bubbled through his chest. He’d stared into the nothing in the barrel of a gun before, once before, or more, he couldn’t remember any more, he couldn’t remember anything.He’d been here before. Except, this time he was holding a child. Tony moved.It wasn’t fast enough, nothing was fast enough, time slowed down. Stopped. He felt his feet slip, then catch on the sidewalk, shoving his weight forward with every bit of strength that he had. The gun wavered, light flickering as it moved, the man stumbling backwards. There was a crack, a snap, something breaking, something coming apart, and then someone started to scream.The screams built, pressing in on on sides, and Tony barely noticed. He lashed out with a foot, catching the man in the side of the knee, following that up with an elbow to the face. They went down, Tony stumbling to his knees as the man flailed backwards, towards the street. The gun stabilized, coming around, and Tony was on his knees, was out of space, was out of tricks.His breath whispered out of him, a last silent prayer to some unknown deity, and folded himself down and around, putting the bulk of his shoulder, of his chest, of his body, between DJ and the next shot.“TONY!”His head came up, confusion sweeping over him, just in time to see Steve emerge from the crowd, a metal trash can lid clutched in one hand. Before Tony could even draw a breath, Steve was cutting between him and the gunman, his arm coming up in an easy, beautiful arc.His fist caught the gunman square in the jaw, lifting him right off of the pavement and sending him crashing to the ground.Steve skidded to a stop, the lid held up in front of him like a shield. “Get him OUT of here!” he said, locking eyes with Tony. “NOW.”Hands closed on Tony’s shoulders, his arms, dragging him up, pulling DJ out of his grip. He screamed, something vicious and obscene, and it was no use, he couldn’t stop them, couldn't stop them, couldn’t stop anything, he was bleeding, he was dying-“Boss! Boss, it’s me, it’s Happy, it’s-”“He can’t hear you. Just move.” He reached for DJ, for Steve, but he was moving, he was being moved. He let out a howl, even as the car door opened and he was dragged in, fighting the entire way. “Tony.” A hand grabbed his, fingers tangling together. “Tony. It’s Rhodey. It’s Rhodey. Look at me. You’re safe. Tony.”Tony’s head rolled to the side, and DJ was there, his face pale. Happy was holding him, singing a soft, rough Irish lullaby, his hand cupping the side of DJ's head. Tony tried to focus, tried to think. “Is he all right?” In the front, a flash of red hair. Pepper. She sounded afraid and Tony didn’t understand. Didn’t know why she sounded afraid.Why she was driving.Rhodey’s hand was holding onto his, and there was red on his fingers, on the white cuff of his shirt. Blood, spattered across his arm, across Tony’s shirt. Rhodey’s voice, tense and sharp. “Home. As fast as you can.”Tony didn’t hear anything else.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
The first shot had stopped his heart.Steve had heard more than his fair share of gunshots, both in the trenches of Europe and in the narrow alleyways of New York. He knew the sound far better than he’d like, and every time he heard it, he was always hoping, on some level, that it’d be the last one he heard.Bucky had called that a deathwish, and Steve had never really understood why.But he was nearly back to the theater, moving at a quick pace already, when the familiar sound reached him, followed by the sound of screams. And he’d known, in an instant, that he’d made a mistake. He’d made a mistake in leaving Tony and DJ to bring the other boys to the trolley. He’d made a mistake in letting them come to the movie to begin with.He’d made a mistake by telling Pepper about DJ at all.He could move fast now, faster than he should be able to move, than anyone should be able to move. Long legs, strong lungs, and he knew where he had to go. Knew the quickest way there. He didn’t much care who or what got in his way.Steve didn’t remember picking up the trash can lid. He didn’t remember much, between echo of that shot, and the point at which he brute forced his way through the crowd, plowing through them with uncanny instinct. Knowing that they impulse for any sane man was to get away from someone holding a gun. To get away, as fast as they could.Steve was never known for being particularly sane.“TONY!”He spotted him, even as the word was leaving his mouth, desperate and helpless. Tony was on one knee, but still upright, DJ clutched against his chest. Steve saw the man facing him, saw the way his arm came up, saw the light catch on the barrel of the gun, and swung.The man went flying, his body hitting the pavement hard, and bouncing. Steve stomped down on an ugly sense of satisfaction. Through the crowd, people darting away, ducking and running for any available cover, he saw Happy and Rhodes pushing their way out from the street. “Get him out of here!” he yelled, and to their credit, they were doing that before Steve finished saying it.Tony was fighting them, howling at them, but he was up, he was alive, and they had him. Steve swiveled on his heel, the garbage can lid up in front of him, muscle memory pulling him through. Not one. Never one. One could fail. One would fail. Something public like this, something this risky, not one, there would be more, there would be-A tall man in a ragged coat stepped out of the alley across the street, moving forward slowly, but with deliberate purpose. Even as Rhodey wrestled Tony into the car, he was moving in their direction, his hand tucked into the front of his coat.Steve charged him at full speed, feet flying over the pavement, body tucked behind his makeshift shield. He hit with all the force he could manage, lifting the man off the street and slamming him hard into the storefront across the way. The glass of the window gave way behind him, cracks like spiderwebs arching out from the point of impact.Steve wrenched the gun from his hand before he could even get the weapon free of his coat. “Who sent you?” he bit out. “Who-”“Fuck you,” the man spat at him, and Steve reared back, lifting him up and out and slamming him back against the window.The man slumped unconscious in his grip, and Steve let him fall to the ground. Behind him, he heard the sound of tires squealing on the pavement, heard them slide, then catch. He glanced back, just in time to see the car fishtail for a moment before pulling away. He stood there, his heart in his throat, watching to make sure that they were gone.Then he leaned over, grabbing the second assailant by the front of the coat, and dragging him back across the street towards the theater. A boy in an usher uniform jogged out to meet him. “Are you-”“Police box,” Steve said. “Go. Call the station, we need-”“Someone’s already gone,” the boy said, looking down at the man. He looked quesy. “An’ the manager called, from the house phone. They’ll come, right soon.”Steve took a breath. And another. There was blood on the pavement, dark spots smeared by dozens of panicked feet. But Steve could smell it, metallic and clangy, he could nearly taste it in the back of his throat.“Keep an eye on them,” he said, waving a hand towards the two unconscious men. “The police’ll be here soon to pick them up.”The boy gave him a look like he’d lost his mind. “What if they wake up?”Steve’s fingers flexed, and the metal handle on the trashcan lid twisted in his grip. “They won’t,” he said, and turned back towards the alley where the second man had been hiding.Nothing about this was right. And he was going to figure out why.*“He’s waking up.”Tony winced. Everything hurt, and he resented it. “No,” he slurred. “No, he’s not.”Someone laughed, and Tony was going to have that person thrown to the wolves, or maybe he’d just skip the middleman and do it himself. “What happened? Where-” He sucked in a breath and immediately regretted it. “Where am I?”“Stay still.” Pepper’s voice. He reached out, and her hand was there, her fingers wrapping around his, holding tight. “You’re in the infirmary. Bruce, can you-”“I’ll ring.” Bruce. “Can you-”“I’ve got him. Tony, do you feel up to having a drink?” Pepper asked.“Scotch or brandy?” he asked.“Water,” she said, her voice stern. He made a face, and that hurt, too. His head was throbbing. He risked opening one eye. “What… Wait. Which infirmary?”“Upstairs,” Bruce said, and yes, he was the shadowy form by the windows. “Right. So not that bad.” Tony flexed his fingers, and his toes, making sure everything worked. “What happened?”Pepper’s face swam into view, and she was beautiful, beautiful and pale, her eyes wet, her hair loose around her shoulders in a copper colored cloud. “There was… There was an attack,” she said, and that was as far as she got.Memory hit Tony sideways, a wave of fear and adrenaline riding right behind it. The movie theater. The gun. The smell of blood and the screech of tires, and DJ’s face, almost as pale as Pepper’s, almost as-“Where’s-” Tony fought with the word, forcing it out past a numb tongue and dry lips. “DJ. Where’s-”Pepper picked up the silver pitcher from the table beside the bed. “He’s fine,” she said, filling a cup with water. “He’s-”Tony pushed at the blankets, trying to shove himself upright, and Bruce lunged across the room, making a grab for his shoulder. Tony shook him off. “Where-”Pepper caught his other arm, the cup clattering to the floor. “Tony, he’s fine. He’s upstairs with May and Peter. Natasha is keeping an eye on all of them.” He stared at her, and Pepper gave him a slight, tired smile. “He’s safe. Natasha won’t let anyone near him. You know that.” Her fingers squeezed tight, half comfort, half warning, and then she released him, leaning over to pick up the cup. “You’re the only one who’s hurt, Tony. Everyone else is just fine.”The panic receded, just enough for him to draw a full breath. He stared at her as she refilled the cup, her grip not quite steady. But she met his eyes without flinching. “I promise,” she said, her voice gentle. “Everyone is fine. DJ is safe.” Her hand curled around the back of his neck, her fingers slipping through his hair to cradle his head in her palm. “Drink.”He drank, two long gulps, then pushed it away, his hand shaking. “Rhodey? Happy?” he croaked.“Rhodey’s outside, securing the grounds. Happy’s gone back to the theater,” Pepper said.“Gone back to the-” Tony’s eyes went wide. “Rogers.” He grabbed her arm, and she bobbled the cup, nearly dropping it again. He barely noticed. “Where’s Rogers, did he-”“Happy will find him,” Bruce said, but Tony was already kicking the blankets off, struggling towards the edge of the narrow bed.“That is quite enough.”Jarvis’ voice cut through the room, sharp and hard, and Tony froze, instinct born of a lifetime of dealing with the ‘obey or die’ voice kicking in. Jarvis strode across the room, a tray held easily in one hand. “I would remind you that you have been injured, and it is only due to Dr. Banner’s quick and efficient work that the situation is not far worse that it is,” Jarvis said, his voice sharp. “You will not undo his efforts in a fit of pique.”He paused in front of Tony, his lips a flat line. “You were raised better than that.” He paused. “Were you not?”Tony sucked in a breath, and another, and it hurt, it hurt every time his chest flexed. He looked down, at the broad swath of linen wrapped around his ribs. He touched his side, wincing at the pressure. Jarvis caught his wrist and pulled his hand away, his grip firm. “Were you not?” he repeated, and it was gentler now, comforting.Tony looked up at him. “Yes,” he managed. And again, more certain this time, “Yes.”Jarvis nodded. “Good. Everyone is fine. You were the only one who was injured, and you will recover, in short order.” He set the tray down on the table, the movements smooth and efficient. He looked up, and smiled, just a little, a slight flex to his lips. “Everyone is fine.”Tony nodded, his shoulders flexing as he tried to calm his breathing. “Rogers. We don’t know-”“Officer Rogers strikes me as a capable and intelligent young man,” Jarvis said. He smiled, just a little. “He believes in the rightness of his actions. It is only logical that he would want to be certain that the ones who hurt you, would not hurt anyone else.”Tony laughed, and it was ugly and sharp. “They’re not trying to hurt anyone else.”There was a beat of silence as everyone looked at him. Tony reached for the cup again, anything to avoid their eyes. “We don’t know that,” Pepper said at last.“Yes. We do.” Tony drained the rest of the water, and Jarvis took the empty cup from him. Tony glanced down at the bandages, plucking at the edge of the gauze. “How bad?” Bruce sank down into the chair next to the bed, his shoulders slumping. “Well, for getting shot, not bad,” he said, giving Tony a wry smile. His hands hung down between his knees, his fingers flexing. “The shot went wide. Tore the skin, skimmed your ribs, but the damage is minimal.” He glanced down, then back up, meeting Tony’s eyes. “You’ve got half a dozen new sutures, and you’re going to be, uh, well, sore as hell for a while.”Tony looked at Jarvis, who was wiping the condensation from the pitcher of water. “Your luck held,” he said, setting it down. He arched an eyebrow at Tony. “The same could not be said for your jacket.”Tony managed a smile. “He shot my jacket?”“Only because it was between you and the gun,” Bruce said. “I’d say that Jan could probably patch the hole, but…”“But even if she could, I doubt Mrs. Parker could get the bloodstains out,” Pepper finished. She reached out, pushing Tony’s hair away from his forehead. He made a halfhearted gesture to push her hand away, which she ignored.“She could, but it would be rather uncouth of you to ask it of her,” Jarvis said. He paused. “Especially since there we had little choice about cleaning up the vestibule.”Tony bit back a laugh. “I take it I bled a bit on the way in?”“You bled everywhere,” Pepper said, blunt about it. “You owe Rhodey a new suit.”Tony winced. He took a deep breath, and everything hurt. He preferred it that way. He could focus on the ache of his ribs, instead of the chaos in his head. “Right,” he said. And, since it seemed inadequate somehow, he repeated it. “Right.” He sat up, and this time, they helped him, Pepper piling pillows behind him. He slumped back, exhausted. “The car?”“I am confident that the upholstery is salvageable.” Jarvis busied himself with folding the blankets down. “You’ve done worse.”Pepper tried to smile. “And if not, it’s easily replaceable.”“Exactly how much blood did I lose?” Tony asked.“Dramatic, but not life threatening,” Bruce said. He flicked a finger against the glass bottle hanging from the stand next to the bed. “Our usual cheerful volunteer has been hard at work.” Tony eyed it. “And where is he now?”“He declared he was done with the ‘leeches and ticks’ of modern medicine and he was going up on the roof to keep watch,” Bruce said, his voice dry.Tony rubbed a hand over his face. “So… You took his blood and then sent him up onto the roof. Because that’s safe.”“No, I took his blood, and then, uh, then he said he wanted to shoot someone and none of us were good candidates, so, if we wanted him, he’d be up on the roof looking for a target,” Bruce said.Tony studied him. “I suspect him of sleeping his way through the staff,” he said at last. “Just so you know. I’m watching you for any sign that you’re succumbing to his charms.”Bruce pressed a hand to his face. “Right. If I do,” he said, the words muffled against his palm, “you’ll, I’m sure you’ll be the first to know.”Tony nodded. “I absolutely will.” He pointed at Jarvis. “That goes double for you.”“Mrs. Parker has called dibs,” Jarvis said. He sounded regretful. “I’m sure when she’s done with him, she will let the rest of us know.”“This is becoming a house of ill repute, and I shall not stand for it,” Tony mumbled into his water cup.“Is this just because you haven’t had a proper night out in the last year?” Pepper asked, one eyebrow arched.Tony scowled at her. “I tried that tonight. Movie. Socializing. And you know what happened?”“Someone shot you,” Bruce said. “Someone shot me,” Tony echoed. “Perhaps you should consider a date, rather than a public relations event,” Pepper said, her voice tart. “With someone who enjoys your company and won’t attract-” She waved a hand through the air. “Bullets.”The sudden memory of Steve, breathtakingly handsome in a perfectly tailored suit, sprang to mind, and Tony felt his face flush. Not a date. Not even close to a date. And anyways, he suspected that Steve was probably as likely to attract bullets as he was. “Any news from Happy about-”“Tony!”Jarvis was moving to intercept Obie before he was fully through the sickroom door. “Mr. Stane, please. As I explained, sir needs a moment-”“And I need to see him!” Obie’s face was florid, his forehead damp with sweat. He tried to shove his way past Jarvis, who set his feet and refused to give way. Obie scowled at him, but stopped. “Tony? Tony, how are you?”“I’m fine,” Tony said, holding up a hand. “Jarvis. It’s fine, let him be.” Jarvis gave him a look, but he stepped aside. Obie straightened his jacket with a flick of his hands, glaring at Jarvis as he stalked past. As he approached the bed, Bruce collected his tray of instruments. “I’ll just, I’ll go clean up,” he said, his head down. “If you need me?”“I’ll call for you,” Pepper said. She reached out, her fingers just touching Bruce’s sleeve. “Thank you.”Tony saluted him with his water cup. “Expect to repair these at least once,” he said.Bruce’s lips twitched. “Try not to tear them tonight.”“I make no promises,” Tony said. Once Bruce had slipped out of the room, pulling the door shut behind him, he looked back to Obie. “I’m fine.”Obie looked down the length of his nose at him. “I’ve brought two dozen men from the factory and the warehouses,” he said, his voice flat. “They’ve been stationed at the gates and around the grounds.”Tony huffed out a breath. It hurt. “Obie…”“It’s not open to discussion any longer,” Obie said. “There’s no more secrets to keep, Tony. This wasn’t a bomb tossed at the window or someone blowing out your tires out in the countryside. You were shot in the middle of the city, in front of dozens of witnesses, and not all of them are on the payroll.” He collapsed into the seat next to the bed, fishing in his pocket for a handkerchief. He mopped at his brow. “It’ll be front page news halfway across the country by morning.”Tony made a face. “And it’ll be forgotten in a week,” he said. “I’m not the only rich man who’s having problems with an angry public, Obie.”“And the general population isn’t particularly sympathetic to those problems,” Obie pointed out. He exhaled, a long drawn out sigh. “Tony. I’m done discussing this.”Tony gritted his teeth. “They can stay for a few days,” he said. Obie’s mouth opened, and Tony reached for his water glass. “Take the deal, Obie. It’s better than the one you’ll get if you keep pushing this.” His eyes met Obie’s. “Do we understand each other?”Obie’s eyes flicked up towards the ceiling, a beseeching glance at an uncaring God. “Tony…”“He’s had a long night,” Pepper said. Tony opened his mouth, and she gave him a look. ‘And so have the rest of us.” Her voice was pointed, and Tony subsided without a word. She gave him an approving nod. “Why don’t we go down to the library, Obie? Tony needs to rest, and I need to know what we’re going to do about the press.”“Pray?” Obie suggested.“The Virgin Mary will do her best for us, I’m sure, but Hearst prevers his tithing in cold, hard cash,” Pepper pointed out.“A truth to be sure.” Obie heaved himself to his feet and leaned forward, grabbing Tony’s shoulder. “Stop this nonsense. This old man’s heart can’t take the strain.”“You’re going to outlive us all,” Tony said.“At this rate, I just might,” Obie said. He smiled, just a little. “Tomorrow. You and I need to have a talk.”“Pepper will pencil you in,” Tony said, pushing himself a little higher up on the headboard. “Sorry, Obie.”“I know you are, son.” With one last nod, he followed Pepper out, leaving Tony alone with Jarvis.Tony glanced at Jarvis. “You didn’t want him here.” “No,” Jarvis said, and it was unusually blunt for him.Tony leaned back, rubbing at his uninjured side. “I was going to have to talk to him eventually, Jarvis.”“Perhaps,” Jarvis allowed. “Miss Potts did insist we contact him.” He poured another cup of water. “I am of the opinion that the wellbeing of the company could wait until tomorrow.”There was an unexpected tartness to the words that Tony didn’t know how to handle. He looked down, at where his fingers pressed against his skin. “I think I had another..” His fingers flexed, and he let his hands fall into his lap. “Another attack.”Jarvis paused. “Yes,” he said at last. “I suspect that might be the case.” He lifted the domed lid from the tray. “It will happen in circumstances like this.”Tony nodded. “Right,” he said. He took a breath, and his ribs ached. He let his eyes fall shut. “I can’t-” His throat closed around the words.“I know.” The words were soft. Gentle. Tony opened his eyes, and Jarvis was standing in front of him, a steaming bowl cradled in one hand.Tony took it. Soft, delicate threads of pasta was piled high, tossed in a coating of olive oil and garlic, topped with rough chunks of tomato and sausage, and a dusting of finely shredded cheese. The porcelain of the bowl was warm in his hand, and Tony wrapped both hands around it, cradling it in his palms. “Spaghetti?” he asked, his lips pulling up in a slight smile.Jarvis offered him a fork. “I spent long enough learning how to make it to your mother’s specifications,” he said, smiling back. “It seems a shame to let such a hard won skill go to waste.”Tony took it from him. “Especially since her tastes changed with the season,” he said. “And her mood.”“She did take some time to come around to change,” Jarvis mused. “But once she did, she embraced it.” He smiled at Tony. “Something her son inherited, I would say.”He was tired. So tired. The act of drawing the noodles up on the tines of the fork was almost more than he could manage. The first bite took everything he had, just to manage it. He let his eyes slide shut again, focusing on the act of chewing, of swallowing, It wasn’t much. But it was a victory.The second bite was easier, but just as good. “Bowl looks familiar.”Jarvis looked up from the act of tidying something that did not need to be tidied. “Does it?” he asked, all feigned innocence.Tony managed a lopsided smile. “Recognize the chip.” He rubbed his thumb against the indentation on the rim. “How long do you plan on using it?”“Well, you’re the one who dropped it and made that chip,” Jarvis told him. “I see no reason to trust you with another. The same thing will just happen again, and we only have so many dishes, sir.”Tony grinned around the tines of his fork. “I was eight.”“I hadn’t noticed you gaining much in grace since then,” Jarvis pointed out.“Know what I’m going to do?” Tony pointed the fork at him. “I’m going to go down to that butler’s pantry of yours and take a prybar to every single dish you have squirreled away down there. You’ll get up tomorrow morning and it’ll just be a pile of china shards. See what you do then.”“Well, I think that would result in you eating every meal from that bowl for the rest of your life,” Jarvis said. “As we both know after thirty seconds of looking at china patterns for a replacement, your eyes will glaze over and you’ll decide that your meals are best served out of the nearest bucket.”Tony considered that. “Well. If it’s a clean bucket.”Jarvis’ lips twitched. “And we both know that is a lie as well.”“This level of disrespect is stunning, you know that, don’t you?” Tony asked, but eating wasn’t an effort any more. “I ought to fire you.”“I’ll draw up the papers immediately, sir, will you be dictating the exact terms of my dismissal to me or shall I use my best judgement?”“Just write something up and put my signature on it, God, it’s like I have to do everything around here.” Tony dug through the noodles with his fork, chasing a chunk of sausage. “Jarvis?” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jarvis pause, looking in his direction. Tony kept his head down. “Thank you.”Jarvis paused. “Of course, sir.” There was a soft tap on the door, and Tony looked up just in time to see Mrs. Parker peek in. “Jarvis?” she asked. Her silver hair was drawn up in a loose braid, her glasses crooked on the bridge of her nose. “Are we up for visitors?”Tony waved her in. “Do I get a vote in this?” he asked.“No, sir,” Jarvis said. To Mrs. Parker, he said, “Of course. I take it you’re not alone?”“I’ve forgotten the calling cards,” Mrs. Parker said. “A gross breach of etiquette, to be sure.” She stepped back, pulling the door open all the way. Behind her, Peter was hovering in the hall, DJ’s hand clasped firmly in his. Mrs. Parker gave them both a smile. “Go on in, but it’s well past bedtime already. We won’t be staying long.”Tony lifted his arm to wave them in, and winced as his ribs protested the movement. He set his bowl aside, wrapping an arm around his middle. “I thought you’d be asleep by now,” he said. DJ tugged free of Peter, picking his way across the floor to lean against the side of the bed. Tony reached out, his fingers brushing over DJ’s hair. A tension that he hadn’t even been aware of bled out of him. He was safe. He was here, and healthy and safe.“Did I-” Tony started, and there was a tremor in his voice that he hated. He swallowed hard, and tried again. “Did I scare you?”DJ blinked. “Little bit,” he said at last.Tony smiled. “Yes, I scared myself a little bit, too.” He pulled his hand back, letting it fall to the blankets next to him. “I’m sorry. That was cruel of me.”DJ’s fingers picked at a loose thread of the blanket. His head was down, his eyes focused on his fingers. “All right?” he asked, his voice small.“I’m just fine,” Tony told him. DJ nodded, but didn’t look up. Tony smiled. “Diagnostic?” he asked. DJ’s eyes came up, and Tony leaned over, as best he could. DJ reached out, the movement cautious, and tapped a finger against Tony’s nose. Once. Twice.Tony leaned back against the pillows. “I got hurt,” he said, because that seemed to be the easiest way to say it. “But we weren’t alone. Were we?” DJ shook his head. “That’s right. Pepper and Rhodey and Happy were there, and they took care of me. Of us.”DJ nodded. “Steve?”Tony’s jaw flexed. “He’ll be home-” He stopped. “He’ll be back soon,” he amended. “He had to stay behind and deal with the man who tried to hurt us.” DJ blinked at him, his face unreadable, and Tony tried to smile. “But he’ll be back soon. He knows you’re here. And he’ll worry.”That won him a nod. “Yells when he’s worried,” DJ said.“I’ll keep that in mind,” Tony said. He reached for his bowl. “But because I got hurt, Jarvis made me something to eat. My favorite thing.” He held it out so DJ could consider the contents. “It’s pasta with tomatoes, sausage, and cheese. Want to try it?”DJ looked up. “No,” he said, so firmly that Tony couldn’t hold back a laugh.“Well, that’s fine,” he said, twisting the pasta around his fork. “More for me.” He smiled down at DJ. “Don’t worry. If you’re here for more than a few days, Jarvis will figure out what to make for you when you’re feeling scared or sad.” He held up his fork. “Because comfort food is a healthy way to cope with a particularly bad day.”“There are worse ways, sir,” Jarvis said.“Mmmm,” Tony said, around a mouthful of pasta. “I take it that the lock to the liquor cabinet is broken again?”“I tested it personally,” Jarvis said. “No matter what I did, I could not manage to get it open.” He picked up Tony’s cup of water and set it, with deliberate movements, closer to him on the edge of the table. “I cannot imagine what the problem might be.”“It’s a mystery,” Tony agreed. He picked up the water. “I’ll be into the cooking wine at this rate.”“I’ll see if I can’t find you a small glass of something more palatable,” Jarvis said. He smiled down at DJ. “I made DJ a cup of warm milk with chocolate melted into it. It might not be much, but it certainly seemed to be appreciated.”“I seem to recall you giving that to me more than once when I was his age,” Tony said. His fork hit the bottom of the bowl, and he looked down, surprised to find he’d finished it. “Did you like it, DJ?”DJ nodded, his face relaxing into a smile. “That and a slice of bread with raspberry jam, and he seemed quite pleased,” Mrs. Parker said. She had a hand on Peter’s shoulder, and he was leaning into her, just a little, his reedy form seeming to be smaller than Tony remembered. “We all had a snack, and DJ fed Furbro some bits of cheese.”“Do I get some?” Tony asked her.“Tomorrow, for breakfast,” she said. She took his bowl from him. “Any more tonight, and you’ll likely have trouble sleeping.”“Or I’ll have nightmares,” Tony agreed. He looked at Peter. “Will you keep an eye on DJ for me?”Peter’s shoulders straightened up. “Yes, Mr. Stark.”“Thank you,” Tony said, because Peter needed that, too. He gave Mrs. Parker a lopsided smile. “And you’ll keep an eye on both of them?”“And Natasha will be keeping an eye on all of us,” she agreed. She waved at the door. “All right, boys. Now that we’ve all seen that Mr. Stark is doing just fine, I think it’s time for bed.”Tony leaned over again, and DJ tapped him on the nose. “Diagnostic over,” he said, settling back against the headboard. “I’ll see you in the morning?”DJ smiled. “Yes.”“Good.” Tony reached out, his fingers just brushing over DJ’s hair. “Thank you for checking on me. And-” He tried to smile. “I’m sorry I scared you.”“Okay now,” DJ said, but he took Peter’s hand again, his fingers gripping tight to Peter’s hand. “Good night, Mr. Stark,” Peter said, and his eyes were red, and so was the tip of his nose, and Tony hated everything about that.“I’m trusting you to keep an eye on him,” Tony said, and Peter nodded. He waved at DJ, who waved back. “Go to bed, you rapscallion.”DJ grinned. “Rap-cal-un,” he said.“A fine attempt,” Mrs. Parker told him, making a shooing motion at the boys. “Let’s go, my fine lads, tomorrow’ll be here before you know it.”Tony waited until they were gone, the door shut behind them. Then he threw back the covers. Ignoring Jarvis’ disapproving look, he shifted to the edge of the bed, bracing his hands on either side of his hips. “I need to talk to Rhodey,” he said. “We’re going to have to contact Hammer.”Jarvis paused. “Sir?”“He can’t go back,” Tony said. His chest ached, in a way that had nothing to do with bullets. “Whoever’s after me, if they didn’t know about him before?” He met Jarvis’ eyes. “They do now.”There was a long pause, and then Jarvis nodded. “I’ll fetch Mr. Rhodes for you.”There was a shirt hanging at the end of the bed, and Tony reached for it. “And let me know the minute Happy’s back.”Because if Steve wasn’t with him, Tony was going back out himself.*Steve recognized Tony’s car from a block away, and started running.The crowd had long since disbursed, leaving only a handful of men hovering on the sidewalk outside the theater. A few lingering employees kept an eagle eye on the reporters who loitered by the doors, and a couple of bored looking cops chatted on the corner, hands resting on their nightsticks. One of them looked up as Steve ran past, his eyes narrowing. But he made no move to stop him, and Steve was glad. He was getting damn sick of explaining himself.“Rogers!” Happy stepped off the curb, his hands on his hips, and Steve accelerated, heading straight for him.“What are you doing here?” he snapped. “Why aren’t you with him?”Happy exhaled, his whole body seeming to deflate in an instant. “Where the he-” He stopped, his jaw working. “Where have you been?” he managed at last, scowling at Steve. “I been up and down half this city looking for you!”“Then I musta been in the other half,” Steve bit out. “Stark. Is he-”Happy caught his arm. “Not here.” When Steve didn’t move, his eyes flicked towards a man who hovered nearby, trying to look like he wasn’t eavesdropping. Happy leaned in. “He’s fine, so’s the kid, everyone’s fine, let’s go.”Steve stared at him, his pulse still pounding in his ears. “He’s fine? What do you mean, ‘he’s fine’?”“I mean, it was a flesh wound, the doc’s already got him patched up.” Happy jerked his head towards the car. “Let’s go.”“What hospital did you take him to?” Steve said, falling into step behind Happy.“Hospital?” Happy tossed the boy sitting on the hood of the car a silver dollar. The kid snagged it from midair with a grin, hopping down. “Thanks for keeping an eye on things, buddy.”The boy doffed his cap in a theatrical gesture. “Anytime, mister.”“Get yourself home, it’s late,” Steve said, because he couldn’t quite stop the words. The boy gave him a look, but still nodded, darting down the street and around the corner. Steve reached for the passenger side door. “What hospital?”“No hospital,” Happy said, sliding behind the wheel. He waited for Steve to pull his door shut before he started the car. “The doc stitched him up at home.”Steve blinked at him. “The doc?”Happy’s eyes darted in his direction. “Ah, yeah. Banner.”“Banner,” Steve said, his voice flat. “The gardener.”Happy chuckled, his broad face relaxing. “Yeah, the gardener.” The car shot forward, merging into traffic. “Before the boss hired him, though, he did go to medical school.” He tapped a finger on the side of his jaw. “He fixed me up, couple of months ago, and now? You can barely see the scar.” Both hands went back to the steering wheel. “He’s got steady hands and doesn’t flinch from the sight of blood, let me tell you. Just likes plants more, I guess.”Steve took a deep breath. “The gardener.”“You need to get past the job title, fella, nobody does what they get paid for around here,” Happy said. “Yeah, I’m getting that.” Steve scraped a hand over his face. “So what’s the chef do?”“Cookin’, mostly,” Happy said. “The boss wanted a French chef, and he got one.”The urge to swear was almost overwhelming. “He’s not French,” he said, his voice flat.“Like I said,” Happy drawled, “the boss wanted a French chef, and he got one.”“He doesn’t actually speak French,” Steve said.“Issat so?” Happy ran a hand over his mouth and jaw. Steve was pretty sure he was hiding a grin. “I wouldn’t know. I barely speak English.” Before Steve could say something he’d probably regret later, Happy kept going. “Woulda thought you’d approve, anyway. We took both him and DJ straight home, figured the boss’d be safest there.”Steve shook his head. “Limits access, sure, but they’re not going to try again right now.”Happy glanced in his direction, but he didn’t say anything. Steve felt his mouth twist into something approaching a smile. “They threw everything they had at him, as fast as they could. If that failed, they’re going to fall back, wait for us to relax. Then they’ll try again.”There was a beat of silence. “Seems like you’ve got a handle on this kind of thing,” Happy said at last.“And I don’t hear you objecting, so I’m guessing you do, too,” Steve said.“More ‘n I’d like,” Happy admitted. His fingers flexed on the steering wheel, his knuckles going white for a second. But his face never changed, his easy smile floating over his features like a mask. Steve studied him in the flickering light of the passing streetlamps. “I can’t protect him if I don’t know what’s happening,” he said at last. “You know that.”He’d half expected a denial, or some feigned attempt at confusion. Instead, Happy just nodded, his chin dipping down towards his chest. “We all got our secrets,” he said. “An’ some of us, more than others.”Steve looked back out the window of the car. “We got lucky tonight,” he said. “Or rather, he got lucky.” He tried not to think of blood splattered across the sidewalk, but it was hard. He’d seen it often enough, and he never wanted to see it again. Steve sucked in a breath, trying to shake the last of the adrenaline that was rattling his nerves. “This could’ve been much worse.”For a long time, they drove in silence, the streets flying by as Happy accelerated across the city. He slowed down only as they finally approached the estate. “He knows that.”Steve glanced in his direction, his jaw tight. “I don’t think he does.”“He does,” Happy said. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t still be here.” He pulled up to the gate, and an unfamiliar man appeared on the other side of the wrought iron bars. Happy gave him a wave, and the man nodded, unlatching the gates. A prickle of unease slid over Steve’s skin. “What’s this?” he asked, his mouth as still as he could keep it.Happy leaned on the steering wheel while the gates were pulled open. Beyond it, there was half a dozen men, big men with broad shoulders and stiff faces. “Mr. Stane’s over ruled the boss. He’s pulled a bunch of the guards off the factories, sent ‘em here.”He lowered the window as he rolled the car through the gate. “Bill,” he called, and the man who had opened the gate jogged over. Happy leaned out the window. “This is Rogers.” He tipped his head in Steve’s direction. “He’s got full access, understood?”Bill leaned in, his eyes narrowing as he studied Steve. “Sure, Mr. Hogan,” he said at last. He gave Steve a broad smile. “Evening, Mr. Rogers. You new on staff?”“Ain’t staff,” Happy said, as Steve nodded at Bill. “Police. City Hall sent him over.”Bill’s eyes widened. “Right then,” he said, straightening up. But behind him, one of the men had turned abruptly toward the street, pulling the collar of his jacket up against a non-existent chill. Steve stared at him, making note of him in as much detail as he could. An instant before Happy put the car back in gear, the man glanced back, his eyes catching Steve’s.And then they were rolling away, across the silent grounds.Steve settled back into his seat, his stomach churning. “They don’t come inside the house,” he said, his voice quiet.Happy looked at him, his eyebrows twitching. “They’re all Stark Industries people,” he said.Steve nodded. “Tonight,” he said, the words barely audible. “Who know he was going to be there?” Happy was silent, and Steve’s eyes flicked towards him. “It wasn’t in the papers. It wasn’t publicized. Who knew he was going to be there?”“Someone coulda seen him go in, word travels fast in this city,” Happy pointed out.“It’s possible,” Steve agreed. The grounds sped by, and he could see human forms there, creeping through the darkness. “And the theater management knew who was coming, even if the low level staff didn’t know. But the majority of the people who could place Tony Stark on that sidewalk tonight are his own people.”Happy nodded. “You think this was an inside job,” he said, and there was a vibration in his voice that Steve couldn’t quite place.The car came to a stop in front of the mansion’s doors. Steve didn’t move. “Someone wants him dead,” he said at last. He met Happy’s eyes. “And I don’t think it’s a stranger.” He reached for the card door. “They don’t come into the house,” he said. “If Mr. Stane wants to put them on the grounds, if he wants them to guard the doors, then we use that. Witnesses keep trouble at bay. But they don’t come into the house. Any of them.” His chin came up. “Do we understand each other?”For a long moment, Happy just considered him, his face unreadable. “I’ll let the rest of the staff know,” he said at last, and Steve could breathe again.“Thank you,” he said, sliding out of the car. He leaned down. “You coming in?”“Gotta put the car away, and then I’ve got watch,” Happy said. His smile was tight. “You aren’t the only one who doesn’t like strangers in our space.”Steve nodded. “Reckon I’m not,” he agreed. He straightened up, pushing the car door shut with one hand. He took a step back, letting Happy pull the car away, and turned back towards the house.The stone steps seemed ominous somehow, looming in front of him, drawing him forward. He put one foot on the bottom step and froze, suddenly aware of being watched. He twisted around, glancing at the path behind him, and then up at the windows of the house. Nothing moved.“I know you’re there,” he said, and he knew it was a bluff. But maybe he was alone in that.“Yeah, but where?” The voice floated through the darkness, and Steve’s head snapped up. What felt like several minutes ticked by, and then the shadows below the eaves shifted. Clint leaned out, one hand braced on the stone next to him. “I took first watch.”Even knowing he was there, Steve could barely make him out. “How’d you get up there?”“There’s secret paths all over, and handholds, if you look for them.” Clint subsided back into the shadows, disappearing in an instant. “Head on in. The boss is in a mood.”Steve took a deep breath. “I’ll just bet he is,” he gritted out.A beat of silence. Then, “I’m taking it you’re in a mood, too.”“You have no idea,” Steve said. He started up the stairs again, his shoulders squared, his jaw at a dangerous angle.“Right. I’ll just… Stay right here. Where it’s safe.”Steve kept going, his eyes locked on the massive front doors. “Knew you were the smart one around here.” Before he could reach the top stair, the doors opened. Jarvis was back lit against the vestibule, his expression hidden in the shadows. “Officer Rogers. I’m pleased you’ve returned.”“Where is he?” Steve asked.Jarvis stepped aside, waving him in. “DJ is upstairs with Mrs. Parker,” he said.The wave of guilt hit him hard. “He’s all right?”Jarvis smiled. “He’s right as rain, tucked in warm and safe.” He shut the door behind Steve, setting the locks with brisk efficiency. “He was concerned about you.”“I knew you’d take care of him.” And to his surprise, he realized it was true. He met Jarvis’ eyes. “Thank you, he’s…” His voice trailed away.Jarvis slipped Steve’s coat from his shoulders with practiced ease. “I know, sir,” he said, giving the cloth a quick flick of his fingers. “As to what you were actually asking, Mr. Stark is upstairs.” He looked up, and for the first time, Steve could see the strain around his eyes, the tension that hovered around his mouth. “He has been most… Upset about your continued absence.”Steve took a deep breath. “I’ll just bet,” he said.Jarvis sighed. “DJ is likely asleep by now. Please do not wake him.”“I’m not going to-”“Of course not,” Jarvis said. He folded Steve’s coat over his arm. “I’ll see what can be done to fix this.”“Don’t bother.” Steve made every effort not to look at it. “I won’t be wearing it again.” He headed for the main hall at a deliberate pace. That was the problem, wasn’t it? He’d forgotten who he was. He’d forgotten what he was here for. He wasn’t a man of leisure, he wasn’t one of the fancy set. He shouldn’t be lounging in plush seats in swell clothes.It was his fault. All of it was his fault. And there were always consequences.“You’re fired.”Steve’s head snapped up. Tony was standing on the second floor landing of the grand staircase, straight and whole and ALIVE, and Steve staggered to a stop, his pulse pounding in his ears. Tony braced a hand on the newel post, his expression unreadable. His pants were unbelted, a silk shirt thrown over his shoulders but lying open against his chest. He moved, and the hem of the shirt fluttered against his hips, against the bandages wrapped around his ribs. His feet were bare against the dark plush carpeting, and Steve wasn’t sure why he noticed that, why that small fact brought a rush of heat to his face, like the man was naked, like he was seeing something he shouldn’t.And maybe he was. Tony looked like something from a different world, almost a different species, his dark, gleaming eyes shadowed beneath the sweep of his lashes. Something beautiful and terrible and foreign, and Steve ached for him in a way that he didn’t even know he could.Tony’s lips parted, and Steve shuddered. “You’re fired,” Tony said.And just like that, Steve’s head was clear, all the confusion and infatuation and need washed away by a wave of rage.“Next time I give you an order, Mr. Stark,” he bit out, setting a foot on the stairs with brutal intent, “I goddamn expect you to follow it.”Tony’s fingers flexed on the banister. “Are you deaf as well as dumb?” he asked, and there was ice in his words, cold and cutting. “I said, you’re fired. Collect your things and get out. I’ll have a car brought around for you, but that is the end of it.”Steve choked on a laugh. “I,” he said, his teeth flashing in a vicious smile, “do not work for you.” He stalked up the stairs, each step driving his frustration higher. “Get away from the windows.”Tony’s eyebrows shot up. “Excuse me?”“Get away from the windows,” Steve repeated, and he was four steps away now, three, two. He didn’t stop and Tony refused to give way, his bare feet braced on the carpet. Steve reached out, catching Tony’s arm. “I gave you an order, Mr. Stark.”For an instant, Tony’s face went blank, all the sharp hauteur falling away, leaving only confusion. Steve’s fingers tightened, his grip just firm enough that Tony couldn’t easily pull away, and color rushed back into Tony’s face. He let out a bark of laughter. “I don’t take orders from anyone,” he gritted out, “and you’re not in charge here. You’re not even-”Steve leaned in, and now, Tony rocked back, his eyes wide. “I don’t work for you,” Steve said, his voice dark. “When I get new orders, I’ll follow them, but right now, I know what I’m here to do, and that is to keep you alive.” He stepped to the side, and Tony went with him, shock flashing over his features. “Even if the one who poses the greatest threat to you right now is you.”Tony skidded to a stop, his heels digging into the carpet, twisting his arm in Steve’s grip. “How dare you,” he bit out. His chin came up, his eyes sharp. “And what will you do if I don’t give you the blind obedience that you demand?” He was so close that Steve could feel the heat of his body. “Because you’re not in control here, Officer. You’re not in charge. You. Have. No. Power.”Steve stared at him, his breathing ragged, his head swimming. “You-”Tony’s smile had an edge. “So, what will you do if I won’t move?” He waved his free hand through the air. “If I call your bluff and just…” His eyebrows arched. “Stay right here?”Steve wanted to pick him up. To shake him. To toss him, resisting or not, over his shoulder, and make him do exactly what Steve wanted him to do. His fingers tightened, and it might’ve hurt. It must’ve hurt. But Tony just stared at him, defiance sharp in his face. “So?” Tony bit out. “What will you do?”Steve opened his mouth, and whatever he was going to say was going to be horrible; he could taste the words on his tongue, bitter and poisonous, and he had no idea what they were going to be. He was beyond thought now, beyond even trying to think. His fingers flexed, dragging Tony closer, and then, he stopped.Tony was shaking.“Why are you trying to get rid of me?”Steve wasn’t sure which of them was more shocked by his words. Tony’s face went blank, confusion sweeping everything else away. Steve’s fingers relaxed, and Tony yanked his arm away. Steve stood there, his hand still hanging in midair. Slowly, he let it fall back to his side. “What are you afraid of?”Tony’s face flushed. “Get out,” he said.Steve took a deep breath. “Move away from the windows, Mr. Stark.”Tony’s jaw flexed. “No. So what will-”Steve moved, and Tony went tense, his whole body drawing up tight, clearly bracing himself for something, even if he didn’t know what it was. But Steve brushed past him, calmly stepping around him and pivoting on his heel. Putting himself between Tony and the window. Blocking the shot for whoever might’ve been lurking outside. Tony’s mouth feel open. “What-”“There,” Steve said, his voice soft. “Want to know what I’ll do?” He smiled. Just a bit. Just enough, all the confusion, all the anger, all the frustration gone.“I’ll stand here. Until you choose to move.”Tony stared at him. “Why.” Steve didn’t say anything, and Tony lunged for him, his hands grabbing for the front of Steve’s shirt, dragging him down. “Why are you so determined to get yourself killed, you damned idiot? Why won’t you just GO?” The final word was a barely contained howl.“Because it’s not right,” Steve said, quiet and sure. “Because no one deserves to get gunned down in the street in front of-” He shook his head. “It’s not right, and it shouldn’t happen, and I-” He met Tony’s eyes. “I won’t let it happen.”Tony’s knuckles dug into Steve’s chest. “I’ll call the mayor’s office,” he said, his voice raw. “And have you fired. Then. Then, will you leave?”Steve’s lips twitched. “I’m not here because it’s my job,” he said.“You hate me.”Steve’s chest ached. “I… Wanted to,” he admitted. “I tried, I suppose. But you’re not-” He took a breath, and when he let it go, he let go of something else with it. He wasn’t sure what, but he was suddenly sure. Everything felt right, in a way that it hadn’t in a very long time. “You’re not what I expected.”“Really.” Tony’s eyes flicked from side to side, studying Steve’s face for something, something that Steve couldn’t define. “And what, exactly, am I?”“I don’t know,” Steve said. “And that’s… That’s the problem. I thought I knew who you were. I thought I understood what I was getting into, but I don’t. And I didn’t. And-” He took a deep breath. “And I-”He stopped. “I don’t know. But I want to find out.”Tony let out a laugh that sounded strangely broken. “Why?”Steve’s mouth opened. Closed. And leaned in.It barely counted as a kiss. If there was contact, it was fleeting, delicate, the brush of lips against lips for a bare second. But when it was done, the bravest, stupidest thing he’d ever done, he lingered, Tony’s breath warm on his mouth. When Tony sucked in a long, uneven breath, Steve felt it, felt it against every inch of his skin.“Oh,” Tony said, and Steve let his eyes close. He was strangely at peace with whatever was going to happen now. Whatever happened, whatever Tony was about to do, about to say, he was prepared for it.“Art school,” Tony said.Steve’s eyes opened. “What?” he said, his voice blank.One of Tony’s hands slipped free of the fabric of his shirt, coming up to stroke along the line of Steve’s jaw. “You said. Before the war. Art school,” he repeated, his head tipping to the side.“What-” Steve started, but Tony’s mouth was on his, and this kiss was not cautious, was not tentative. Tony just pulled Steve close and kissed him, and Steve felt the ground fall out from under his feet.The kiss went on and on, and he was drowning in it, he was losing his mind, he was losing everything, and he didn’t care. And when Tony’s mouth finally pulled away from his, he was breathing hard, gasping against the plane of Steve’s check, his jaw, his neck. Steve let his head fall back, somehow not surprised to find himself on the floor, Tony half straddling his legs.“Art school?” he managed, and Tony was laughing against his throat. Steve grinned at nothing and everything. “You making assumptions there?”“I’m just saying-” Tony’s lips brushed against his collarbone, and Steve realized his shirt was half open now and he wasn’t sure if Tony had done it or if he had, and he didn’t care either way. His hands were under Tony’s shirt, and he was desperate in ways he’d never known before. Tony lifted his head, just far enough to smile at him. “Not every artist I’ve ever met has been open to the idea, but most have a healthy appreciation for-” His fingers slid down Steve’s breastbone, down, down, and Steve’s stomach muscles tensed under the caress. “For the human form.”“I do-” Steve choked on a breath, burying his face in Tony’s shoulder. “I have my moments.” His hand brushed against the bandage wrapped around Tony’s ribs, and he went still. “You’re hurt.”“Almost always,” Tony said, and he sounded remarkably cheerful about that. Steve pulled back, just far enough to see his face, and that was a mistake, because Tony, rumpled and flushed and pleased, was the most gorgeous thing he’d ever seen. Steve let out a breath, and it shuddered through him. Tony’s lips twitched into a smile. “What?”“You need to go to bed,” Steve said, and Tony’s smile took on a wicked edge. Steve laughed. “You. You need to go to bed. And we’ll-” Tony kissed him, and Steve forgot what he was trying to say. “Bed,” he managed, the word whispered against Tony’s lips.“Yes, please,” Tony whispered back. “Come with me.”Steve’s head was swimming, and god, everything hurt in the best possible way. “That’s… That’s a bad idea,” he managed. Tony’s hand cupped his cheek, and without thinking, Steve turned his head, pressing a kiss against his palm. “Isn’t it?”Tony was silent for a moment. “I’ve made a lot of bad choices,” he said at last. “This… Feels like something else entirely.” He pulled away, pushing himself to his feet, his shirt slipping off his shoulders. He shook it off, letting it fall to the ground with casual disregard. He took a breath, his fingers cradling his side. “I’m fine. But if you’re worried…” His smile was slow and sweet and promised wicked things. “Perhaps you should come. Watch over me tonight.”Steve braced his hands on the ground, trying to ignore how hard it was to draw a deep breath. “I oughta lock you in that room of yours,” he said, pushing himself to his feet. “You can,” Tony said. He held out a hand. “But…”Steve looked at it, sensing ruin, sensing chaos. “But?”“It only locks from the inside,” Tony said. “If you think it’s important, that’s just, that’s just a sacrifice you’ll have to make, I suppose.”Steve stared at him. “You going to do what I tell you for once?” he managed.Tony’s fingers flexed in a ‘come here’ sort of gesture. “Let’s find out, shall we?”Steve looked at his hand. This was a bad idea. This was the worst idea he’d ever had. He had no place here. He had no place with this man, in this house, in this world. And every moment that passed, it was harder to remember that. Harder to focus on the fact that this was temporary, this was a dream.Because Tony was smiling at him like he’d done something amazing, like he’d made things better, made things bearable. And maybe that’s all this was. A momentary way to hold back the things that were real, the things that were destined to ruin him, maybe ruin them both.And Steve should’ve been dead a dozen times by now. A dozen, fifty, a hundred times by now. He’d stopped waiting for the other shoe to fall. If it was coming, then by god, let it come.He took Tony’s hand. “Promise me you’ll try to stay alive.”“Oh, definitely,” Tony said, his voice bright. “What would be the point in dying? Things have just started getting interesting.”“Not comforting,” Steve told him, but his grip was firm and strong and real and whatever was coming…This was going to be worth it.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Steve had done a lot of stupid things in his life. He’d made a lot of bad decisions, based on gut reactions, poor judgement, and a keen sense of justice. Bucky always said, he never remembered to look before he lept, and sometimes forgot to correct that error even long after his feet had hit the ground.He’d done a lot of stupid things in his life. This, however, might’ve been the stupidest.Tony’s bed was the biggest piece of furniture that Steve had ever seen. It seemed, at first glance, to be bigger than any rooms he’d ever rented, and for the first time in years, he could stretch out to his full height, his full reach. When his fingers clawed at the linens, desperate for something to hold onto when his head was swimming with pleasure, he hadn’t even come close to finding the edge. His heels digging into the mattress, his back arching, his face buried in pillows, trying to hide the flush he was sure was visible in his cheeks, he never found anything but more space. More room.For the most part, however, he didn’t really try. Tony held him like an anchor, the only thing that seemed to make sense in a world turned on its head.He had no idea when he’d fallen asleep. But when he drifted back to consciousness, it was still dark outside; the grand windows that ringed Tony’s bedroom had the curtains drawn, but here and there, there were gaps in the heavy velvet, showing only a hint of moonlight. Everything was still and quiet, and Steve permitted himself a moment of weakness, of stupidity, studying the lines and planes of Tony’s face as he slept. That face was rapidly becoming familiar, becoming beloved, in a way that Steve didn’t understand, that he was almost afraid of. But Tony was smiling in his sleep, just a little, those beautiful lips curled up at the corners. His long, dark lashes were still, one hand resting on the pillow beside his cheek. His fingers were lax, and Steve found himself fascinated by their almost elegant structure, an anatomical study that he wanted to which he could’ve dedicated dozens of pages, and hours of his time.Without thinking, he reached out, his fingertips just brushing against the hollow of Tony’s palm. Against the pad of his thumb. Against the hard angle of his wristbone and the rough, calloused skin of his fingers. There was a scar on the side of his hand, invisible to the eye but obvious to the touch. Tony shifted, his hand flexing under Steve’s. Before Steve could pull away, Tony’s fingers tangled with his. In the low light, Steve saw his smile stretch, warm and sweet. “Too early,” he mumbled, his voice rough. “Go back to sleep, Steve.”“I-” Steve’s thumb swept over the back of Tony’s hand, unable to resist one more small, intimate touch. “I should get back to my room. Before morning.”Tony made a disapproving sound under his breath. He rolled over, onto his uninjured side, but he kept hold of Steve’s hand, dragging him along with him. Startled, Steve allowed himself to be tugged into place, and when the settled, he found himself tucked up against Tony’s back, his arm resting on Tony’s waist, just below his bandages.“Go back to sleep, Steve,” Tony said, burrowing down into the pillows. A moment later, he was still, his breathing smoothing out into a slow, easy rhythm. But his fingers were still tangled in Steve’s, his calloused fingertips rough against Steve’s skin.He should go. He knew he should. Instead, he shifted closer, his legs sliding across the fine linen of the sheets as he curled against Tony’s back. He was warm and solid, the rise and fall of his ribs beneath Steve’s arm comforting. For the first time, one of these beds, too big and too soft and too foreign, seemed almost comfortable. Cautious, wary of going too far or doing the wrong thing, Steve moved a little closer, his feet bumping against Tony’s, his face buried in the nape of Tony’s neck. He let his eyes slide shut, inhaling the scent of Tony’s skin.Steve had made a lot of bad decisions in his life. And a few really good ones.And God help him, right now, he had no idea which this was.*“Good morning, sir.”Tony groaned, his whole body aching. “It absolutely is not,” he said, and was that really his voice? He coughed, rubbing a hand over his face. “When did the party end? Or start?”“I’m certain I don’t know, sir,” Jarvis said, and Tony braced himself for the familiar sound of his curtains being drawn back, and the painful flood of light that was sure to follow. “I’ve brought your-”There was a sudden, scrambling motion behind him, the covers pulling away with a sharp yank. Surprised, Tony fumbled himself into a sitting position just in time to see a pale blonde head disappear under the covers. Legs hit his under the cover of the quilt and Tony realized, just a second too late, that Steve was absolutely making a break for it.He lunged out with one arm, ignoring the stab of pain that shot through his side as he threw his weight against Steve’s, pinning him to the bed. For an instant, he was sure Steve was going to throw him off and crash out of bed and to the floor. Jarvis, standing at the foot of the bed, considered this with a faintly perplexed expression on his face. “I’ve brought your breakfast,” he said, holding the tray up. “Your…” His head tipped to the side. “Your usual two plates. As is common. For you.” Tony sank his fingers into the quilt, and what he thought was Steve’s shoulder underneath. ‘Thank you. I’ll… Eat those. Both of those. You can-” Steve shifted, and Tony was dragged across the bed with him. “You can leave it.”Jarvis lowered the tray down to the bedside table. “Shall I lay out your clothes for the day?” he asked. Tony got the impression that he was enjoying this situation.“While I appreciate your dedication to your duty,” Tony said from between clenched teeth, “I do believe that I can manage.” He arched his eyebrows. “Thank you.”“Perhaps-”‘Not helping,’ Tony mouthed at him. And then, out loud, “No. Thank you.”“Of course, sir. My only concern is your well being and safety, not to mention your happiness,” Jarvis said, and if Tony could’ve gotten a hand free, he would’ve thrown a pillow at him. “Do ring if you need more coffee, I should be happy to return with another pot once you’ve-” His eyebrows rose and fell, a slight, puckish smile on his face. “Handled your breakfast.”Tony told himself he absolutely wasn’t blushing. “Thank you,” he repeated, and mouthed, ‘get out.’ “You are quite welcome, sir,” Jarvis said, slipping out of the room.Tony waited until the bedroom door closed behind Jarvis with a firm click before he pushed the blanket back. Steve glared up at him, his face flushed, his mouth a hard, tight line. Tony struggled against an entirely unreasonable wave of affection. “Just curious,” he said, flopping back against the pillows. “What was your plan there, officer? Running stark naked across the bedroom to the closet?”“No.” Steve sat up, and god, Tony had never seen anything as beautiful as this man, all broad shoulders and sleek, firm muscle. “My plan was to grab all the linens and run for the closet, leaving you stark naked.”Tony grinned as he reached for the pot of coffee on the tray. “How ungentlemanly,” he said, pouring a cup. He held it out to Steve. “And unnecessary.”Steve was still for an instant, looking at Tony and then the cup, and then back at Tony. Tony just sat there, the cup extended to him. He arched an eyebrow. “Not to play on your sympathies,” he said, with a slight smile, “but this is my injured side, and it’s starting to remind me of that.”Steve took the cup from him. “Sorry,” he said. He reached out with his free hand, his fingers hovering over the bandage. “Are you- Did I-”Tony poured himself a cup of coffee. “I’m fine,” he said, but he raised his arm so Steve could see for himself. “Hurts like hell, if I’m being honest, and I’m sure it’s turning six shades of purple today, but Bruce knows not to trust me with weak sutures.”Steve’s fingers brushed across the bandage, and the skin above, and Tony sucked in a breath. Steve snatched his hand back. “Sorry, I-”“That wasn’t pain,” Tony said, his voice a bit raw, and Steve flushed again, a wave of pink sweeping up his neck and across his cheeks. Tony, unable to resist, leaned in, brushing a gentle kiss against Steve’s soft lips. Steve, to his credit, kissed him back, his mouth parting under Tony’s, a soft sigh shuddering through him.“Good morning to me,” Tony whispered against Steve’s mouth, and he was sure that he felt Steve smile. “Now, what-”The knock at the door sent Steve scrambling backwards, his coffee cup slipping out of his hand and onto the quilt. Biting back a curse, Tony leaned forward, his arms folded on his knee. “Yes?” he called.“Miss Potts wanted me to remind you that you have a meeting this morning,” Jarvis called. He paused. “Perhaps I should run your bath?”“This is my punishment,” Tony said to the ceiling. He shoved back the blankets, rolling to his feet. “For all my sins, this is how I am humbled.” He snagged his dressing gown from the foot of the bed and shrugged into it as he headed for the door. “Because who can complain?” Tying his robe shut with a sharp yank of his hands, he wrenched the door open. “You are my penance and my punishment, all at once, you know that, don’t you?”Jarvis was very definitely not smirking at him. “Sir,” he said, his tone holding just the tiniest hint of censure, “I am hurt by that implication. When have I ever done anything other than my utmost for you?”Tony braced a shoulder against the doorframe. “I’m going to stop you right there-”“Never have I spoken a cross word to you, not when you set the drapes on the third floor on fire,” Jarvis pointed out. “Not when you knocked over the crystal punchbowl less than an hour before the largest party your parents ever threw, shattering it across two separate carpets. Not when you lost all of the French linens to a hurricane and the lake.”Tony pressed a hand to his face. “This is about the frogs, isn’t it?”“I had quite forgotten about the time you chose to raise bullfrogs in your mother’s fountain,” Jarvis said. “And the night when they escaped into the great hall and then down into the kitchens, causing half the maids to quit in less than an hour.” He paused. “Including the chef and the entire kitchen staff.”Tony peeked out from between his fingers to find Jarvis smiling at him, his expression benign. “Shall I draw your bath, sir?” he asked.“I believe I can manage,” Tony said. Jarvis arched his eyebrows. “I can manage, Jarvis.”“Oh, I’m sure you can, sir, it’s just that you never have, and so-”“Not helping,” Tony told him, stomping down on the bubble of laughter that threatened to escape. “You insubordinate wiseass.”Jarvis’ eyebrows bounced up again. “Sir. I’m quite hurt. All I want for you is-”“I’m living my best life, Jarvis, I promise I’ll bathe, and I’m firing you tomorrow, I’d do it today, but I’m too busy, I’ve got things to do, so many-” There was a sound of clattering china from behind him. He smiled. “So many wonderful things to do, so… If you’ll excuse me.”Jarvis inclined his head. “Of course, sir. Enjoy your breakfast.” He paused, pulling a flower out of his lapel and handing it to Tony. “Good day, sir.”Tony gave him a look. “Not helping,” he sing-songed, and shut the door. He was fairly certain he heard Jarvis chuckling on the other side of the panel. Rolling his eyes, he headed back to the bed, twirling the stem of the blossom between his fingers.Steve was blotting at the coffee that had spilled on the sheets, his face tense. “Leave it, it’s fine,” Tony said, tossing the flower onto the breakfast tray. Steve gave him a look, and Tony couldn’t quite manage to hide his smile.Steve scowled at him, his face wary. “Something funny?” he asked, and there was a tension in his voice that Tony didn’t quite understand.“Your hair’s sticking up all over,” Tony said, crossing back to the bed. “You look like a dandelion about to go to seed. Come here.” Without thinking, he reached out, smoothing Steve’s hair down with a gentle hand. Steve froze, his face going blank. Tony, with no graceful way to withdraw, just doubled down on the contact, cradling Steve’s head between his palms. To his surprise, instead of pulling away, Steve leaned into the contact, like a child seeking comfort. Ignoring the uncomfortable ache in his chest, Tony leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to Steve’s unruly locks.“There,” he said, straightening up. “That’ll do, until we can find you a comb.”Steve looked up, his blue eyes bright below the straight line of his brows, his high cheekbones pink, and Tony’s chest contracted, something he refused to acknowledge making his breath catch in his throat. “Yours isn’t much better,” Steve said, even as he swiped a hand at his hair, undoing Tony’s efforts in a single move.Tony gave his head a toss. “Yes, but on me, it looks wildly romantic. The papers all say so,” he said, and Steve laughed, the sound muffled behind his fingers. Tony grinned at him. “However, your point is taken. I’ll draw us a bath. I’m going to regret telling Jarvis I can do it, now he’s going to make me handle it for myself from now on. And it’s not that I can’t, it’s just he does it better.”“Does it better?” Steve repeated. “It’s… Filling a tub with water, isn’t it? How can he be better than you at turning a tap?”“He fills it up and waits for the tub to absorb the heat, then drains it and refills it with fresh hot water,” Tony said. “And that’s when he adds the bath salts and anything else, so-” Steve was staring at him, a frankly pitying look on his face. Tony sighed. “Fine, I’ll do it myself. Eat.”Steve’s legs shifted under the covers, one knee coming up against his chest. He braced his arm on it. “I should go,” he said, but he didn’t sound sure, and he didn’t move.Tony pointed at the tray. “Eat your breakfast. I’ll draw a bath.” If he was lucky, he could coax Steve into the tub with him; heaven knew it was large enough.Steve looked at the tray. He reached out, lifting the cloche to peek at the plate underneath and releasing a fragrant cloud of warm air, heavily scented with bacon and warm syrup. “You’re awful bossy, anyone ever tell you that?”“If they have, I haven’t listened,” Tony said, but Steve was still in his bed, bare and beautiful and getting toast crumbs in Tony’s sheets. Satisfied, Tony headed for the door. All of a sudden, he was feeling very lucky indeed.*Steve walked around the full perimeter of the grounds twice. The second loop had been necessary, because after the first one, he realized he had no memory of anything he’d just done.Apparently, sex made him stupid.The second sweep, he’d try to keep focused, despite the way his brain kept trying to wander back to last night. And this morning. And the possibility of later on today.He was in a lot of trouble.By the time he returned to the laundry yard, he’d gotten a good idea of where the guards had been posted, where they patrolled, and which ones were actually paying attention. The man by the kitchn door was tall and broad, with a nose that had been broken a few times, and a sharp look in his eye. The first time he’d seen Steve emerge from the house, he’d straightened up, hand going to the nightstick hanging from his belt. Unlike some of the men posted out by the walls, it was clear this one took his task seriously.There were an unfamiliar truck in the driveway now, and as Steve approached the kitchen door, a delivery man came out, his cap tucked under his arm, a sweet roll in one hand and a steaming tin cup in the other. He gave the guard a nod, gripping the bun in his teeth as he put his cap on. Steve watched him go. “Deliveries?” he asked the guard.“Forth one this mornin’,” the man said. “The cook told us which ones he was expectin’, and thems got a list out at the gate. If someone ain’t on it, they ain’t gettin’ in.”Steve nodded. “That the last one?”The man shrugged. “Kid came with some paperwork, his bicycle’s out front. Guess he’s waiting for a reply before he can take off back to the office what sent him.” He leaned back against the side of the house, his arms crossed over his chest. His nightstick swung back, banging against the house with a dull thud. “They’ll be keeping an eye on him down in the kitchen.”“Right.” Steve gave him a nod, and headed inside. Clint was at the stove, an apron tied around his waist, and his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The air was heavy was the scent of garlic and onion, and fresh baked bread. Clint glanced over as Steve walked in. “Coffee’s on the hob,” he said, snagging a jar of some unidentified spice from a high shelf. “Mrs. Parker’s made some fresh apple turnovers, they’re in the basket on the sideboard.”He walked across the kitchen, sliding a knife out of the block as he passed. “You.” He waved it in the direction of the boy hovering by the table, his hat in his hands. “Sit and eat. Jarvis’ll bring Mr. Stark’s reply as soon as it’s ready, and in the meantime, you’re getting in my way.”The boy shifted his weight, his feet shuffling awkwardly on the polished stone floor. “‘Bout that,” he said, his voice shaking at the edges. “Wonderin’ if I could just take a turnover, or maybe two? And eat ‘em later?”“You can have one after you’ve had some real food.” Clint moved so fast at the cutting board that the blade of his knife was just a blur. “Sit.”The boy opened his mouth, and Clint shook his head. “Sit. Not gonna say it again.”Steve watched, curious now, as the boy glanced at Clint, and then at the basket of turnovers. There was a pinched tension around his mouth, his knuckles white as he gripped his cap. He was perhaps fourteen, or fifteen at most, and his sleeves were just an inch too short for his arms. His wrists were all bone, and Steve wondered if the rest of him was as skinny beneath the weight of his uniform.The boy’s eyes darted towards the stack of folded napkins piled up on the sideboard, and he reached out, keeping a careful eye on Clint.“How many siblings do you have?” Steve asked, and the boy jumped. He took a step away from the sideboard, his hands locked on his cap again. “Uh, that is to say, it’s-” He blinked up at Steve, his face pale. “Three. Three, sir. All sisters.”Steve nodded. “All younger,” he guessed. “You must be working to help support your family, then.”The boy shifted his weight. “I don’t mind, sir. I’m used to working, and I’ve got no head for schooling.” He gave the basket a look. “I wasn’t trying to take more than I always have, I swear, I just thought…”His voice trailed away, and Steve nodded. “Thought you could take one home for them.”Clint was still now, and the boy shrugged. “It’s all the same to you,” he said, his voice quiet, “but having something sweet would be a real treat for them.” His throat worked as he swallowed. “If I could.”Clint set his knife down. “When’s the last time they ate?” he asked. The boy’s shoulders went straight and tight, his chin coming up, and Clint let out a sigh. “Right. Right.” He reached for a pot on the stove. “Here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going to sit, and eat a proper meal.” He took the lid off, releasing a wave of fragrant, spicy steam, and reached for a ladle. “And I’ll make up some things for you.”He set down a bowl, heaped high with rice, filled with chunks of sausage, peppers and celery, smelling of onions and garlic. Clint looked up, meeting the boy’s eyes. “Eat. You’re not taking it out of your sisters’ mouths, I promise.”For a minute, Steve thought the kid would balk. But pride was hard to maintain on an empty stomach, and the lure of a hot meal won out. Cautiously, carefully, he lowered himself onto a stool, and took the fork that Clint pushed across the counter to him. Clint picked up another bowl from the stack. Without asking, he filled it, and handed it to Steve. “Keep him company,” he said, and Steve nodded, taking a seat at the counter.The boy was eating with the quick, almost desperate movements of someone who’d been hungry for a long time. His eyes came up, catching Steve’s, and he made a deliberate effort to slow down, chewing carefully. Steve gave him a smile. “I’m Steve,” he said.The boy nodded. “Mickey,” he said, wiping his mouth on the back of his wrist. “You’re new here.”“There’s been some trouble.” Steve dug his fork into the bowl. He’d never seen a dish quite like it, but the memory of an empty belly was a constant companion, and he’d never been a picky eater. The rice was spicy and sweet, all at once, an unfamiliar tang that bit against his tongue and the back of his throat. But rice mellowed it, and the thick rounds of sausage were delicious. He dug in, taking another few bites before he looked up again. “It’s steady work. Which is hard to find these days.”Mickey snorted. “Ain’t that the truth. I do my best, and my ma takes what she can find, but it ain’t much these days.” He shoveled another heaping spoonful of rice into his mouth. “I keep a roof over our heads, but sometimes, it don’t stretch as far as it could, you know?”“Oh, I know.” Steve watched as Clint loaded a canvas sack with potatoes and dried beans. He added a bag of rice, and another of onions. He disappeared back into the pantry, and Steve looked back at Mickey. “You’re not on the support rolls? Three little girls, you should-”Another shrug, but Mickey’s face was set in a sharp frown. “They told ma we don’t qualify.” He turned his head, his lips pursing as if he was going to spit, but he caught himself in time. His shoulders hunched as he went back to his meal. “Whatta they know?”Steve nodded. “With just you-”“Yeah, ma told ‘em that our da’s out, looking for work.” Mickey licked his thumb. “Which, he might be, who knows?” He looked up, and his jaw was a hard line. “He didn’t want us before the world fell to pieces, why’d he want to come back now?” He bent over his bowl, his arms wrapped around it almost protectively. “Ma says he was here, couple months ago, but none of us saw him.” He let out an ugly bark of laughter. “We pretend, cause she wants us to. But he’s not coming back, that’s just the way of it.”Clint was wrapping up a joint of ham, the butcher paper tied neatly into place. It went into the bag, along with a packet that Steve was pretty sure contained a couple of pounds of dried sausage, and a jar of gleaming red jam. Steve waited until he disappeared back into the pantry before he continued. “Where do you live?” he asked, his voice low. Mickey gave him a look, and Steve struggled against a smile. “I’m just hired help, too. I’m betting my address isn’t any more sophisticated.”That won him a smile. Mickey mumbled a street, between bites of rice and sausage, and Steve leaned back in his seat, relief flooding over him. “That makes it easy,” he said. There was a small notebook on the counter, a pencil tied to the spine. Steve scribbled a quick note, and ripped it out, folding it in quarters. “Give this to your ma.” He handed it over. “Tell her to go down to the precinct on down by the old bank building. She needs to ask for Sgt. Dionne, and give him that note.”Mickey studied the page. “What’s that gonna do?”“He’ll get you on the relief rolls,” Steve said. He went back to his food. “He owes me a favor, a big one.” He shot Mickey a smile. “And he’s rather desperate not to. Told him in that note, he did this, we’re even.”Mickey looked at the note, then back at him, then back at the paper. His fingers closed over it, his fingers going tight. “What d’ you want in exchange?”Steve focused on eating for a moment. “When you’ve got a little to spare, give it to someone who needs it,” he said. He looked up, meeting the boy’s eyes. “And take care of your sisters.”Mickey nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I can do that.”The kitchen door opened, and Jarvis slipped in, an envelope in his hand. “Thank you for waiting. Your reply,” he said, holding it out to Mickey, who scrambled up so fast that he almost overturned his stool. “Please take care returning to the office.”“Yes, sir, Mr. Jarvis.” Mickey took the envelope, and picked up his cap from the sideboard. “I will, sir.”Jarvis disappeared back up to the house, and Clint put a jar of pickles into the bag, then handed it over. “Can you strap that-”“I can, yes, there’s a- A box for delivering packages on the back of my bicycle,” Mickey said. His thin arms went around it in a hug. “Thank you, Mr. Barton. I really-” His throat worked. “Thank you.”“Don’t forget the turnovers,” Steve said, and Clint laughed. “Right.” He stacked up half a dozen of them in the butcher paper, and folded it up around them. He handed the packet over. “One for each of you, and an extra one for you.”Mickey nodded. “Thank you.” He looked at Steve. “Thank you, sir.”“Steve,” Steve said.“Right. Sure. Steve.” He backed out of the kitchen, his head still bobbing in a nod the entire way. Clint watched him go, and shut the door behind him. “Well, that was a dent in the pantry,” he said.“I’ll pay you for the-” Steve started.“It’s fine,” Clint said. He squinted at the menu that was pinned to the board beside the pantry. “Mrs. Parker keeps us stocked with the basics. A coin or two is well appreciated, but that’s not the first workman who’s taken his bonus in rice and flour.”He disappeared into the pantry. “Mr. Stark always says, pay a man a fair wage and reward loyalty and hard work, and they’ll repay the favor.” A moment later, he emerged, a sack of potatoes braced on one muscular shoulder. “You want some more?”Steve looked down at the bowl, surprised to find it empty. “No, I’m full.” He picked it up both bowls and carried them to the sink. “It was good, though.” He glanced at Clint. “What was it?”Clint grinned. “Jambalaya,” he said, the word rolling off his tongue. “An old recipe from my last…” He paused. “My last job.”“Right,” Steve said, reaching for the coffee pot. “Your last job. Your last… Job as what, exactly?”“Jack of all trades, really.” Without being asked, Clint handed over the cream pot before he tossed a heavy cast iron skillet onto the stove. It hit like a brick, rattling the huge range. He didn’t seem to notice. “I have a lot of skills, and most of them…” He spun a knife between his fingers, the blade a flash of metal and light. “Come in useful here.”Steve finished pouring himself a cup of coffee, and returned the pot to its spot on the stove. He turned back to Clint. “You aren’t French.”Clint let out a bark of laughter. “My ancestors weren’t even French,” he said, his chin bobbing in a nod. He diced an onion, the blade still moving with dizzying speed, and reached for another one.“You don’t speak French.”“Not a lick,” Clint agreed.“You’re not a French chef,” Steve said.“Well, that depends on who you ask,” Clint pointed out. Steve stared at him, and Clint grinned. “Did you ask Mr. Stark? Because he seems to think-”“Can anyone in this place answer a damn simple question?” Steve asked, tossing himself back into his seat at the counter. “It shouldn’t be so much to ask, so-”Clint was laughing now, his shoulders shaking. “You’re not asking the right questions,” he said, and Steve gave him a look. “The question you should be asking is, why are you a French Chef, despite being neither French, nor a chef?”“I’ll bite,” Steve said. “Why?”“Because that’s what Mr. Stark needed.” Clint tossed an onion in the air and caught it, rolling it around his hand and across his wrist. “And that’s what he got.”Steve nodded. “And where did he find you?”Clint leaned back against the counter next to the range, his arms crossed over his broad chest. “What, the boss?” His teeth flashed in a grin. “In his library, actually. Holding something valuable. That definitely didn’t belong to me.”Steve nodded again, strangely resigned. “You were robbing him,” he said.Clint rubbed his chin. Steve was almost certain he was trying to hide a smile. “In a manner of speaking.”“You were robbing him,” Steve repeated, more amused by this than he should’ve been. “And how, exactly, did that result in-” He waved a hand at the kitchen. “This?”“Well.” Clint pushed away from the counter, his head swinging back towards the stove. “You gotta understand, Nat’s never been one to go down without a fight.He tossed some butter in the hot skillet, swirling it back and forth as it melted with a hiss. “We’d been working together for a while. She found the jobs. Did the planning. I was the muscle, not the brains, but I trusted her, so…” One shoulder rose and fell in a half shrug, and he reached for the cutting board, scraping the chopped onions and garlic into the hot butter. “When she found a client who wanted a trinket from the Stark Mansion, and was willing to pay handsomely for it? I was on board.”Clint reached for the pepper mill. “Why wouldn’t I be? Everyone knew Stark was a drunk, and the place barely had any staff. What’d we have to get past? A fence and an elderly family retainer? It was an easy job. Get in, get to the second floor, snag the ugliest vase I’ve ever seen from a shelf behind a door, and get back out.”He paused. “Who does that, ya know? Who pays that much money to get a dusty, ugly vase from a top shelf in a room no one seemed to go into? I figured it was perfect. Might be days, or even weeks, before anyone even noticed it was gone. If we were careful, if no one saw us?” He tossed the pepper mill in a high, controlled arc, sending it flipping end over end through the air before he snagged it with one hand. “Easy money.”Steve took a sip of his coffee. “Thing I’ve learned about easy money,” he said, “is that the two words don’t go together as often as we think.”“You-” Clint pointed the mill at Steve. “Are a wise man.” He gave the mill a couple of quick twists, and tossed it back onto the counter. “I hadn’t learned that particular lesson yet.”“‘Yet?’” Steve repeated.“I wised up at some point over the past few years. Getting in was the early part.” Clint tossed salt into the pan, and dusted off his fingers. “Getting into the grounds, and getting into the house. You might’ve noticed earlier, I don’t mind heights and I’m a pretty good climber. Nat’s faster than me, and lighter on her feet. Took us less than ten minutes by my watch, and we were in the library and she was halfway up the shelves. Tossed the vase down to me just as the door opened.He paused. “Not many people living here, then, but know what? Three or four people seem like a lot when they’re all armed.”Steve stared at him, and Clint grinned. “Three doors, three people. Rhodes, Miss Potts, and Mr. Stark himself, all standing in one of them, all of them holding guns in what could only be called a professional manner.”“Oh God,” Steve mumbled into his cup.“He wasn’t around, not that he’d be much help. But there I am,” Clint said, waving a hand through the air. “Standing in the middle of the library, holding a vase that definitely did not belong to me, with three guns pointed right at my face. Far as I could see, I had three choices, and I didn’t like any of them.”“And what would those be?” Steve asked.Clint held up three fingers. “One, jail. Two, running at the guns and hoping I didn’t get shot. And three, jumping out the window and hoping I didn’t break a leg AND get shot,” Clint said. “Of the three, jail was probably the best of them, but like I said, I wasn’t the brains of the outfit. And Nat’s never met a situation she hasn’t tried to talk her way out of.”“Imagine the scene,” Clint said, his head tipping in Steve’s direction. “Me. Standing there like a wax dummy, hugging a vase, looking every inch like the idiot I am. Nat, clinging to the shelves about eight feet off the floor. Stark and Rhodes and Potts all standing at different doors, guns cocked and ready to fire. And Nat goes-” He paused, his lips twitching. “‘It seems like you could use some additional staff. We should never have gotten this far.’”Steve realized his mouth was hanging open. “You’re lying,” he said, flat out, and Clint burst into laughter.“Could I make up something that makes me look that bad?” he managed. “I mean, I could, but why would I?” He glanced up, his eyes dancing. “Nope, that’s word for word what she said, cool as anything.“And Stark being Stark, he just kind of stopped. Because I don’t know if you’ve figure this out yet,” Clint said. “But he likes a puzzle. He likes things he doesn’t understand. Most people as smart as he is, they don’t like to acknowledge anything or anyone that challenges their standing as the smartest guy in the room. But Stark…”Clint braced his hands on the counter, leaning into them. “Stark is bored by anything he understands. He’s bored by almost everything, so if you can just… Make him think, even for a minute, even for a second, you’ve got an in. He’ll look at you different. You’re… Interesting.” He rocked back on his heels. “If you can get his attention, he’s-” He shook his head. “Anyway, he looked at Nat, who, again, still hanging off the side of the library shelves like a cobweb, and goes, ‘how nice of you to offer, but really, I’m all full up. The only open job offer I have is for a chef.’” Clint stopped. “Offhand thing. She’s gorgeous, and he flirts, just, you know, as a matter of course, smooth talk comes natural.”Steve took a sip of coffee, nodding. “At what point did Pepper shoot him?”“She definitely looked like she was considering taking the butt of that pistol to the back of his head, I’m not going to lie,” Clint said, giving the pan a shake. “And Rhodes just looked resigned. Like he’d been here before, and he knew where it was going to end, and he didn’t like it, but he was sick of fighting it.”Steve tapped the rim of his coffee cup with one finger, grinning at Clint. “Didn’t stop him, I take it?”“Didn’t even slow him down,” Clint said. “Especially since Nat just pointed at me, and went, cool as you please, ‘What do you know. He’s a chef.’ And Stark just stared at her, just, I guess awed is the best way to put it. That she’s really going with this. He looked at me and smiled, and said, ‘I just bet you are, but I need a French chef. They’re the best, and we hire only the best. It’s a requirement around here.’”“And so Natasha said you were,” Steve said.“‘He’s French,’ was her exact words, and Stark was laughing by now, just laughing out loud, and he said to me, ‘Really. You’re French,’ and it wasn’t really a question, but now I had four options,” Clint explained. “Jail, shot, going out the window which results in you breaking your leg and also getting shot, and…” Steve prompted.“And the new option: Natasha kills me in the back of a paddy wagon.”Steve tried to muffle his laughter behind a hand. “And you choose…”“I looked Stark dead in the eye and said-” Clint straightened up, and pressed his fingers to his chest in a theatrical gesture. “‘Oui.’”Steve buried his head in his arms, laughing so hard that he felt like he was going to cry. It took him three tries to get himself under control enough to ask, “Why am I not surprised?”“‘Cause you’ve started to figure this place out,” Clint said. “Anyway, so Stark just stared at me, this amused, perplexed look on his face, and then he walks across the room, reaches out-” Clint picked up Steve’s coffee cup, his fingers light and delicate on handle. “And takes the vase from me. He smiled. He nods. And he started talking to me in French.”“Of course he did,” Steve said. He propped his chin on one hand. “So. You had no idea what he was saying.”“Didn’t have a clue,” Clint agreed. “But he gestured at the door, and Nat got off of the shelves, and we were force marched out of the library, down the main stairs, down the back stairs, and into the kitchen. Stark’s got the vase in the crook of one arm and the gun in the other, and he’s chattering away in French the entire time.“So we get to the kitchen, and Jarvis beat us there somehow, and none of this appeared to bother him, like intruders were force marched through the house at gunpoint all the time.” Clint paused in the act of pouring Steve another cup of coffee. “In retrospect, that might be the case.”“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Steve said. He took the cup with a nod and a smile. “Anyway, he was locking every door in that kitchen, the butler’s pantry, the cabinets with the cutlery, just… Everything.” Clint went back to his pan, giving the contents a quick turn. “And Stark waved a hand at the kitchen, said something pleasant sounding in French, and they all trooped back up the stairs. First Miss Potts, then Jarvis, then Stark, and Rhodes last of all. The door up to the house closed, and-” He snapped his fingers. “Click. One last key turning in one last lock.“And I’m standing there, not having any clue what the hell is going on, but I don’t have any bullet holes in me, I’m not in handcuffs, and Nat isn’t trying to bludgeon me, so… I mean, all things considered, that’s about the best I could hope for. So I look at Nat, and she shrugs, and says, ‘he wants you to make breakfast.’”Steve’s mouth opened. Closed. Clint smiled at him. “Yeah, see-” He pointed a spoon in Steve’s direction. “That’s what I did, too. So there we were. In the kitchen. In the middle of the night. And Nat’s prowling around, the way she does, trying everything. I mean, she could’ve picked any of the locks in here, but she was just tugging on drawer handles and doors and we found out Jarvis left two things unlocked.“One, the door to the yard. And two, the door to the pantry.” Clint snagged a heavy earthenware jar from a shelf, flipping the cover into the air and digging out a scoop of flour before catching it. “Message was pretty clear. Take some food. And get out.”“It could’ve been a trap,” Steve mused. “If you were running across the grounds-”“They coulda shot us, sure,” Clint said. The jar went back on the shelf. “But they could’ve done that in the library.” He gave Steve a look. “You think the police would’ve done more than nod approvingly if Stark had called them up and told them that he’d heroically shot two thieves that broke into his house and were caught red handed?”Steve huffed out a sigh. “Probably not,” he admitted.“Right. So the only reason to try to trick us into running is if he wanted to keep the blood off of the carpet.” Clint paused. “If we’d had any sense, we would’ve gone. Hopped a train with the down payment our client gave us to get that vase, moved on. For a complete failure, it was the best we could’ve hoped for.”He lapsed into silence, and Steve waited, sipping his coffee. “You didn’t,” he said at last.“I was always even dumber than I look,” Clint said. “I just-” He shook his head. “I was sick of running. And I can cook. Nothing fancy, but breakfast doesn't have to be fancy, does it?” He kicked the range with the side of one foot. “Took me a bit to figure this thing out. To find the baking powder and the lard in the pantry. And Nat hung back for a while. Just watched me. Because just because I was going to try this, didn’t mean she had to.“I think that Rhodes sat at the top of the stairs until morning, with a gun, just in case we went back up. But he was the first one to come down.” Clint took the lid off of a jar. “To find I’d made biscuits and sausage gravy, bacon and fried potatoes, a pan of scrambled eggs and a pot of beans. He stood there, staring at the two of us, because Nat was elbow deep in a pile of bread dough, and I was stirring porridge over at the stove.”“Whatever that man’s paid, it’s not enough,” Steve said.“Yeah, that’s probably the truth.” Clint said. “But he just kind of nodded, and went back upstairs. Came back fifteen minutes later with Miss Potts and Mr. Stark. And all three of them stared at us.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “So I pick up a biscuit, and I cut it in half, put it on two plates and cover both of ‘em with gravy. Then I sit down, and start eating. “It takes Stark a minute, but finally, he picks up the other plate, and sits down across the counter from me, and he eats.” Clint glanced over at the pan. “And when he finished, he stood up, and nodded, and said something in French, and left.”“And that’s how you got hired,” Steve said. Clint spread his arms wide. “That’s insanity. You know that.” “I’ve never claimed otherwise,” Clint said. “So.” Steve propped his cheek on one hand. “He knows you’re not French.”“Oh, of course,” Clint said. “And I know that he knows I’m not French. And he knows that I know that he knows-”“Right, I got it,” Steve said. “But if that’s the case, why do you still pretend?”“Because we’re both waiting for the other person to break first,” Clint said. Steve stared at him. Clint shrugged. “If I admit it first, he wins.”“Wins WHAT?” Steve asked him.“Wins,” Clint repeated. He picked up his spoon. “And you’re still not asking the important question.”“What, what was in the vase?” Steve asked, his head in his hands. That was met with silence, and he looked up to find Clint watching him, his eyes narrowed. Steve rocked back in his chair. “Oh, was I not supposed to figure that one out?”He reached for his coffee cup. “If you got that far, that easily, and then got caught in a pincer movement, then that means that they’d set a trap, and you were not who they were hoping to catch.” Steve took a sip. “So let me guess, he set someone up, letting them know that something was hidden in a seemingly worthless vase, and part of your employment agreement was to let him know who hired you?”Slowly, deliberately, Clint smiled. “Well, that’s a fascinating question,” he drawled. “But still not the right one. The one you should be asking is that first one. Go back to asking what my last job was.”“Thief,” Steve said.“Less a job and more a hobby,” Clint said.“This house is a mess of riddles and contradictions,” Steve said to no one in particular, just as Bruce pushed the back door open, stepping in from the laundry yard. “You have no idea,” he said, with a wry smile. “Clint, do we have-”“Hey, Doc,” Clint said, already pouring a cup of coffee. “You want to tell the copper where Nat found me?”Bruce took it from him, a very tired look on his face. “Really,” he said, and there was a pleading note to the single word. “Really, we’re telling the nice police officer, uh, how you-” His eyes flicked towards Steve, his expression wary. “How you got your job?”“Already told him,” Clint said, balancing a bowl of eggs in the palm of one hand. “So Stark found me in the library, robbing him. The question is, where did Nat find me?”Bruce met Steve’s eyes. Steve sighed. “Where did Natasha find him?” he asked.Bruce saluted him with his coffee cup. “Carson’s Carnival of Wonders,” he said.Steve looked at him. Looked at Clint. Clint tossed the bowl up and tipped forward, doing a swift, fluid flip, regaining his feet and straightening back up in the blink of an eye. The bowl fell neatly back into his hand, the eggs barely rattling against the china. Steve realized his mouth was hanging open. “The circus,” he said at last.Clint took a deep, broad bow. “The circus,” he agreed. “The perfect place for a runaway from Iowa to pick up a bit of everything. A bit of wire walking. A bit of trapeze artistry. A bit of juggling, and knife throwing and animal training and contortion work.”“And a lot of cooking,” Steve said, putting the pieces together.“A lot of cooking for a lot of people from a lot of places,” Clint said with a grin. “A show like that picks up people as it moves, and all of them want out of where they are, but all of them sort of miss the place they left.” He tapped the spoon against the side of the pan, the sound like a gong. “And families from all over Europe, bringing their own dishes. Jambalaya. Fried chicken and catfish. Pot roast and chicken and dumplings. Macaroni and red beans and rice. The things people want to take with them. The things they want to remember.”He tossed Bruce a turnover, and Bruce managed to catch it. “The rest, I picked up as I went. Jarvis helped, with the things Mr. Stark particularly liked, and staff were hired for the big house parties and the like, and I learn a lot by watching someone else do their thing. But mostly, I fumbled through, learning as I went.”“And throwing knives at anyone who didn’t move out of the way fast enough,” Bruce mumbled into his pastry.“Never hit anyone, did I?” Clint asked. Steve looked at him. “So where did Natasha-”“The Russian Ballet,” Clint said. Steve pinched the bridge of his nose. Clint laughed. “She can still pirouette like a champ.”“So,” Steve said, drawing the word out. “You’re from the circus. She’s from the ballet.” He looked at Bruce. “Where did Stark find you, in the Ziegfeld Follies?”Bruce stopped, his eyes blinking rapidly. He brushed the crumbs of the pastry off of his hands, and nodded. He looked up, meeting Steve’s eyes. “In a grave,” he said, his smile never wavering. He nodded at Clint. “Save me some, uh, something for lunch? I’ve got to weed the back garden, and-”“I’ll make sure it’s still warm for you,” Clint said, and with another grateful nod, Bruce slipped back out the door and out of sight.Steve watched him go. “Why is it,” he mused, “that every question I ask make things even more confusing?”Without looking up from his pan, Clint snagged a turnover and tossed it to Steve, who snagged it one handed out of the air. “Because you’re finally making progress.”Steve broke the pastry in half, revealing the hidden cache of golden brown apples, dripping with cinnamon syrup. “Right,” he said, wishing he believed that.*“No.”“You’re being inflexible, and that disappoints me. The way you’re-” Tony made a gesture at Peter’s face. “This face displeases me.” Peter took a deep breath. “You can’t just START him on advanced calculus, Mr. Stark. You-” His pencil beat a rapid tattoo on the paper. “We need to make sure he has a solid grounding in the basics, otherwise-” His eyes narrowed. “Chaos.”Tony leaned his hands on the workbench. “Math is best when it’s chaos, Parker.”“That is absolutely incorrect,” Rhodey said, flipping through one of Peter’s old school books. “Multiplication-”“Is boring, and so is math,” Tony said, just to see the scandalized look that crossed Peter’s face. He hid a smile behind his coffee cup. “Boring, Parker. You’re boring the child. He could be building something now. He could be DESTROYING something now, and instead-” Tony picked up a piece of paper at random and threw it in the air. It was more satisfying than it should’ve been. “Math.”Peter snagged the page out of the air. “Don’t listen to him,” he said to DJ, who was watching the whole exchange, a grin on his face. “Math is very interesting. Not as interesting as science-” “Blasphemy!” Tony told him.“But still, I like math, and I bet you like math,” Peter said to DJ. “Once you learn the rules, it’s very logical and that’s nice. It’s nice for things to occasionally make sense, and you not a lot of things do in this world.”Rhodey looked over the top of the book at him, one eyebrow arched. “How old are you again?” he asked.“He’s twelve,” Tony said. Peter opened his mouth and Tony kept going without a hint of shame. “You’re twelve, I got you to twelve, and then I stopped paying attention to any numbers that happened after that, and do you know why?”“Because you’re an ass?” Rhodey asked.“Because you can’t remember, and it’s easier to pretend that you’re doing that deliberately?” Peter asked, and Rhodey let out a low, admiring whistle.Tony stared them down. “Because it’s a number, and numbers-” He tossed some more pages, because it made DJ laugh. “Are boring.”“You love numbers,” Rhodey said, as Peter heaved a very long-suffering sigh, pushing himself off of his stool to go and collect the papers. DJ was there before him, snatching them up and darting around Tony’s legs.“I love engineering, and numbers are an unfortunate part of engineering,” Tony told him. “And really-”The door to the workshop swung open and Pepper strode in, her shoulders squared, her heels snapping against the floor. “A week,” she said. “You couldn’t even make it a week. I asked one thing from you, just one thing, and-”Tony considered her over the rim of his cup. “That-” he said, pointing it at her. “Is a lie.”She came to a stop in front of him, her arms crossed over her chest, her chin up, her cheeks flushed. “I asked one thing of you recently,” she corrected herself. She leaned in, and Tony leaned back, all the way back. “I asked you, very politely, not to seduce our guest.”Everyone went still. Tony pointed at Peter, never breaking eye contact with Pepper. “Parker. Earmuffs.”Peter obligingly put his hands over his ears, and Tony’s eyes rolled up towards the ceiling. “Parker. Not you.” He pointed at DJ, who was taking in this new development with his usual wide eyed curiosity. “DJ.”Peter blinked at him. “Oh,” he said at last. “Because, when Aunt May says ‘earmuffs,’ she wants me to cover my ears, mostly so she can yell at you and I thought that was what-”“Yes, and you are no longer the smallest and most impressionable person in the room,” Tony said. He pointed at DJ again. “Earmuffs.” Peter covered DJ’s ears. DJ frowned, his head tipping back to look up at him, his expression betrayed. “Sorry,” Peter told him.Tony looked back at Pepper and immediately regretted it. “What makes you think-” he started.“Because this morning, Jarvis made up a tray with two plates,” Peter said. Tony’s eyes squeezed shut. “And he was singing opera. And he went to put a flower in a bud vase on the tray, and then he said that was probably too much and put the flower in his lapel instead.”Tony glared in Peter’s direction. Peter didn’t seem to notice. “Right, and maybe it was for them,” Tony said, gesturing between Rhodey and Pepper. “Did you ever-”“We were in the kitchen,” Rhodey said, scribbling some notes in the margins of one of the textbooks. “I don’t think they did this formula right, let me just-”“That doesn’t mean-” Tony started.“We were all there,” Pepper said, her voice flat. Tony paused. “Everyone?”Her teeth flashed in a dangerous sort of smile. “With two very notable exceptions.”“And after Jarvis left, Clint gave Natasha money,” Peter said. DJ pushed at his hands. “Can I stop-”“No,” everyone said in unison.Peter sighed “And anyway, Natasha’d never bet on anything involving Miss Potts.”“But she’d bet on her employer?” Tony asked, trying to work up some indignation about that..“All the damn time,” Rhodey muttered. “It’s the number one form of entertainment in this house.” He flipped a page. “Sometimes it’s not even for money. Just bragging rights. Or chores.”“I’m so pleased I can entertain,” Tony said, his voice withering. To Pepper, he said, “You never specifically asked me not to-”“It was heavily implied,” she said.“I understand this isn’t ideal, based on the circumstances, but I want it known, I didn’t seduce him, he seduced me.”Pepper considered him, her mouth a flat line. “I don’t believe you.”Tony opened his mouth, and she held up a finger in front of his face, a very clear warning sign. Tony took a step back. “Well, he kissed me first, that should count for something, and besides-”“Tony.” Pepper pressed a hand to her eyes. “Are you out of your mind?”“It’s possible,” Tony said. “I’m not certain why you’re acting surprised at this late date, Pepper, it’s just, it smacks of a certain lack of understanding of the situation, and really, you should be beyond that by this point, it’s not-”“Did he tell you where he went yesterday?” she asked, cutting him off with ruthless efficiency. “After-” her eyes flicked towards Peter and DJ, and then back to Tony. “When Happy went back to the theater, he couldn’t find him, did you find out where he went?”Tony took a deep breath. “It didn’t come up,” he said.“Because something else was up?” Pepper asked. Peter uncovered DJ’s ears and covered his own. Pepper gave him a sideways look. “Sorry, Peter.”“I’m just, I’m more comfortable like this,” Peter said, and DJ, freed, dragged a book across the workbench and went back to reading it. “I’ll just… Earmuffs.”“I feel like joining you,” Tony said. “Pepper-”“Do you know where he’s gone today, at least?” Pepper asked Tony.Tony’s stomach iced over. “Today?”“He left. Half an hour ago,” Pepper said. “I placed a call to his precinct, asking if they’d be needing him back today, or in the immediate future.” She exhaled. “The response I received was that they had no plans to reassign him.”The rush of relief that flooded over him caught him by surprise. He did not want to think too much about that. “So just ask Happy where-”“He didn’t take a car,” Pepper said. “Happy didn’t even know he was gone until I told him.” Her lips were set in a tight line. “He just walked out the front gate, and-” She shook her head. “And now no one knows.” Tony rubbed his forehead. “Fine. All right. Fine.”“Really,” Pepper said, her voice tired. “Fine?”Tony’s hand dropped back to his side. “All right, it’s not fine, but what else am I supposed to say?” he asked. And that came out sharper than he intended. Pepper just arched an eyebrow at him, and he took a deep breath. “It’s not fine. But it’s…” His mouth worked. “I’ll handle it.”Everyone looked at him. Including DJ. Tony raised a beseeching look towards the ceiling. “Does anyone else have demands they’d like to make of me right now?”“I’m starting to feel like I should be asking for a raise, honestly,” Rhodey said. “You’re all getting fed today and you’re going to be happy with that,” Tony told him. “Now-”“Shield.”Everyone stopped, and Tony looked at DJ, who was still studiously copying strings of figures. Tony leaned in. “What?”“Shield,” DJ repeated. One leg swung back and forth, bouncing against the rungs of his stool. “That’s where.”“I don’t-”The workshop door flew open. “TONY.”He barely had a chance to brace himself before he was hit sideways. He staggered, grabbing for the workbench to keep himself upright. “I’m injured,” he pointed out, not that he expected that to change anything.Jan stared up at him from under her perfectly smooth bangs, her eyes huge and full of tears. “And I had to find out from the NEWSPAPER,” she said.“I was going to call you, but you cry about these things,” Tony said. “Which, I’ll admit, makes me quite uncomfortable.”“That’s why I do it,” Jan said, still hugging his arm. She sniffled, and, with a sigh, Tony pulled a handkerchief from his vest pocket. She took it, dabbing at her eyes with a dainty touch. “You’re a cad, Anthony Edward Stark. A horrible cad.”“So I’ve been told.” But Tony brushed a kiss on her head. “I’m fine, the bullet merely grazed me, my crack team of operatives spirited me away in a matter of moments, DJ has forgiven me for ruining his first time at the picture show, and I’ve been told that I’m being indulged with all my favorite foods at dinner, if you’d care to stay.”She gave his arm one last squeeze, and stepped back. “Pepper, how do you LIVE with him?” she asked.“Many, many stiff cups of tea,” Pepper said. “And the occasional box of Swiss chocolates.”DJ looked up at ‘chocolate,’ showing interest in the conversation for the first time since it had started. Pepper smiled at him. “In fact, I’m sure I’ve still got a few, secreted away. What do you say, boys? Would you like to join Miss Van Dyne and myself for a cup of tea and a bit of chocolate?”“Yes,” DJ said, his voice firm, and Peter nodded.“Are we invited?” Rhodey asked, shutting the notebook.“I suppose so, but you’re responsible for keeping Tony from taking more than two pieces of chocolate,” she said.“I’ll use the small child to wheedle additional pieces,” Tony said, holding his hands out to DJ, who took them and swung down to the ground, his feet kicking for an instant. It was enough to make Tony ignore the spike of pain from his side. “Right?”“Any additional pieces he steals, he’s keeping,” Rhodey told Tony. “He’s crafty.”“And he likes chocolate,” Peter said. “Right,” Tony said. But DJ was still there, grinning up at him, and Tony shook his head. “I’ll just have to suffer.” Which,honestly, was starting to sound prophetic. He managed a smile. “How about Miss Potts and I meet everyone in the parlor?”Rhodey stood, as Peter held out hand to DJ. “How long do you need?” Rhodey asked.“Just… Give us a minute?”Rhodey nodded, and offered Jan his elbow. “I think we can suffer through without you.”“But do hurry, darling,” Jan said, taking Rhodey’s arm. “Or I’ll have eaten all the sweets.”“A risk I’m willing to take,” Tony said. He waited until the were all gone, and turned to Pepper. “Do you really think he’s a threat?”She bit her lower lip. “If I did,” she said at last, “He wouldn’t still be in his house, Tony. But…”Her voice trailed away, and Tony nodded. “But,” he agreed. “I’ve placed a lot of trust in someone I barely know.” He pushed his hair back. “Haven’t I.”“We trust you.” Pepper pulled his hand away from his hair. “Stop it, you’re making a mess. We do trust you. And I find-” She exhaled. “I want to trust him. More than I feel I should. Hill’s never steered us wrong, but she’s never kept us in the dark this long, either.”“Right. Mistakes. Mistakes were made.” Tony took a deep breath. “Won’t be made again.”Pepper turned towards the door. “You can lie to me, Tony, but don’t start believing it. That’s… That’s when we’re in trouble.”Tony followed after her. As if they weren’t already in trouble.And he was absolutely not doing that again. No matter how much he wanted to, and oh, God, did he want to.He could learn from his mistakes, for once.*The house was quiet.Steve paused on the second floor landing, looking out across the rolling grounds. Here and there, he could see men patrolling, their positions marked by the glow of lanterns and flashlights. The walls appeared through the gloom, caught in slim circles of light. He looked down, beside the gardens, but the greenhouse was exempt from the nocturnal movements. It was as still and silent as the house, the windows gleaming in the pale moonlight.Shaking his head, Steve headed up the hall to his room. A few hours of sleep, and then he could head back out, before anyone even knew he was back.His hands flexed at his side, trying to work the ache out of his bones, out of his knuckles. He probably should’ve gone back to his flat, instead of here. It would’ve been faster. And safer. But something drew him back to this house, something that he needed to start fighting. But tonight, he was tired, and he craved silence.He shook his head. “Right,” he muttered under his breath. “Silence. That’s what you’re after, Rogers. Right. Pull the other one.”But Tony was likely already asleep, and even if he wasn’t, there was no chance that Steve was going to go looking for him. He reached for his doorknob, sparing one last glance over his shoulder. He wasn’t surprised to find that he was still alone.He opened the door to his room and stopped short.Tony was seated at the desk next to the bed, his jacket hanging from the chair behind him. His shirtsleeves were rolled up to his elbows, his vest unbuttoned. His dark hair was rumpled, showing clear furrows where his fingers had dug through the locks. The lamp cast the planes of his face in stark relief, accenting the high arch of his cheekbones and sweep of his lips.Steve stood, frozen in the door, watching in stunned silence as Tony pushed the blueprints flat with one quick sweep of his hand, the tip of his pencil darting over the paper.“Welcome home,” Tony said, not even looking up from his work. “How was your day?”Steve swayed on his feet, not sure why his heart was pounding so hard in his chest. “What are you…”His voice trailed away, and he didn’t know what he’d been trying to say. Tony glanced up at him, his dark brows arched. “Well, it’s my house,” he said, his tone wry. “But I do usually respect a closed door.” His head tipped to the side. “But I followed the other intruder in.”Steve looked past him. There, at the foot of the bed, DJ was curled into a loose ball of limbs around Furbro, one bare foot trailing across the quilt, and one hand resting gently on Furbro’s flank. The cat was purring, a low sustained rumble, and DJ was snoring along with him.“He was a bit worried when you didn’t show up for dinner,” Tony said. He pushed the chair back, standing up with a slight groan. He braced his hands on the small of his back, arching backwards. “Remind me to have that chair burned.”He crossed to the bed, and reached out, one hand brushing gently over DJ’s head. When his eyes fluttered open, Tony smiled down at him, his expression warm and open for an instant. “Wake up, sleepyhead,” he said, his voice soft. “He’s back.”DJ squinted up at Tony, who stepped back, tucking his hands in his pockets. Steve struggled to smile. “Hi,” he whispered. “Why aren’t you in bed?”DJ yawned. “Waiting,” he said, and yawned again. He blinked, slow and sleepy. “Late.”“I know,” Steve reached out, stroking Furbro’s head. The cat arched into his fingers, his purring ratcheting up a notch. “You should be used to that.”“Still bad,” DJ said, sitting up.“Still very bad,” Tony agreed. “But he’s back now, safe and sound.” His eyes slid in Steve’s direction, his face unreadable. “But time to ring for-”There was a slight tap on the door, and then Mrs. Parker bustled in, a covered plate in one hand. “I’m here,” she said. “DJ, go wash your face and put on your pajamas. Peter can’t go to bed until you’re tucked in as well. Mr. Stark, you can help him.” She pushed Tony’s paperwork to the side and set the plate down. “Officer Rogers, sit and eat.”Everyone stood there, staring at her, and she clapped her hands. “It’s late, and I’m quite tired, and you’re keeping me from my bed.”“Right, I can-” Steve said, and she pointed at the desk. “I can sit.”“That’s right, you can.” She smiled at DJ. “Go on, now.”He slid off the bed, and wandered in the direction of his own room, rubbing at his eyes as he went. Tony followed behind him, his hands still held loosely in his pockets. “First thing we’re going to do,” he said, “is teach you how to wash your own face, because this seems a less efficient use of my time.”Steve watched them go. “He can get himself ready for bed,” he said to Mrs. Parker. “He’s been doing it for years.”She smiled. “This isn’t for him,” she said. “It’s for Mr. Stark. If DJ is going to stay, then it will be his responsibility to make sure that DJ is taken care of. He needs to get used to that sooner, rather than later.” She tipped her head forward, peering at Steve over the rims of her glasses. “And you need to learn that if you’re not going to be here for dinner, you need to tell us.”Steve sank into the chair. “I’m not used to-” He shook his head. “I didn’t figure anyone would notice.”Mrs. Parker made a disapproving sound under her breath. “Officer Rogers, I think it’s time you realized that we notice everything.” She lifted the lid. “Such as tonight. Bobbi was on watch, and while she noticed you coming in, I suspect you didn’t notice her. She notified Clint, who made up a plate and rang me and here we all are.”She pointed at the plate. “Now, eat.”Steve did as he was told. Satisfied, Mrs. Parker headed over to the bed. “Will you be joining us as well?” she asked Furbro, scratching the cat behind the ear. “Or will you be keeping the good Officer company tonight?”“He comes and goes as he pleases,” Steve said. The meal was a simple one, cold roast chicken, thick slices of bread with cheese, and a variety of pickled vegetables. But he was grateful for every bite. “As is his right, as the house’s cat,” Mrs. Parker said. She fluffed Steve’s pillows. “I’ve always wanted one. But Mr. Stark seemed quite set against animals.” She straightened up. “I find I’m quite pleased with the changes DJ has made to the household already.”Smiling, Steve smoothed down the blueprints next to his plate. He didn’t know what they were for, he didn’t have the technical background to figure that out. But he could see the artistry in them, the beauty of the lines, the smooth, steady hand that had gone into the work. He reached out, tracing a fingertip along one arch.God, he was in deep already.“All right, one small child, freshly scrubbed and pressed,” Tony said, ushering DJ back into the room. “I even combed his hair.”“I’m quite impressed,” Mrs. Parker said, holding her hands out to DJ. “Can you say good night?” she asked.“Night,” DJ said.“Night,” Steve said. Other words, words that weren’t his right to say, stuck in his throat, and he managed a smile. “I’ll be here for breakfast tomorrow.”DJ nodded. “Promise?”“Promise,” Steve said.Seemingly satisfied with that, DJ took Mrs. Parker’s hand and gave them both a wave. A moment after they left the room, Furbro stood, stretched, and jumped down off the bed, padding after them with a flick of his tail.“Was that the truth?”He looked back to find Tony sitting on the edge of his bed, one hand braced beside him on the mattress. Steve’s heartbeat accelerated, and he shifted in his seat, trying to ignore the way his body tightened at the sight. “Yes.”Tony nodded. “Where did you go today?”“I had work to do,” Steve said. He took the last bite of chicken, and dropped his fork to the plate. “And here I thought you’d been assigned to me for the duration,” Tony said.“I am,” Steve said. “And I was looking into something.”“Want to tell me what that might be?” Tony asked.For some reason, Steve found himself smiling. “What, are you the only one allowed to have secrets?” He stood. “Yes,” Tony said, and it sounded so petulant that Steve nearly burst out laughing. Instead, he found himself moving towards the bed. Tony looked up at him. “That is absolutely-”“Stay,” Steve breathed, and leaned over, his mouth catching Tony’s just as his lips parted. From there, it was an easy thing to maneuver him back onto the bed, until he was sprawled out under Steve, his hands tangled in Steve’s hair.“I dislike your secrets,” Tony said, the words muffled in the side of Steve’s throat, and he shuddered. “Yeah, well, I hate yours, and you’ve been teasing me along for a week,” Steve said, the words almost a growl. He pulled back, just far enough to see Tony’s face. “A bit of payback, Mr. Stark.”Tony was breathing hard, his lips swollen, his eyes huge and dark. “The we’re operating under the same rules?” he asked, and his voice sent a shudder along Steve’s skin. “As long as the door’s unlocked, nothing’s off limits?”Getting into a battle of wits with this man was not a good idea. He wasn’t going to win. He might not even survive. But he was so aroused that it hurt, and somehow, that just seemed right. “Stay with me tonight,” he whispered. “And you can ask whatever questions you want.”Tony’s smile was sharp and deadly and Steve loved it. “I still have you in check,” he whispered. “And you don’t have many pieces left on the board.”“Only need one,” Steve whispered. It might've been a bad choice. And he didn't even care.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“Are there fairies in America?”“What?” His mother paused, glancing over her shoulder at him. She smiled, her eyes warm. “Whatever are you on about, Stevie?”Steve shifted in his chair, his legs kicking the air as he tried to find a comfortable position. “Are there fairies in America?” he repeated, rolling the bit of pencil between his fingers. He smoothed a wrinkle out of the paper, careful not to pull too hard. The scraps his mother salvaged from the trash at the hospital were almost always crumbled, but he preferred them to the sheets of newsprint he could find on his own. “I was wondering.”“Och, and that always goes so well for us, doesn’t it?” his mother said. But she was laughing, so it was okay. She turned her attention back to her pot of soup, shaking her head as the steam curled around her face. “What brought this up?”“Dunno.” He bent over the paper, squinting to see, and wishing the light was a bit better. He shifted to the side, folding one leg under him, trying to get a better angle. “Really,” his mother said, her voice flat. “You don’t know why you’re suddenly asking about the old ones?” She propped a hand on her hip, her head tipped to the side. A single curl of copper-gold hair had slipped free of her pins and she pushed it back with an impatient hand. “Has Mrs. Doyle been filling your head with wild tales again?”Steve shrugged. “Bucky likes her.”His mother rolled her eyes. “Bucky likes that tea of hers, thick as treacle it is.” She turned her attention back to the soup. “I’m sure I wouldn’t know, Stevie, but I do know that it’s bad luck to speak of them.”Steve frowned down at the line that wobbled across his page. He shook the ache out of his hand. “Why?”“Because it calls their attention down on you,” his mother said. She took a sip from her spoon, her eyes narrowed. “And no good comes of that.”“But if there aren’t any Fairies in America, then how would they hear us?” Steve asked. His mother gave him a look, and he straightened up in his chair. “Can they hear us, all the way from Ireland, then?”She let out a soft laugh, her head shaking. “You’re too clever by half again,” she said, but she turned to face him, her arms crossed over her chest. “If there were old ones here, Stevie, I would think they’d long since been driven from this place, where there’s nothing green left, and precious little sky. The steel and stone covered this island, long, long ago.”She pulled a bowl from the shelf beside the cookstove. “And if there’s one thing that the old ones disliked, it was the things that we built, the way we pushed back the woods and leveled the hills, making roads and castles and towns and places they could not go.”Steve watched as she filled the bowl, cradling the well worn china in the hollow of one hand. “But were they here?” he asked, as she set it in front of him. “Once?”“Many things were here once,” his mother said. “Many wild and wonderful things, I should think, and then we came and took what had once been theirs.” Her smile was soft and light, but her eyes were sad. “That’s the way of people, Steve. There’s always some who’ll take, no matter what damage they do to the rest of the world.”Steve scowled down at his soup. “They shouldn’t.”“No.” She reached out, pushing his hair back from his forehead. Her fingers were rough, scarred from decades of hard work, but her touch was gentle. “No, they shouldn’t.” She leaned over, kissing him on top of the head. “And best you remember that.”Steve smiled at her. “I’ll remember.”“That’s my bright boy,” his mother said, turning back to the pot. She filled a second bowl, glancing back at him as she did. “What did Mrs. Doyle tell you?”Steve set his paper aside without being told. “Just old stories. And the old rules.”His mother took a seat across the table from him. “And what might those be?” she asked, reaching for the teapot.“Do not go down beneath the hill,” Steve said, his voice soft. Almost reverent. Bits of the old language was mixed with the new, and he shifted in his seat, remembering the thrill of fear her dire warnings had brought him. “As some gates, once opened, cannot be closed again. Do not follow the sound of the mournful horn. It guides you down dark paths, and you’ll have no such help getting back. Do not drink from their cups. Even their water is like wine, and you will lose yourself.”He dipped his spoon into the soup, stirring it and watching the steam rise from the surface. “And do not take gold from their hand. In the light of day, you’ll find you’ve sold your soul for a fallen leaf or hedgeberry, shriveled and brittle.”Steve looked at his mother, who was watching him, her cheek balanced on her palm, smiling at him. “Are there fairies in America?” he asked.“No,” she said. “Those are old stories, of an old land. The fairies are long gone, my darling boy, like the ancient woods and deep, dark places they hid. There’s nothing like that here.” She picked up her teacup. “Still.”“Still?” Steve asked, before slurping the soup from his spoon.“Manners,” she chided with a smile. “And still. Don’t speak of them.”He grinned at her. “If they’re not real-”“We don’t tempt fate, you and I, we know better than that.” She bent her head to her soup. “Don’t we?”“Yes, Ma.” Steve fished a potato out of the soup with the tip of his spoon. “Want to know what I think?”“Always.”“That there may not be fairies,” Steve said. He glanced at the one window in the kitchen, something his mother had fought and paid dearly for. There was precious little light outside the dull glass, but there was enough. “But there’s something else. Something different. Something…”His mother waited, patient and quiet. Steve looked at her. “Something just as scary,” he admitted.She smiled. “Perhaps,” she allowed. She sipped her tea. “Want to know what I think?”Steve grinned. “Always.”“I think a good American boy like yourself’ll be just fine.” She saluted him with her cup before she set it back on the table. “No matter what.”Steve’s eyes flicked open, his heart in his throat.For a moment, he didn’t know where he was, or how he’d got there. Threads of memories and dreams tangled together, and his sleep-dull mind struggled to separate them. He shifted in his bed, half expecting his back to ache or his legs to seize up, the way they had when he’d been young.But his body moved without a hint of protest, his skin sliding easily against linens as soft as silk. One hand slid across the width of the bed, looking for something he couldn’t quite remember, but when he didn’t find it, the sense of loss was staggering.The soft crackle of a fire was interrupted by a thump, and Steve rolled over, squinting into the soft glow of the firelight. Tony was seated in front of the fire, the poker held easily in one hand, and for a moment, Steve just stared at him, captivated by the scene. A shirt was draped across Tony’s shoulders, hanging open and loose against his chest and pooling around his hips. The rest of him was bare, and the firelight gilding every inch of his skin, and casting sparks along the dark threads of his hair. There was a blanket beneath him, spilling across the cold marble of the hearth and onto the floor. As Steve watched, his pulse thudding in his ears, Tony reached out and tossed another log into the flames, shadows playing along the sharp planes of his face as he poked it into place. He drew one leg up, leaning his forearm against the curve of his knee, and the fabric of the shirt shifted against his skin, dipping into the angle of his shoulder, the arch of his back. He was beautiful and graceful and unearthly, untouched or untroubled by the cinders that floated past him like falling stars. Steve’s lips parted. “Is that my shirt?”Tony glanced back at him, a smile curling his lips. “Probably,” he said, his voice laconic. “It’s your room, after all.” He held up an arm, watching as the sleeve slid back to settle against his elbow, the fireplace poker held almost like a sword. “It would make perfect sense that this is your shirt.”“You had one when you got here,” Steve grumbled. He pushed his hair back, away from his eyes. “Almost certain you had one when you got here.”“Oh, I did, but someone removed it,” Tony said, setting the poker back into the rack. “With a great deal of enthusiasm, as I recall. Heaven only knows where it ended up.”Steve felt his face heat. “I’m sure it’s around here somewhere,” he said. He bunched a pillow in his arms, telling himself he wasn’t hiding in its depths. “It’s not as if I tossed it out the window.”“I wouldn’t put it past you,” Tony said. He rolled to his feet, all feline grace and easy strength, and Steve’s shirt was just a bit too big on him, draping low around his hips and hands. He didn’t seem to notice, or maybe he just didn’t care. “I was cold, and it was convenient.”He leaned over to collect the blanket, and a small red notebook from the hearth. “Have you even lit this fire since you were assigned this room?”Steve was so captivated by the easy way that Tony moved that he barely noticed the question. After a moment, he tore his eyes away from Tony’s legs to find him waiting an answer, a faint, amused smile on his face. Steve blinked at him. “Sorry, what?”Tony tossed the blanket on foot of the bed and crawled in next to Steve. “Have you not been lighting the fire?” he asked, and he didn’t bother to take off Steve’s shirt before he settled back against the headboard. “No,” Steve said. He reached out, pushing the shirt back so he could check Tony’s bandages.“I’m fine,” Tony said, his attention already on the small notebook in his hand. Steve made a humming noise under his breath, and Tony swatted at his hand with the book. “Off.”Laughing, Steve pulled his hand back. “Fine,” he mumbled into his pillow. “See if I try to check on you again, you ungrateful ass.”“The last thing I need is someone else grumbling at me.” Tony flipped through the pages of the small notebook, the book braced on one knee, and Steve’s eyes narrowed.“Is that my sketchbook?” he asked, pushing himself up on one elbow.Tony’s lips twitched. “Well, it’s definitely a book you’ve been sketching in,” he said, turning another page. “I found it under the shirt.” His head tipped to the side as he considered the cover of the book. “Though it seems a lot like the ones I use, too.”Steve rolled his eyes. “Jarvis gave it to me,” he said. “And said I could use it.”“He is quite free with other people’s things,” Tony agreed.“That’s rich, coming from the fella who helped himself to the contents of my pockets,” Steve pointed out..“We agreed,” Tony said, his voice breezy, “that what’s good for the copper’s good for the tycoon. You left it out, I get to satisfy my…” His smile stretched into a wicked grin, and Steve lost his breath. “Curiosity.”Steve shifted on the bed, trying to ignore his reaction to that single word. “And?” he asked.Tony glanced at him. “And?” he repeated.“Are you…” Steve resisted the urge to bury his face in his pillow again. “Satisfied?”Tony sighed. “Not really,” he admitted, his eyes half hidden behind the dark sweep of his lashes. “You’ve drawn everyone in the household except me.”That startled a laugh out of Steve. Tony gave him a look, doing his best to look hurt. “No, really. Look at this.” He held up the book. “Clearly, we have Pepper working on the ledgers. Rhodey working on one of the cars.” He flipped the pages. “Mrs. Parker threatening Clint with a a set of measuring spoons.”“She knows he’s never going to use them, doesn’t she?” Steve asked.“One on a long list of things our chef is never going to do,” Tony said. “But if there’s anyone as stubborn as him, it’s Mrs. Parker, and so our kitchen remains an active battleground.” He half turned to Steve, scowling down at the sketchbook. “Jarvis and Natasha. Bobbi in the garden. Bruce with his flowers.”Steve watched him flip the pages, amused despite himself. “I didn’t think your ego needed any further stroking,” he said.“That’s where you’re wrong,” Tony told him. “My ego can always use a good stroking, sir, and I’ve no objection to you doing just that.” His hands went still, and his expression softened into a slight, easy smile. “I like this one.”Caught off guard by the sudden sincerity in his voice, Steve glanced down at the book. The sketchbook was small, too small for him to have captured much detail. But the subject of that particular drawing was obvious. He’d drawn Peter and DJ in the act of collecting pears from one of the trees down in the orchard. Peter was perched on a branch, a basket propped on his hip, a bare foot braced against the tree trunk. Above him, DJ was tangled in the limbs, his suspenders hanging down around his hips, pears piled high in fabric of his shirt. It was a rough sketch, more for composition and placement, but there was a warmth to it, a feeling of youthful freedom that shone through, even in the simple, straightforward lines.Steve glanced back up at Tony, who was still studying the picture, a soft smile on his face. “You’ve got a real talent,” he said, and Steve struggled against the wave of pleasure that washed over him. Tony’s fingers traced along the edge of the page. “Why were you doing draftsmanship instead of illustration?”Steve chuckled. “Being hungry tends to make you practical,” he said, half rolling on his side. “You can have it, if you want.”He regretted the words, almost before they were out of his mouth, but Tony nodded. “I do, actually,” he said. “And was trying to find a socially acceptable way to demand it.”Steve gave him a look. “Saying ‘please’ works in most cases, you do realize that, don’t you?” he asked, pulling the book from Tony’s hand and tossing it towards the bedside table. “And if you’re done rifling through my positions for the time being…”Tony made a grab for it, missed and ended up sprawled half on top of Steve. “I’m really not,” he said, and Steve choked on a laugh. Tony pushed himself up, his hands braced on Steve’s chest. “Oh, do you find this funny?” he asked, his lips twitching.“A bit,” Steve admitted. He yawned, one of his hands coming up to cover one of Tony’s. “You’re the one who woke me up in the middle of the night, stole my shirt, and started invading my privacy.”“I work quickly when I want to,” Tony said. He shifted, throwing one leg over Steve’s and settling his weight on his knees, straddling Steve’s hips. He leaned over, his hands smoothing over Steve’s shoulders. “All right, my hungry fellow. I’ll be having that sketchbook of yours.”Steve caught his waist, his breath hitching in his throat. “Oh, will you?” he asked, amused.Tony leaned over, his mouth hovering just over Steve’s. “What do you want for it?” he whispered, the words hot against Steve’s lips.Steve’s hands slid up, his fingers brushing against the rough edge of Tony’s bandages. He stilled, his eyes locked with Tony’s. “Stay here,” he said, and Tony blinked, his face going blank. “Promise me. That’ll you’ll stay here in the house, where you’re safe, until we find out-”His hand hovered over Tony’s ribs, and Tony reached up, pressing Steve’s palm to his side. “It’s fine,” he said, his voice soft. “I won’t be a prisoner in my own house, Steve.”Steve reared up, cupping a hand on the back of Tony’s neck. “Stay here,” he said, his voice tight. “Let me find out who’s after you.”Tony’s eyes flicked over his face, a slight smile curling his lips. “That’s a very long list, officer, and I’ll be old and gray before you reach the end of it.”“That’s… That’s kind of the point,” Steve said. He opened his mouth to say something else and Tony leaned in, cutting him off with a kiss. For a moment, Steve considered pushing him away, but he was already too addicted to the way Tony’s lips coaxed a reaction from him. He sank into the kiss, his fingers sliding into Tony’s hair.When Tony finally pulled back, they were both breathing hard. “God, you’re dangerous.”The words sent a shiver of pleasure through him. “Stay here,” he repeated, the words whispered against Tony’s jaw. Tony laughed. “You could convince me,” he whispered back. “With very little effort.”Steve dragged him down, his fingers tangled in the fabric of his own shirt, and tried not think about the morning.*“He finished, did he?”Tony glanced up from his pocket watch. “He finished,” he agreed, as Jarvis set a cup of coffee by his elbow. “I don’t need the sandwich.”Ignoring that, Jarvis set the plate directly in front of him. “Of course, sir.”Tony sighed and reached for the coffee. “You’re just going to have to throw that away later,” he pointed out. “After it molds.”“And should that come to pass, I shall of course be happy to handle the task, sir.” Jarvis tucked the tray under his arm, leaning over to peer into the face of the clock. “Hmm. I take it that it is keeping good time?”Tony tapped a fingertip against the crystal face of his watch. “To the second.” He leaned back, considering the graceful sweep of the clock’s hand. “To say that it’s doing better than it was before he took it apart would be accurate, but also damning him with faint praise. The damn thing was always more decorative than functional.”Tony snapped his watch shut and returned it to his pocket. “But yes. He fixed it.” Jarvis paused in the act tidying the workbench. “Was that not what you expected him to do?”“I expected him to smash it.” Tony picked up a thin wafer of pickle from the plate, popping it into his mouth. “I handed him an expensive piece of trash and a hammer and told him to have fun.” He paused. “I would’ve smashed it.”“No, you wouldn’t have,” Jarvis said.“All right, so I wouldn’t have, but I would’ve thought very seriously of doing it, and I don’t think he ever did. He just wanted to see what was on the inside of it, and then, once we got it open, he just wanted to know how it worked, and I-” Tony stopped. Took another bite of his sandwich. “Fine. So he fixed a clock.”“That he did,” Jarvis agreed, stacking up Peter’s school books. “Shall I put these on the shelf, sir?”“No, Parker’s supposed to come back for them,” Tony said, peeling a thin thread of cheese from the edge of his sandwich. “He was supposed to come back for them this morning, but did he remember?”“He has school today, sir.” Tony opened his mouth. Closed it. “No excuse,” he said, stabbing at the workbench with his fingertip. “And I’m not certain you’re actually correct about that.”“Perhaps not, sir.” Jarvis scooped up the books, tucking them into a neat pile. “I’ll just put them on the shelf for now. To keep them out of the way until young Mister Parker does return to collect them.”“Which he is never going to do,” Tony grumbled. “Sheds as he walks. His jacket on the stairs and his shoes in the hallway and his bookbag on the dining room table and-”“Are these your socks?” Jarvis asked from the other side of the workbench. “And where is your left loafer, sir, how can you only have one shoe here, whatever have you done with the other?”“I neither know nor care,” Tony said. He lifted the top slice of bread off of the sandwich. “Is this watercress?”“Cucumber, sir,” Jarvis said. “Have you finished the engine reviews? Mr. Stane will be here to collect them at-”“Rhodey has them, I had him run them over to the office an hour ago,” Tony said. “Which will not stop Mr. Stane from visiting,” Jarvis pointed out. He handed Tony his coffee cup.“It might,” Tony said, taking a sip of his coffee. “He’s upset with me.”“I cannot imagine that’s the case, sir.” Jarvis picked up the pencils DJ had been using, setting them in their box. Someone had written DJ’s name on it. Tony considered the handwriting. It looked rather like his.“This whole thing was his idea,” Tony pointed out. “Despite the many years you’ve worked together, Mr. Stane still believes he can predict your reactions under all circumstances,” Jarvis said. “I’m unpredictable,” Tony said.“It’s one of your finer qualities,” Jarvis agreed.“He can’t stay,” Tony said.Jarvis paused. “Can he not?” he asked. He reached across the workbench, picking up a tea cup from the night before. “You know he can’t,” Tony said. “You…” He stopped. “Know he can’t.”Jarvis studied him for a long moment, then set about collecting the tea cups. “And why not?” he asked.“Because I can barely take care of myself, let alone another…” Tony scraped a hand over his face. “I don’t know what I’m talking about,” he admitted. “That does happen, sir,” Jarvis agreed.Tony gave him a look. “I can’t keep a child,” he pointed out. “It’s insane. The entire idea is insane. I don’t even know why we’re having this discussion.”“Of course, sir,” Jarvis said. “Especially not with me.” He reached in front of Tony, collecting the plate. Tony had no idea what had happened to the sandwich that had been on it. “After all, what would I possibly know about unexpectedly finding oneself charged with the care and keeping of a child?”Tony blinked at the clock, and turned to find Jarvis smiling at him, his expression amused. “Completely different circumstance,” he pointed out. “Completely… It’s different.”Jarvis nodded. “Ah, is it?”“You could’ve quit,” Tony pointed out.“Could I?” Jarvis set the plate on the tray, giving Tony’s coffee cup a speaking look. Tony picked it up, draining the last dregs before he handed it over. Jarvis took it with a smile. “Thank you, sir.”“I mean, unless there was something quite illegal about your employment contract with my father, then, yes, you absolutely could’ve quit.” Tony pushed himself upright. “So-”Jarvis didn’t step back. He just stood there, a faint smile on his face. “No, sir. I could not.” He reached out, tapping Tony in the middle of the chest with a single finger. “And neither can you.”He shifted the tray to his other hand. “Now, you have a guest, so-”Tony realized his hand was covering his breastbone with one hand. He let it drop down to his side. “A guest, what do you mean-”“Daaaaarling.” Jan swept into the workshop, a napkin covered basket thrown over her arm and her long silk scarf floating through the air behind her. “Tony, light of my life, how are you?” She braced a hand on Tony’s chest, going onto her toes to brush a kiss against each of his cheeks. “Sorry to keep you waiting, I just had to have a chat with Bobbi about that last bottle she sent home with me. Potent stuff, I must have more.”“That’s not a guest,” Tony told Jarvis. “That’s a pest.”“Manners, sir,” Jarvis said.Jan took a mock swing at him with her basket. “How rude,” she sniffed. “And here I brought you a variety of delicious treats to speed up your recovery.” She shoved the basket into Tony’s hands and flounced her way across the workshop to the couch. “And this is the thanks I get?”“Yes,” Tony said, peeking under the napkin. “Did you bring me any of that lemon curd?” Jarvis coughed into one fist. Tony gave him a look. “Thank you, Miss Van Dyne, it was too kind of you to think of me and make the trip out, specifically to inquire after my health and well-being.”Jan gave him a narrow eyed look. “Jarvis, make it stop,” she said, tossing herself on the couch. “This whole display is unnatural and frankly quite terrifying.”“Very good attempt, sir,” Jarvis told him, taking the basket out Tony’s hands. “Thank you, Miss Van Dyne, I shall have this emptied and returned to you in due course.”“Thank you, Jarvis,” she said, draping herself on the couch. She fluttered her eyelashes in Tony’s direction. “At least someone here is a gentleman.”“He tried his damnedest,” Tony said. “It didn’t stick. But not for lack of trying.”“Quite,” Jarvis said. He sounded amused. “Remember, sir, Mr. Stane will be-”“Tell him I’m not here,” Tony said, as Jan groaned.“Please do,” Jan said. “Last time I saw him outside of a meal, he spent twenty minutes lecturing me on my hemlines.” She pointed her feet. “Tony. Marry me.”“You have a fiance, and you’d murder me in under a month,” Tony told her. He was fairly certain Jarvis was laughing as he left the room. Tony took a seat at the workbench, his arms crossed over his chest. “I’m not marrying you simply to annoy Obie.”“But it would be such a marvelous joke,” Jan pointed out. She rolled over, folding her arms on the arm of the couch and leaning her chin on them. She fluttered her eyelashes at him. “Can you just imagine his face?”Tony almost could. “I’m not sure I’m willing to secure a church just so you can taunt my business manager,” he said.“But you’re still open to the possibility, wonderful.” Jan bounced back to her feet. “My mother said that the first marriage never sticks, in any case, I’d consider it a warm up for my marriage to Hank, we can figure out who’s worth inviting, just based on the wedding gifts and what flower arrangements just don’t work down in St. Marks, isn’t that totally worth the effort?”Tony tapped a finger against his lips. “I think you need to run this plan past Hank,” he said, struggling not to laugh.“He’ll barely notice,” Jan said. She wound her arms around Tony’s neck, giving him a very familiar pout. “I’ll just hide the papers from him for a week and by the time it blows over, he’ll have moved on to another project and won’t even notice the divorce filing.”“As oblivious as Hank can be at times, I think someone will take great delight in letting him know,” Tony said. He leaned forward, bumping his forehead against hers, something they’d done since childhood. “You’re a menace, Van Dyne, but I know your tricks far too well.”“You do, it’s so disappointing.” She leaned into him, and laughing, Tony wrapped his arms around her in a hug. “Don’t you dare try to comfort me, I’m not to be comforted.”Tony kissed her hair. “What brought this on?” he asked. “What’s Hank done now?”“Nothing,” she grumbled. Tony gave her a look, and she made a face. “No. Literally nothing. I’m fairly certain he’s forgotten that I exist again.”“That is a lie and you know it, and marrying a childhood friend is not a way to get his attention,” Tony said. “Go home and drag him away from his laboratory before you try to have a discussion with him, because you know he can’t be trusted if there’s a bunsen burner in reach.”“It would be so much easier to marry you,” Jan said. “You understand me.”“And you might as well be my sister,” Tony pointed out.Jan grabbed the front of his shirt, dragging him in until their noses were almost touching. “Marry me,” she gritted out at the exact moment the door to the workshop opened.Steve froze in the doorway, his hand still holding the doorknob. Tony froze, Jan plastered against his front, her lips mere inches from his. There was a moment of stillness. Steve’s eyes darted from Tony to Jan and back, a faint crease between his brows. “Am I… Interrupting?” he said at last.“No,” Tony said, catching Jan’s hands and squeezing them as he took a step back. “Don’t mind her. She already has a fiance. What she doesn’t have, much to our dismay, is any sense of boundaries.”Steve’s lips twitched. “Yeah, I got that when she fitted my pants.”Jan gaped at him. “Well, I never,” she said, her face splitting in a broad grin.“And that’s a lie,” Tony said, grinning back. “You absolutely have.”Jan tossed her hair back with a flick of one hand. “That’s true,” she said, sounding proud of herself. “I have, I enjoyed it, and I’m likely to do it again.” She braced her hands on the edge of the workbench and gave a quick hop, boosting herself up to perch on the edge of the workspace. “You’re the one determined to ruin my good time.” She gave Steve a gamine grin. “A few years ago, Officer, Tony would’ve eagerly gone along with my prank.”Steve’s eyes flicked towards Tony, who crossed his arms over his chest. “She wants to see if she can drive Obie to a heart attack by announcing our engagement,” he explained. “As much as he hates me, he’s pretty hardy,” Jan mused. “I really think we’d have to go through with the ceremony to get the full effect of his disapproval.”“You’re trying to get him to marry you just to annoy Mr. Stane?” Steve asked.“Also because it would be very funny,” Jan said, her legs swinging in mid-air. “But yes. Mostly to annoy the old prig.”“As I don’t see that as the basis of a lifelong commitment or even a particularly good short term investment, I have gently declined the offer,” Tony said.Steve looked at Jan. “I’ll do it.”Tony blinked at him. “What.”Jan leaned forward, her hands clamped on the edge of the workbench. “Oh, that’s nearly as good.”“No, it isn’t,” Tony told her. “Steve-”“Can we tell him today?” Steve asked, his blue eyes wicked and bright. “Preferably over a meal?”“No,” Tony told him.“Yes,” Jan breathed. “Oh, how marvelous, I’ve always wanted to cause a scene, can we still get a table at the Ritz, Tony? You’ll have to invite Obie, of course, he’ll suspect something if I bring it up, I should ring over immediately to-” She clapped her hands in front of her mouth. “I need a ring.”“I’m going to have to ask you not to encourage her,” Tony said to Steve, who was struggling hard to keep a straight face. “No matter how much fun it might be.”“It is fun,” Steve admitted.“What are you even doing here?” Tony asked him, doing his best to ignore the way Jan was still muttering to herself under her breath.“Mrs. Parker said that Peter left his books down here,” Steve said. “I met Jarvis on the way down, he said he’d put them on the shelf, so-” He shrugged. “I’m sure they’re in your way.”“No.” Tony smiled. “No. They’re- Jarvis put them on the shelf, they’re not in anyone’s way.”Steve nodded. Tony nodded back. “If you’re sure?” Steve said at last.Tony smiled at him. “Quite sure.”Steve nodded again. “All right,” he said. He turned to Jan, his smile taking on a puckish wickedness. “Miss Van Dyne. Always a pleasure.”She held out a hand, and Steve stepped forward, taking it and raising it to his lips in a theatrical gesture. Tony stomped down on a wholly irrational spike of jealousy. “If you’ve ever a need for a good suit, I demand the right of first refusal,” she said. “If you’re going to jilt me so cruelly, you owe me that much.”Laughing, Steve stepped back. “In the unlikely event that I ever need something that is worth your time and effort, I will definitely let you know.”“I expect you will,” Jan said. “See you at dinner tonight?”“I’ll bring a proposal, just-” Steve tugged on his ear. “Give me the signal.”“Is she asking you to propose, or to steal third?” Tony asked, because this conversation was no longer about him, and he hated when that happened. “I like to keep my options open,” Jan told him. She blew a kiss in Steve’s direction. “See you at dinner.”“Looking forward to it, Miss Van Dyne.” With a salute that didn’t seem at all mocking, Steve slipped out of the workshop, pulling the door shut firmly behind him. A moment later, the door opened again. Steve leaned back in. “Next time you’re going to propose?” he said. “Lock the door first.”“I knew I forgot something,” Jan said.“Stop encouraging her,” Tony called, and, laughing, Steve pulled the door shut again. Tony realized he was smiling at the door like a lovesick idiot and gave his head a sharp shake. “Anyway. Let’s-”Jan snagged the back of his vest in one hand. “Anthony. Edward. Stark,” she purred, and Tony groaned. “What have you done?”“Nothing,” Tony said. “Absolutely-”“Because just a few days ago,” Jan said, pulling him back towards her. “You would’ve gone along with my joke. You would’ve made it bigger. Worse.” She leaned her chin on Tony’s shoulder. “Less than a week ago, Mr. Stark, you would’ve done everything possible to make that cop believe we were seconds from tearing each other’s clothes off down here.”“As it turns out,” Tony said, trying for dignity, “teasing a humorless stick like that is boring.”Jan nodded. “That,” she mused, “may be the least convincing lie I’ve ever heard you try. And I was here when you tried to convince Jarvis that the second floor curtains spontaneously burst into flames.”Tony sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “He’s….” His face felt hot, and he pulled away from Jan. “He’s going to be gone soon, let’s not give him more to gossip about.”Jan studied him, one eyebrow arched. “You slept with him.”“No,” Tony said, and Jan let out a squeal, clapping her hands together. Tony winced. “Jan, no.”“Don’t get me wrong, he’s not really my type, but I can see the appeal,” Jan said. She leaned back, bracing her hands on the bench. “And more than just sleeping with him, you…” Her head tipped to the side, her eyes considering. “You like him.”“I-” Tony’s eyes slid shut. “Yes. I do. I… Like him.” The words were all he could manage, all he was willing to admit, but they hurt. It hurt to say them, in a way that he couldn’t quite explain. “So. Leave it alone.”Jan sighed. “Fine,” she said, a slight smile curving her lips. “He likes you, too.”“Ah, does he?” Tony asked, trying to make it sound like the answer meant nothing to him.“I wouldn’t have gone to all that trouble to dress him if I hadn’t seen the way he looked at you,” Jan said. She held her hands out to Tony, and he wrapped his hands around her narrow waist, giving her a boost off of the workbench and down to the floor. She braced her hands on his shoulders, steadying herself until she was back on her feet. As soon as she was, her hands slid down to straighten his vest. “I like him.” Her eyes canted up towards Tony’s. “Does he know?”Tony took a deep breath. “No.”She nodded. “Will he know?”Tony’s eyes shut. “That depends on him.”*He should go out tonight.Steve stepped into the hall, pulling the bedroom door shut behind him. He was on his second lap of the house and his third of the grounds. He was going stir crazy, and every time he looked at the walls that surrounded the property, he felt that same prickle of unease.Something wasn’t right.Frustrated, Steve headed up the hall, checking each door he passed, each window. In some part of his head, he was counting steps, marking distances, looking for weaknesses. He’d memorized the floorplan days ago, and his patrols kept his occupied, but there was little to be gained from them. Steve needed to go out. Before he lost his mind. He jogged down the hallway, heading for the stairs. Down below him, in the grand hall, he could see DJ and Peter standing in the middle of the floor, an array of buckets and mops surrounding them. As Steve started down the stairs, he considered the sheer amount of water and soap suds that were scattered across the stone floor and wondered just how long they’d been at this.“Ready?” Peter asked, almost bouncing in place.DJ dragged a wet rag out of the bucket, slapping it against the polished floor. “Ready,” he crowed, grabbing the rag with both hands. As Steve watched, amused despite himself, Peter grabbed DJ’s feet, lifting them up and tipping him forward so his weight was balanced on his hands, and the wet rag clutched between them.And then he started running, pushing DJ in front of him like a wheelbarrow.Steve propped his hands on his hips, trying not to laugh, as the boys swerved back and forth across the grand hall, leaving a wobbly, uneven streak of wet stone behind them. Their peels of laughter drowned out the pounding of their feet, and after several minutes of tearing in circles, they stumbled to a stop. DJ flopped onto the floor, Peter collapsing next to him.“Right,” Peter said between bouts of giggles. “Excellent work. That was-” He hiccuped. “Again?”DJ, still lying flat on his back, thrust his hands in the air. “AGAIN!”Shaking his head, Steve headed down the stairs as the boys collected themselves and tumbled back towards the buckets, splashing water in all directions as they set themselves up for another run at the floor.Mrs. Parker was seated on the bottom step of the grand staircase, her back leaning against the carved newel post, a basket of apples next to her feet. There was a bowl in her lap, cradled in a tea towel, and another by her side, full of peeled fruit. She was watching the boys, a faint smile on her face, while she ran a knife under the delicate skin of the fruit“They’re not doing a particularly good job,” Steve said, sinking down onto the step beside her.She chuckled, glancing in his direction. “They’ll get it done,” she said, her voice serene. Her hands never stopped moving, the peel falling away from the blade of her knife and into the waiting bowl. She paused, cutting away a chunk of bruised flesh. “And God Almighty knows, they both have time for a bit of play.”The boys ran past, Peter’s feet sliding on the wet floor. Steve rubbed a hand over his mouth, trying to hide his smile. “And more than enough energy,” he said.“That, too.” Mrs. Parker nodded at the basket of unpeeled apples. “And if you need a job, those need to be checked for bad spots and worm holes.”Steve reached for the basket. “Yes, ma’am.” DJ caught his eye from across the hall and raised his hand in a wave. He hit Peter in the face with his rag, and Steve choked on a laugh. “I think they’re both going to need a bath,” he said to Mrs. Parker as he waved back.“I suspect you’re right.” Mrs. Parker gave him a look. “So word below stairs is that you’ve been asking how the staff came to be here,” she said, holding her hand out for an apple.Steve handed one over. “I think I can be forgiven for wanting to know how Stark ended up with a French chef who wasn’t a chef, or French.”Mrs. Parker chuckled, an impish gleam in her eye. “I can’t imagine what you’re talking about,” she said, wiping the blade of her knife on the tea towel. “Straight from Paris, that one.”“Oh, clearly,” Steve agreed. “I just didn’t realize there was a Paris in Kansas.”She wagged a finger at him. “And it’s just as good, I’m sure.”“I’m sure,” Steve agreed. He turned his attention back to the basket of apples. “It was… Quite the story.”Mrs. Parker smiled down at the apple in her hand. “Oh, yes. I’ve heard it. Several times.” She paused. “Before I believed it.” She set another peeled apple onto the pile. “Well?”“Well?” Steve repeated, polishing an apple on his sleeve.“Aren’t you going to ask where he found me?” Mrs. Parker asked. Steve’s head snapped up, and he found her smiling at him, the knife held easily in one hand.Steve considered it. “Seems rude,” he admitted, and she laughed.“Not if I’m offering.” She held out a hand, and he gave her an arrow. “Well?”Steve went back to the apple basket. “Where did he find you?”The tip of the knife slid under the skin of the apple. “Beside my husband’s grave.”Steve froze, caught in the act of picking up an apple. He looked up, but she didn’t seem to notice.“My husband Ben worked for StarkIndustries,” she said. “A night watchman. It was a tough job, but the pay was good, and it meant he could be around in the afternoons, when Peter was coming home from school.”She paused, her chin coming up. “He and Peter were quite close,” she said, and there was an aching note to her voice now. “Even before his parents passed away,. Peter was always over, always in and out of my kitchen, helping Ben with repairs, running up and down the stairs and rattling the windows.” She smiled. “Losing his parents was a horrible blow, never doubt it, but we loved him. We always loved him.”Her thumb rubbed against the side of the knife handle. “And we agreed. The night watch, it was dangerous. We both knew that. But Ben was a careful man, a reliable man, and he wanted to be able to provide for us, so Peter could attend school..” Her thumb stilled, and her fingers tightened on the knife, her knuckles going white. “So many boys in the neighborhood were in the factories by the age of eleven or twelve, and we were determined, that would not happen to Peter. It would not.”She fell silent for a moment. She reached for the basket, picking an apple seemingly at random. “They came, in the morning, the shift supervisor and the overseer, to tell me that he was dead.” A muscle in her jaw twitched. “Shot.”Mrs. Parker took a deep breath. “It was a clean shot, at least. He didn’t suffer. Might not even know what had happened. A gang of men had broken in, looking for-” She shook her head. “Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter what they were looking for. Ben was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and he…”The peel, blood red and thin as a sheet of paper, slipped from her fingers, falling soundlessly into the bowl. “He never came home.”Steve realized he was turning an apple in his hands. He stilled his fingers with a force of will. “I’m sorry.”She smiled. “So am I.” She took a deep breath, and it hissed between her teeth. “I’ll be honest. I don’t remember all that much that happened afterwards. I was determined, I would not break down. Peter had had enough loss, enough grief, and if I was all that was left, then I would be the rock upon which he could anchor himself.“But I had no idea what would become of either of us. I had savings, more than most would’ve, and I’ve never shirked a day of work in my life. But I found myself, alone but for a small boy, at the grave of my husband, and-” She met Steve’s eyes squarely. “I had no concept of how I would survive, let alone how I would protect him.”Across the great hall, Peter was chasing DJ with a mop, his face flushed, his hair bouncing against his forehead with every lunging step. His laughter was bright and loud as he swiped at DJ’s feet with the threads of the mop. DJ scrambled ahead of him, hopping from foot to foot, making a cheerful moving target.Mrs. Parker dropped the apple into the bowl. “And that is where I met Mr. Stark. While standing by my husband’s grave.”Steve head snapped up, surprised, and she smiled at him. “Everyone had gone home. Even the priest. It was just Peter and I, standing there. With, perhaps, no where else to go. We had a flat still, of course, paid for through the end of the month, but I knew I couldn’t long afford that, not on my own. So in a way, we’d already lost it.“I wasn’t eager to go back there, to pack up what little we had, to put Peter’s books and clothes and toys in crates yet again. So we were standing there.” She paused. “He hadn’t come to the funeral, of course. No one expected him to. A few men from the factory conveyed their sympathies, and that was more than most got, when their husband or father died on the job.“So when he strode up to me in the churchyard, I wasn’t fully sure I hadn’t lost my mind.” She smiled. “Because he stalked up, his jaw set, Miss Potts just a step behind him, and said, ‘I need a housekeeper.’”Steve choked on a laugh, and clamped a hand over his mouth. “I’m sorry,” he managed, through his fingers. “I’m- I’m sorry.”“No, it’s quite funny.” She paused. “Now. Now, it’s quite funny. At the time, it was… Just confounding. And I would’ve said something unforgivable to him, except Miss Potts was there, just behind him, looking quite horrified by the whole situation. She was the one who managed to say the right things, she’s quite good at that.”“Yes,” Steve agreed. “Yes, she is.”“And she took Peter’s hand, and told him stories about his uncle, and lead him just a few steps away, probably so I could give Mr. Stark a piece of my mind without him hearing. But before I could get a word out, he plowed straight into his offer.“His housekeeper was retiring, he said. Mrs. Arbogast had been housekeeper here since he was a child, and she was done with the job. And he was offering it to me.” Mrs. Parker paused. “He was talking to me, but he was watching Peter, the whole time. I think-”She stopped. “In any case, he made the offer, turned on his heel and was gone. Miss Potts gave me a card, and said she’d call on me the following day, after I’d had time to think about it.” She shook her head. “What was there to think about? I had no desire to enter service, but I also had precious little choice.”Mrs. Parker finished peeling the apple in her hand and placed it in the bowl, then lifted the bowl of peelings out of her lap, shaking out her apron. “If it were just me, of course, I wouldn’t have even hesitated. But I’d been the child of servants, Officer Rogers. I had grown up, in and around a grand house back in England. It wasn’t the life I wanted for Peter.”She set the bowl of peelings aside. “Servants are always expected to be invisible. Their work must be efficient, quick, silent and, and most importantly, invisible. You must exist as a non-entity. You must be there when needed, and disappear when you are not. You are privy to everything that happens, and expected never to judge, never to speak, never to…” Her words trailed away. “In any case, I sat there, that night, looking at our savings, looking at what I could scrape together, if I sold everything we had. What did we need, to live? How much would I have to have, and how quickly could I get it?“After all, they were offering me a position that included room and board. I could save almost every cent they paid me. We were used to lean meals and cold rooms, and I couldn’t imagine what we’d have at Stark Manor would be any worse than what we’d manage on our own.” She nodded. “I calculated. How long we’d have to stay, before I thought we could survive on our own.“And in the morning, I sat Peter down, and I told him. This is what we’d be doing. And I was sorry. I would make it as short as I possibly could, I would get him out as quickly as I could. But for as long as we were there, where ever they put us, whatever they expected of us, he had one rule.”She looked at Steve. “He had to be quiet. No matter what. No matter how bored he was. No matter how frustrated, or angry. I would teach him. How to walk silently. How to sit perfectly still. How to not move, when there were people in the house, when they might hear him. How to be unseen, unheard, how to…”Her fingers tightened on her apron. “How to stop being a child. Stop being a person.”She looked across the main hall, to where the boys were sloshing water in all directions, laughing so loud that the sound echoed in the cavernous space. “He was a good boy, Officer Rogers. And he’d lost so much, in such a short amount of time. When Miss Potts came to talk to me, he didn’t make a sound. He didn’t move. He just sat there. Staring out the window.“Miss Potts brought me the details of what they were offering, and a card with Mrs. Arbogast’s address. She encouraged me to speak to her, before I took the job, but I didn’t see the point. After all.” She gave Steve a lopsided smile. “What choice did I have?”He nodded. “You did it.”“I did it,” she agreed. “Packed what I could, sold what I couldn’t, and showed up here, expecting-” She stopped. Steve waited. “A French Chef?” he asked at last, and she laughed.“No. No, Clint was… A surprise,” she admitted. “But really, it was all a surprise.” She tapped a finger against her cheek. “If someone had explained this place to you, before you came here, would you have believed them?”Steve looked down at the apple in his hands. “No.” He rolled it over between his fingers. “I’m here, and I’m still not sure I believe it.” He held the apple out to her. “You stayed.”“We stayed,” she agreed. “Because one morning, after we’d been here for about, maybe a month? I went down in the kitchen, in the early hours, to start the bread rising. It was maybe-” She shook her head. “Maybe four am. I wasn’t expecting company. But Mr. Stark was there, with a cup of coffee and a stack of papers.” Slowly, carefully, she began to remove the skin from the apple in her hands, the peel sliding between his fingertips.“I expected him to leave. Or ask me to leave. Instead, he just sat there, watching me mix bread dough. And when I was done, when I was about to leave, he suddenly said, and I remember this, even now, I remember…” Her knife went still. “‘Is he all right?’”She smiled. “It took me a moment to realize that he meant Peter. I didn’t even have a chance to reply. He looked up at me, and said, ‘It’s not natural for a kid to be that quiet.’”She held up the long, uninterrupted piece of peel, and deposited it into the bowl with the others. “I don’t think he knew how to ask, how to say what he wanted to say.” She sliced a chunk of apple free from the core and held it out to Steve, speared on the tip of her knife. “But he tried.”Steve took it, slipping it into his mouth. It was sweet and cool, the flesh crisp against his tongue. “He does that a lot, doesn’t he?” he asked, his voice quiet.She nodded. “There are secrets here,” she said. “Some of which I still may not be aware of. Perhaps that should bother me.”“But it doesn’t.” Steve took another bite of the apple slice.“It doesn’t,” she agreed. “Because he taught my nephew how to slide down the stairs on an antique tray, and make as much noise as possible the entire way.” She straightened up. “Boys!” she called, cutting the apple apart. “The floor will wait. Come have a snack.”DJ came tearing across the great hall, water shedding from his pants with every step. Laughing, Steve held out his hands, grabbing him before he could crash into Mrs. Parker. “Did you go into the bucket?” he asked, standing up and taking DJ with him.“We might’ve spilled a little,” Peter admitted. He was almost as wet as DJ, dragging the mop behind him. “Sorry, Aunt May.”“You’ll clean it up,” she said. She offered him a chunk of apple. “Won’t you?”He took it. “Yes, ma’am.”“Then there’s nothing to be sorry about..” She sliced another piece of apple free from the core. “DJ, would you like some apple?”DJ nodded. “Yes,” he said, his head falling onto Steve’s shoulder. Steve hugged him close. “Yes?” he prompted.“Please,” DJ added.“Thank you, I know it’s hard for you. I appreciate that you try,” Mrs. Parker said, holding out a slice of apple to him. She gave another slice to Steve. “I bet if you ask very nicely, Officer Rogers’ll help you clean this up.”DJ looked at Steve. “No,” Steve told him, trying to hide his smile.“Please?” DJ repeated.Steve set him down. “Well, since you asked so nicely. I’ll see what I can do.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
His wrench was gone.Tony paused, frowning down at the empty spot on the workbench. He pushed his stool back, one foot braced against the edge of the bench, to check the floor. Nothing. He lifted up the edge of the plans, the paper fluttering back to the bench as he released them, and shifted the plates of metal he’d been working on out of the way. Nothing.A small giggle brought his head up.Tony bit back a smile as he braced his hands on the edge of his workbench. “Ah. Security is getting lax. I have a tool thief to contend with.” He pulled his pencil out from behind his ear and dropped it onto the workbench, temptingly close to the edge, then took a deliberate step away. “Now, where could he be hiding all my tools? In the tool box, where they belong? No, too obvious.”He moved away from the workbench, talking the entire time. “On the shelves? Perhaps, there’s a lot of space behind the books. But maybe under the chairs, or-”A little hand crept out from under the workbench, fingers tugging on the paper, dragging in the pencil towards the edge. Struggling not to laugh, Tony ducked down. “Got you,” he said, meeting DJ’s eyes from the other side of the workbench. “Where are my tools, you little urchin?”There was a split second of stillness, and then DJ was off and running, a peel of laughter trailing after him like a cloud of dust. Giving in to his own laughter, Tony took off after him, rounding the edge of the workbench and skidding across the floor. He had longer legs, but DJ was quicker around the corners and used to dodging adults. Laughing, he lead Tony on a merry chase around the workshop, and by the time Tony caught him, he was out of breath and laughing, too.He grabbed the back of DJ’s shirt, dragging him to a stop. “Caught you,” he managed, pressing a hand to his aching ribs. A twinge of pain shot through his side, and he ignored it. “What is this? Are you here to steal all of my secrets?”DJ blinked at him, his face considering. “Yes,” he said at last, and Tony choked on a laugh.“Your future in corporate espionage is likely to be short if you decide to be honest about it,” he pointed out as DJ scrambled up onto a stool. Tony reached out with an easy hand to steady him, not that DJ appeared to need it. But the instinct was too strong to ignore. “But you’re cute. You might be able to get away with it.”He picked up a nut and rolled it across the workbench towards DJ. It bounced its way across the metal surface and DJ leaned over, waiting until it slowed almost to a stop before he picked it up. Tony folded his arms on the top of the bench, content to watch DJ turn the small bit of metal over and over between his fingers. “It’s nice to have someone around who appreciates the little things in life,” he said, and DJ nodded, his attention still focused on the nut.Tony checked his watch. Late. Later than it should’ve been. With a sigh, he stacked up his paperwork. DJ dropped the nut, letting it bounce across the bench before picking it up again. Tony smiled, warmth flooding over him. “You like that?” DJ nodded again, slow and careful. “Yes,” he said, rolling it back and forth on his palm. His eyes flicked up. “Keep it?” Tony nodded “If you want.” He scooped his paperwork back into a folder, and started in on the rest of the mess. He held out a wrench to DJ. “Will you put this away for m?”DJ took it from him with a grin, the nut disappearing into his pocket. “Rack?”“Rack,” Tony agreed, putting drill bits away into their case. “A place for everything, and everything in its place, as my father used to say.” DJ popped up next to him, and Tony handed him an oil can. “Is Mrs. Parker going to find that nut still in your pocket when she takes your pants to wash them?”DJ’s nose wrinkled as he thought about that. “No?” he tried.“Right,” Tony said, shutting a drawer and dusting his hands on his thighs. “I somehow am not convinced by that.” He caught DJ’s hand and steadied him as DJ scrambled up the rungs of a stool, dropping down onto the seat with a pleased smile. Tony grinned at him. “Tell you what. Let’s go up to the kitchen, and see if Clint has a jar you can have to keep all your treasures in, all right?”“Big jar?” DJ asked, as Tony took both his hands and lifted him up and off the stool. For a second, DJ’s legs kicked in midair and then he was back on the ground.“Really big jar,” Tony agreed, ruffling his hair. “Big enough to hold all sorts of things.” He picked up his jacket, shrugging it into place. “I’d bet that if you asked nicely, Steve would paint your name on it.” He paused, looking at the tool rack. “And really, I should get you your own-”He stopped, drawing himself up short. “Jar.” He looked at DJ, who nodded. Tony held out a hand to him. “Let’s start with a jar.”*“How are you so bad at this?”Steve took a moment cast a beseeching look upwards. “I’m sure I don’t know,” he said, even as Pepper took his arm and tried to coax him into a spin. “Can we just agree that I won’t get it? And give up?” She gave him a look, her face flushed, her loose copper curls bouncing around her shoulders with every step. “I’ve never given up on a lost cause before, officer, I’m not about to start now.”Laughing, Steve let her push him along, doing his best not to trip over his own feet. “Help,” he said to Clint as they passed.“I was a lost cause years before you, pal,” Clint said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Hogan. Hogan, really?”“I’m TRYING,” Happy said, his voice indignant. He took an awkward sidestep and Clint had to scramble to keep his feet intact. Clint gave him a look. “Try harder,” he said, ignoring the way that Rhodey was laughing at both of them, his arms crossed over his chest. Even though he wasn’t moving, he was swaying in place, seeming more in tune with the music than either of them. “I’d take over,” Pepper said, coaxing Steve out of their way, her hands clasped in his, “but I have my own problems.”“I’m a problem,” Steve said to Clint, who shrugged.“Welcome to the club,” he said. “Hogan! Watch the elbows, you damn-” He ducked around Happy. “Not everything is a boxing match.”“It is if you do it right,” Happy told him with a broad smile.“This is why you can’t get a girl to step out with you a second time, you know that, right?”Trying not to laugh, Steve looked back at Pepper. “All that, and I’m the problem?”“Well, let’s just say you’re a new problem, but an amusing one,” Pepper said. She gave Rhodey a wide eyed, hopeful look. “James, darling? Can you-”Rhodey held up a hand. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “Absolutely not. I’m not getting involved in your latest act of madness, this is-” He ducked as Happy went by, arms flailing through the air. Rhodey watched him go, his face bemused, before looking back at Pepper. “No.”“I can’t do this,” Steve said to Pepper. “I think we can agree that I can’t do this and move on with our lives?” He glanced at the record player, set up just by the doors. “I only agreed to come out here because I thought you needed help setting up the winter shutters.”“And we did,” Clint said. He caught Happy’s hand and spun him in a circle, the muscles of his shoulders tensing as he manipulated Happy’s greater bulk with quick, efficient movements. “And we do.”“We got half of them in place,” Rhodey said, rapping his knuckles against one of the massive wooden panels. “It’s more than I expected, to be honest.” The large solarium, just off the main hall on the first floor, was designed with huge glass panels that could be closed against the weather, or thrown open to catch the cool breezes of summer. The marble floor gleamed beneath the electric lights, but the rising moon cast cool shadows across the rolling lawn just beyond the glass doors. It wasn’t hard for Steve to imagine the summer parties that had happened here, the guests spilling from the grand hall and out onto the lawn.But the frost was fast approaching, and with it, the winter winds and storms, and the solarium needed to be shuttered until spring. Steve had been drafted to help Rhodey, Clint and Happy manipulate the massive, heavy doors into place. He didn’t mind; at this point, physical labor was a welcome distraction.“Shouldn’t have put on the music,” Pepper said, her voice breezy. “It reminded me I needed a break.”“I refuse to work in silence if I can avoid it,” Rhodey said, grabbing Happy’s shoulder as he tripped over Clint’s feet, knocking him into the wall. Laughing, Rhodey braced Happy until he found his balance again. “And you showing up is a bonus.”“Flatterer.” Dancing past him, Pepper ran her fingers along the line of his jaw, going on tiptoe to brush a kiss against his lips. “Seriously. I should be finishing the invoicing, so if you could just do me one tiny favor...”“Absolutely not,” Rhodey said. “Because the favor’s going to be figure out which of Rogers’ feet should be the right one.”“Right as in direction or right as in correct?” she asked, as Rhodey wrapped an arm around her waist and swung her around. Laughing, she braced her hands on his shoulders, her skirts fluttering in the air as her feet left the ground. “Does it matter?” Rhodey asked, setting her delicately back on the ground.“It does, and you’re clearly the one to demonstrate it.” Pepper pointed at Steve. “Now do him.”Steve looked at Rhodey. Rhodey looked at Steve. “No,” they said in unison, and Pepper burst out laughing.“You’re both insufferably cruel,” she said, tossing her hair over her shoulder with a flick of her hand. “Come on then, Steve, I’ll make a dancer of you yet.”“I really don’t think you will,” Steve said, even as she took his hands, dragging him forward. He gave Rhodey a helpless look, and Rhodey shrugged.“She’s a force of nature, buddy. You’ve got a better chance of stopping the tides than changing her mind, once it’s made up.” Rhodey gave Clint and Happy a serious side-eye. “She hasn’t given up on Hogan yet, and she really should.”“I’m getting this!” Happy said, and even Steve could see that he absolutely wasn’t. Clint, for his part, had a certain lithe grace, an ease of movement that helped cover up his total lack of skill or training. Steve had no idea what he was doing, but he made it look good.Steve grinned as Clint did something approaching a soft shoe with one foot and a hop with the other. Whatever it was. He made it look good.“Ah, I see the work is progressing as expected.”Steve looked up in time to see Mrs. Parker come through the open door from the house, the tray in her hands filled with steaming coffee cups and a basket of golden-brown pastries. She smiled. “Since you’re already taking a break, might as well have a cup of coffee.”“Mrs. Parker!” Pepper darted around Rhodey. “Thank heavens. I need you.”May set the tray of coffee cups on the side table, steadying it with a careful hand. “Oh, do you know?” she asked, smiling at Pepper.“Take this,” Pepper said, putting both of her hands on Steve’s back and pushing him in May’s direction. “I’ve bigger problems to deal with.”May’s head tipped back as she stared up at Steve. She nodded. “There are bigger problems than this?” she asked Pepper.“Physically, no.” Pepper leaned around Steve, one hand resting on his arm, a puckish smile on her face. “But if you’d prefer to help Happy with his steps?” Her voice ticked up at the end, a half question.May didn’t even look in that direction. “No,” she said, with such firm certainty that Steve choked on a laugh. May smiled at him. “In this case, the devil I don’t know is better than the devil I do.”“I feel like my talents are unappreciated here,” Happy said, his hands on his hips. “I got talents, you all gotta know that.”“And none of them involve this kind of fancy footwork,” Clint said, giving him a firm shove between his shoulder blades. “Try it again.”“Now, boys, behave, or there’ll be no dessert for any of you.” May reached back, untying her apron. “Mr. Rhodes, do we have something with a strong, steady beat?”Rhodey picked up a few of the records from the rack next to the table. “They’re Tony’s, so I think it’s safe to say we have nothing but.”“I’m an old woman, so perhaps something a bit on the slower side?” May folded her apron and set it on the back of a chair. She dusted her hands together, firm and “Officer?”“You don’t have to,” Steve said. He glanced down at himself. He’d shed his jacket hours ago, and his shirt was looking a bit worse for the wear, his sleeves rolled up above the elbows. “Sorry. I’m not really dressed for this.”Laughing, May took his hand. “That’s all right,” she said with a puckish smile. “Trust me. You wear it quite well.” The music swelled, a bright swirl of brass and strings, and May gave a firm nod. “Relax, and follow my lead.”Laughing, Steve took a few stumbling, awkward steps, doing his best to match her movements. “I’m pretty sure that’s my line, ma’am.”“And which of us is the dancer?” She squeezed his hand, her grip strong and comforting. “Steady, steady there, you’re trying too hard.”“My ma would’ve told you that’s my personal motto,” Steve said.“Steve Rogers: He tries too hard?” May asked.“It sounds much better in Latin,” Steve said, making her laugh. But she tugged him into the steps, firm and gentle by turns. “Okay, is this-” He moved with her, one smooth step, and she gave him a pleased smile.“Good!” She squeezed his hand. “Now, turn.”“Bad idea,” he managed, but she knew better than he did, that was obvious, and he managed not to trip over his own feet or kick her in the shins. “Right, that worked better than expected, let’s not risk trying it a second-”“Too late, turn!” she said, the order firm, and he turned, somehow matching the fluidity of her movements. “Good. And again.”Chuckling under his breath, Steve stumbled along with her, enjoying the rise and fall of the music, even if he was never going to enjoy the dancing. “You’re good at this.”“No offense intended, Officer Rogers, but you’re not,” May said, making him laugh. She squeezed his hand. “Head up, please, your feet are right where you left them.”“They might not be,” Steve pointed out. “They seem to have a mind of their own.”May raised a foot, tapping it lightly on the side of his ankle. “Trust me. When you find a partner you want to dance with, the view’s much better at eye level.”Steve glanced up to find her smiling at him, her dark eyes crinkled at the corners. “There we go,” she said, leaning in, as if she was imparting a secret. “And just like that, this dance just became a lot easier.”Steve grinned at her. “Maybe for you.”“Well, that’s all that matters, really,” she said, and Steve choked on a laugh. “I take it dinner will be late tonight.”Steve looked up in time to see Tony come through the door from the house, DJ’s hand slipping away from his as they entered the solarium. DJ darted over to Pepper, who crouched down to catch his hands in hers and spin him in a circle. Tony wandered in behind DJ, a slight smile on his face. He was stripped down to his shirt and vest, his hair rumpled, and a streak of grease just above his jaw on one cheek. “Watch it, Romeo,” he called. “She’s taken.”“She’s just trying to make me jealous,” Rhodey said, holding out a hand. Tony took it, stepping neatly into the dance step without a second thought. They moved together with an easy, assured sort of grace that spoke to hours of practice. “It’s not going to work, but I appreciate the effort.”Steve looked back at his feet, not sure a conversation about jealousy was one he wanted to be part of, not when Tony was dancing with someone else. Someone much, much better at it then Steve was.“You’ll be pleased to know that the chicken and a lovely medley of root vegetables are roasting away in the oven,” May said. “Angel food cake, vanilla ice cream and fresh blackberry sauce for dessert.”“Acceptable.” Tony scooped up a cup as he passed the table, never missing a step as he sipped the coffee. “Chef, DJ requires a jar to hold the things he’s been stealing from me.”“Oui?” Clint paused, looked down at DJ, who fished a small brass nut from his pocket, holding it up with a broad smile. Clint nodded. “Oui.”“Perhaps one of the large ones, with the flip top lid?” May suggested. The song trilled to an end, and she stepped back, her face flushed. “I think there’s one that’s just right in the back of the pantry, up on the shelf, if you-” Waving her off, Clint headed for the door. “Thank you!” May called after him. She smiled down at DJ, reaching for her apron again. “I’m betting he’ll find you the perfect jar.”“Thank,” DJ said, then, “Thank you.”“Excellent manners, you may have two jars.” Tony reached for another cup of coffee, and she slapped at his hand. He gave her a hurt look. “It’s going to get cold!”“You’re not going to sleep,” May told him, her voice stern. Tony paused, his first cup halfway to his mouth. “I… Never sleep,” he said.“And that’s likely because of this,” May said, slipping the cup from his fingers. He made a pained noise and a futile grab for it, but she was already putting it back on the tray. “You may have a cup with your cake. If you finish your dinner.” She gestured at DJ, who was now studying the door panels, his fingers tracing along the carvings. “You have a child to set an example for now.”“I feel like this is a lie,” Tony said to Pepper. “I feel like, I’m going to get to the cake, and then I’ll be told that it’s too late for coffee, and that I may have some with my breakfast. And when I get to breakfast, I’ll be told that it’s not healthy to drink coffee so early.”“She really was the best hire you’ve ever made,” Pepper told him. Rhodey cleared his throat, and she looked at him. “I love you, but you were letting him eat three day old toast that he found in a desk drawer.”“It was one time,” Tony said, giving the ceiling a beseeching look. “It was… It was one time.”“No one believes that, Tone,” Rhodey said. He hooked a thumb in Steve’s direction. “Maybe Rogers does, he’s still new.”Tony looked at him, and Steve shook his head. “No. I don’t believe it either.”“Why do I care about the opinions of anyone in this room?” Tony asked. “You’re all wrong, and I think that’s what matters. DJ? Do you believe in me?”DJ was hopping in circles around them, his feet bouncing from square to square on the marble floor. “No.”“Horrible child,” Tony told him with a smile. He crossed the room, squinting up at one of the door panels. He reached up, his fingers poking at the hinges. “I do not know what I’ve done to deserve such disdain.”“In his defense, he would’ve eaten the toast, too,” Steve said, making a half-hearted grab for DJ as he passed. DJ ducked under his hands, giggling as he went. He continued across the room, his feet following a set of rules only he could understand. Tony held out a hand, without even looking down, and DJ caught it, using it to swing himself around Tony’s legs. He peered past the panels, out into the yard. “Hey. Stay inside,” Steve called, but it was too late. Before he could say another word, DJ had wiggled through the narrow gap and disappeared out into the night.Steve’s pulse spiked. “Dammit, Deej, get back in here.”Tony waved him off. “It’s fine, I’ll get him,” he said, an amused smile on his face. “Don’t-” He barely got the word out before Tony was through the door and out of site. Biting back a curse, Steve set off after him, his feet eating up the distance. Steve ducked around the panel, stepping out into the crisp night air. “Tony!”His hand went towards his back before he could stop it, the movement still as natural as breathing. But there was nothing there, his fingers closing on empty air. Tony was just ahead of him, moving down the wide marble stairs of the porch towards the lawn. “Tony!”Tony glanced back at him, the light catching on the plane of his cheek, on the angle of his jaw. “It’s fine,” he said, and he was still moving, moving away, and Steve’s anxiety spiked.He broke into a run, legs chewing up the distance, taking the stairs two and three at a time. In a matter of seconds, he was reaching out, catching Tony’s arm, and even that felt like an eternity. “You shouldn’t be out here.”Tony paused, his head tipping to the side. “It’s fine,” he repeated, and there was a faint note to the words, like he was humoring Steve, that should’ve been infuriating. “Get back inside,” Steve said. “It’s too dark, we don’t know-”Gently, every so gently, Tony pulled his arm free of Steve’s grip, and it took everything Steve had not to grab him again. “I am not about to become a prisoner in my own home, not even for you,” Tony said. His lips twitched up, in a mockery of a smile. “You’re not suited to be a jailer, Steve.”Steve spared a quick look over at DJ, who had plopped down on the lawn, his head tipped back to stare up at the stars. Safe. He was safe. Steve looked back at Tony. “Will you come back up the stairs with me?” he asked, choosing the words carefully. “We can keep an eye on him from the porch.”Tony’s mouth opened. Closed. He stepped back, into the shelter provided by the side of the curving stairs. There, in the shadows, he was almost invisible, two sides blocked entirely and only one good angle for an attacker to manipulate. He spread his hands. “Better?”Steve looked back over his shoulder, his eyes scanning over the lawn, looking for movement, for anything that was out of place. But everything was still, the grounds silent. He took a deep breath. “Deej? Don’t go any further, and you can stay out here for a bit, all right?”DJ looked back at them with a smile. “Yes,” he called back.“Good boy,” Steve said, just before a hand caught his arm. He let Tony tug him into the alcove, the shadows closing around them in an instant. Steve gave him a look. “You, meanwhile…”Tony laughed, his fingers slid under Steve’s suspenders, tugging him forward. “Relax, officer. I’ve got you.”Steve struggled against a smile. “Oh, do you?”Tony’s hands slid down the length of the straps, his knuckles ghosting against Steve’s stomach. Even through the fabric of his shirt, the contact made Steve’s stomach muscles tighten. He sucked in a breath, and Tony’s eyes flicked up, catching his even as his hands slipped back up to his chest, using his grip on Steve’s suspenders to tug him forward. “Yes.” His head tipped up, the word whispered against Steve’s lips. “I’ve got you. No escape, I’m afraid.”Steve smiled into the kiss, leaning his chest into Tony’s hands. “They do come off, you know”Tony laughed, the sound muffled against Steve’s skin. When he pulled back, his eyes were dancing. “It all comes off, darling, that’s rather the point.” One of his hands slipped free of Steve’s suspenders, falling to catch the waistband of his pants. “I can demonstrate, if you’d like?”Steve caught his wrist. “Not in the middle of the damn lawn,” he said, as much for himself as for Tony, because Tony had a way of making him forget things. Like where they were. Or who he was. Or what he was supposed to be doing. “This is as far from the ‘middle of the damn lawn’ as we can get and still be outside the house,” Tony pointed out. His hand twisted around, catching Steve’s and bringing it up. He brushed his lips against Steve’s knuckles, against the back of his hand, against the inside of his wrist, his breath ghosting over the skin there. “No one can see us. You made sure of that.” His eyes tipped up, dark and dangerous in the pale light of the moon. “All sorts of things I could do to you, without anyone being the wiser.”Heat washed over him, fast and sharp, and Steve caught Tony’s chin in the cradle of one palm, pulling him up for a kiss. Laughing, Tony met him halfway, that dangerous, wicked mouth of his drawing Steve in and dragging him down. “Maybe later,” he whispered against Steve’s lips, and Steve kissed him again, because if he kept talking, Steve was going to lose his mind.Something moved, just behind him, the scrape of something against the stone, and Steve moved before he’d even fully registered what he was doing. In an instant, he’d spun to face the threat, angling his body in front of Tony’s, pushing him back against the side of the staircase with one arm. Tony, caught off guard, stumbled backwards, and Steve was in front of him, free arm up and ready to strike.Furbro hopped off of the banister of the staircase, padding forward to rub his cheek against Steve’s leg. Steve stared down at him, adrenaline still surging through his veins, his pulse pounding in his ears. “Jesus wept,” he managed, sucking in a breath. “You dumb cat, you’re gonna give me a heart attack.”Furbro gave him a disinterested look and wandered past, his tail swishing through the air.“I need you to stop doing this.”Steve turned back to Tony. “Doing what?”Tony reached up, gently pushing Steve’s arm down. “Did you think that I wouldn’t notice that no matter what bed we end up in, or where I was when I fell asleep, when I wake up, you’re always on the side of the bed between me and the door.” His jaw went tight. “The last thing I need is a human shield, Steve.”He took a step to the side, trying to move around Steve, and Steve moved with him, one hand coming up to rest gently on the center of Tony’s chest. Tony looked up at him, his face unreadable, and Steve smiled at him. “What, I can’t have a favorite side of the bed?” he asked, because everything else would be a lie, or far too obviously the truth.Tony’s face relaxed. “Tell me the truth, Rogers,” he said, his hand coming up to cover Steve’s. “Have you ever had a bed large enough to make a ‘favorite side’ necessary?”Steve pretended to consider that. “Well, generally, ‘the side that isn’t against the wall’ is always going to be my favorite,” he admitted, and Tony ducked his head. Steve smiled at him. “I know you’re laughing.”Tony looked up, his eyes dancing. “Changing the subject?” he asked.Steve smoothed Tony’s hair away from his face. “As quickly as possible,” he admitted.Tony’s eyes fluttered shut, just for an instant, turning his face into Steve’s palm. He pressed a kiss there, making Steve’s fingers twitch. “Well, it’s difficult to blame you.” His eyes opened, meeting Steve’s. “You were going to keep him, weren’t you?”Steve froze, his stomach icing over in an instant. Tony smiled. “That was the plan. That’s why you told Pepper about him. Because you were going to keep him, when I sent him back.”Steve’s hand fell away from Tony as he took a step back, as if the physical distance could end the conversation. “No orphanage in the city’d let a single cop adopt a kid,” he said, his voice tight.Tony’s eyebrows arched. “I didn’t say you were going to adopt him. I said, you were going to keep him.” His head went down as he straightened his vest. “Weren’t you.”Steve’s head jerked around, but DJ was still lying on the lawn, one hand held up above him, his fingers flexing as he considered the night sky. Reassured, Steve looked back at Tony. “No.”Tony just looked at him, his eyes narrowed. “See, if I give you any time to plan, you’re a very good liar, Officer. If you have time to strategize, you’re absolutely impenetrable.” His lips twitched. “But if I can manage to catch you off guard, you are…” Tony shook his head. “Let’s just say, you can’t bluff your way out of a wet paper bag.”Stung, Steve took another step back. “I don’t know what you’re-”“I’m not sending him back,” Tony said, cutting him off, and Steve went still. Tony took a step forward, his head tipping up. “I’m not sending him back to-” His mouth worked for a second. “I’m not sending him back, Steve.”Steve took a deep breath. “You’re sure.” His voice seemed to come from a long way off. Tony nodded, and Steve looked away. “Why are you telling me?”“Because I’m more than willing to fight Hammer, and the city, and the state, if it comes down to it,” Tony said. “I don’t… I don’t know if I’m willing to fight you.”Steve looked back at him, and Tony smiled. “You were going to keep him.”Steve exhaled, and it ached, along every inch of his body. “He runs away. A lot,” he said. He turned around, looking back at DJ. “That’s how I met him, the first time. He’d smuggled his way out of the building in a bin of dirty linens.” Steve smiled. “I nearly had a heart attack when he overturned the whole thing and came rolling out.”He crossed his arms over his chest. “He knows about fifty ways out of Hammer’s place, and he doesn’t repeat them often. He just…” His throat worked as he tried to swallow. “Anyway. Yes. Figured when you were done with your press releases, and he went back, well, no one would blame him for running away again.“And this time, I figured I’d be ready.” He met Tony’s eyes, his chin up. “Staying in New York would’ve been too risky. But I have some savings. Enough to get us started somewhere else.”Tony nodded. “Where?”“Boston, maybe. Or out west.” Steve’s shoulders felt tight, and he shifted his weight, trying to relax. “Once we were somewhere new, it’d be easy enough to convince people that he was my half-brother. You tell people your parents are dead, and most of them don’t ask more questions.” The wind kicked up, rattling the leaves in the trees, and tugging at Steve’s clothes. “And chances are, no one would’ve missed either of us.”Tony shivered, his hair falling over his forehead, and Steve stepped in front of him, blocking the wind. “You can still do that,” he said. “I can help. Pepper’s…” He paused, and smiled. “Pepper knows her way around a bureaucracy, let’s put it that way. We might be able to make it legal.”Steve couldn’t think about it. Wouldn’t allow himself to even listen. “You love him.” He was sure of that, somehow, and it was easier to say than anything else that was racing through his head.“So do you,” Tony said. ‘And I don’t… I don’t think I can fight you on this.”He couldn’t do this. Steve took a step back, and then another, putting more distance between them. Tony’s hand came up, reaching for him, an aborted, ineffectual gesture. An instant later, his fingers curled into his palm, and his arm fell back to his side. Steve turned around, walking away.He didn’t go far. Just to the bottom of the stairs. DJ hadn’t moved; he was still lying on the grass, staring silently up at the sky. Behind Steve, the lights of the house spilled out over the staircase, and he could still hear the faint sound of the music. Steve sank down onto the stairs, caught between the calm of the rolling lawn and the chaotic, welcoming embrace of the house.He didn’t know how long he’d been sitting there, staring into space, before Tony sank down next to him. “Steve-”Steve took a deep breath. “Swear to me,” he said, and it came out wrong, it came out like a plea instead of an order. He swallowed hard, and tried again. “Swear you’ll take care of him. Swear you’ll do your best by him, and if you can’t, you’ll find someone who can.”He looked at Tony. “Swear to me. On something that matters.”Tony studied him, his face unreadable. “Would you believe me?” he asked. “If I swore that to you, would you actually believe me, Steve?”“Yes.” The word was soft. Helpless.Furbro appeared around the edge of the stairs, his tail swishing as he considered them. Tony held out a hand, and the cat wandered over, rubbing delicately against his fingers. “This wasn’t what I planned,” he said, his scratching Furbro under the chin. “None of this was what I planned, Steve.”Somehow, Steve managed to smile. “Well, that makes two of us.”Tony smiled back. “I swear,” he said, his voice soft. He moved his arm, and Furbro hopped into his lap, flopping down on his knees. Tony barely seemed to notice. “No matter what. I’ll take care of him.”Steve nodded. “You aren’t what I expected,” he said.Tony nodded. “I probably am,” he said. He looked across the lawn, his hand still stroking along the length of Furbro’s back. “Will you be at dinner?”Steve looked up at the sky. “Yes.” It tasted like a lie on his tongue, and it must’ve sounded like one, too, because Tony just nodded, a muscle in his jaw twitching.“You’re not what I was expecting, either,” he said. “Swear to me. That whatever you’re doing, when you jump my fence and disappear, that you’re not risking your life for me.”Steve smiled at him. “I’m not risking my life,” he said, and Tony caught the front of his shirt, tugging him in. The kiss was gentle and soft and like nothing Steve had ever expected to have. When Tony finally pulled away, he was breathing hard. Steve stole another kiss from him, his breath whispering over Tony’s lips. “Stay here. Where you’re safe.”Tony pulled back. “Do as I say, not as I do?” he asked, with a wry twist to the words. “A bit hypocritical, don’t you think?”His skin was warm under Steve’s fingertips, so soft and so familiar, and it hurt to touch him sometimes. “I’m not going to apologize for that. Not if it keeps you safe. Not if it keeps all of you safe.”“You seem to think you have to do this alone.” Tony pushed himself to his feet, displacing the cat, and paused, putting his clothes to order with a few quick, efficient flicks of his hands. Furbro paced around his feet, still purring. “I assure you. You don’t.”Steve just stared across the lawn, his eyes trying to focus on the walls, all the way at the far edges of the property. Whatever he wanted to say stuck in his throat, a hard, sharp pressure that he couldn’t quite swallow, and couldn’t quite verbalize.Without looking back, Tony turned towards the stairs, one foot braced on the bottom step. “Come on, Deej,” he said, holding out a hand. “It’s dinner time.”DJ scrambled to his feet, heading back towards them at a run. There were blades of grass clinging to his clothes and in his hair, and he’d lost his shoes somehow, but Tony didn’t seem to notice, or care. He just caught DJ’s hand in his as he went sprinting past, slowing him down to a jog. “Hungry?”DJ looked up with a grin. “Yes.” He looked at Steve, still seated on the bottom of the stairs. “Dinner?”Steve managed a smile for him. “Dinner,” he agreed. “Go on with Tony. I’ll see you tonight.”DJ’s smile died, and he looked up at Tony, the back at Steve. “Now?”“Good try, but no. Not now.” Steve stood, and he ached, he ached down to his very bones. “I’m going to go do a quick patrol around the walls.” He reached out, brushing grass clippings away from DJ’s hair. “I’m just going to make sure you’re safe. Then I’ll be right back.”DJ nodded. “Be safe.”Steve nodded. “I’m not going far.” He looked up, meeting Tony’s eyes. “And I’ll be right back.”Tony looked away. “I’d let you go hungry,” he said. “But Mrs. Parker’s kinder than I am.” He smiled down at DJ. “You, meanwhile, need to eat. Up we go.”DJ gave Steve one last glance, even as they were walking up the stairs, and Steve smiled up at him.“I promise. I’ll be right back,” he said. And he waited until both of them disappeared back through the door, safe inside the house, before he turned on his heel, heading for the walls.He’d have to be quick.*“Sir?”Tony looked up from his paperwork. “What can I do for you, Jarvis?” He handed a contract to Pepper. “How many more of these do we have?”“Three to be signed today, four more that need Mr. Stane to look them over before we can move forward,” she said, taking it from him. She flicked through the pages, her eyes narrowed behind the lenses of her glasses. “You missed an initial.”“Probably more than one,” Tony agreed, taking it back from her. He scribbled on the line she indicated, then looked up at Jarvis. “Jay?”“So sorry to interrupt, sir,” Jarvis said. “But if you’re done?”“Pep, are we done?” Tony asked, his signature forming by rote beneath the sweep of his pen. “Please tell me we’re done.”“We’re done enough,” she said with an easy smile. “I’ll put the files together for your meeting. I don’t need you here for that, and in fact, it’ll be easier if you’re not.”“Tell me the truth, Miss Potts,” Tony said, returning his pen to its stand. “How much of your job is honestly easier if I’m not there while you’re trying to do it?”“You are quite distracting,” Pepper admitted. She looked over at Jarvis, even as she swept the last of the papers off of Tony’s desk. “I’m done with him, Mr. Jarvis, you may take him away now.”Jarvis smiled. “Thank you, Miss Potts.” To Tony, he added, “Sir, if you might come with me, please?”“What can I do for you, Jay?” Tony asked, pushing his chair away from his desk. He spared a glance for his suit jacket, but bypassed it without a twinge of guilt.Jarvis stepped out of the door, waiting until Tony exited the library before he responded. “We had a bit of an incident in the kitchen,” he said, his voice pitched low. He headed for the staircase, and Tony fell into step with him. “DJ was assisting Mrs. Parker in shelling the last of the peas from the greenhouse, and chef started to grind a batch of coffee beans.”Tony blinked. “The coffee grinder?”“I don’t believe either of them considered that he hadn’t seen it in use previously,” Jarvis said. “After all, he has been assisting you and Mr. Rhodes with far more complex pieces of machinery, and watched Mr. Hogan work on the autos in the garage. But something about the sound appears to have disagreed with him, and he…” Jarvis frowned. “Reacted badly.”“How badly?” Tony asked, and Jarvis’ mouth went tight. Tony’s heart sank. “Did he break anything?”“A tea cup and two of the mixing bowls, though I believe one can be salvaged,” Jarvis said.Tony pressed a hand to his face. “Jay, I do not give a damn about the china. Did he break any bones?”“Oh. No, sir,” Jarvis said, shaking his head. “The table got jostled, but he did not injure himself unduly.”Tony didn’t realize he’d stopped walking until Jarvis pulled away from him. Jarvis, noticing as well, pulled up short, turning to look back at him. “Sir?”“What does that mean?” It came out too hard, too sharp, and Tony pulled himself back with a force of will. “What do you mean, not unduly?”Jarvis’ face relaxed. “It means, sir, that DJ is a very active child,” he said, and Tony told himself that he absolutely could not see a faint glint of humor in Jarvis’ eyes. “Just as you were. We should expect a certain number of bruised arms, skinned knees, and sprained joints.” One eyebrow arched. “I kept quite a record of your own scrapes and bruises, for fear that someday, I should be accused of not taking proper care of you.”Tony struggled against a smile. “How many baby teeth did I knock out, well ahead of schedule?”Jarvis’ eyes shut, a faint shudder rolling over him. “We do not discuss such things, sir, not since your adult teeth came in so fine and straight despite it.” He took a deep breath. “He has not hurt himself unduly. He will likely have quite a bruise on his arm tomorrow, but Mrs. Parker is quite adept at kissing such things better.”He turned and headed up the hallway, and Tony fell into step behind him. “She calmed him down and reassured him, then brought him to his room to rest. He is likely exhausted.”“Lord knows I am, after a meltdown,” Tony said. “But you want me to talk to him?”Jarvis was silent for a long moment. “When one is a guest in a household, and one behaves badly, it is not out of the question to think that one might be frightened as to how this might change one’s position.”Tony considered that. “He’s afraid he’s in trouble.”“You would’ve been, sir,” Jarvis pointed out. “Mostly because I was always in trouble,” Tony said. “No matter what I did, my father found a way to disapprove of it.”“He had very exacting standards,” Jarvis said.“Diplomatic.” Tony nodded. “Thanks, Jay. I’ll talk to him.” He turned towards the staircase, heading downstairs.Behind him, Jarvis paused, his hand on the banister. “Sir, Mrs. Parker put him in his room.”“And he didn’t stay there,” Tony said. He waved at Jarvis over his shoulder. “Do me a favor. Make dinner?”“Of course, sir. Don’t worry. I know just how to enlarge the recipe to make sure there’s enough for two.”Tony smiled. “Thanks, Jay.” He jogged down the rest of the stairs, taking a slow, deep breath. He had no idea what he was doing, and yet, it seemed like he was going to do it anyway. Luckily, he was used to making things up as he went.He was just used to being the only one he hurt, when he got it totally, totally wrong.Tony reached the main hall and ducked around the staircase, to the small alcove built beneath the stairs. For a moment, he thought he’d gotten it wrong. The small lounging sofa appeared to be empty, and the water in the fountain spilled down into the shell that formed its base in near silence.But he took a step to the side, and spotted DJ, curled up on his side, hidden behind the arm of the sofa. His eyes and nose were red, and he stared, unblinking, at the fountain. Tony paused, one hand braced above his head on the curve of the staircase. “Diagnostic,” he said, his voice soft.DJ just curled up tighter, his knees tucked against his chest, his fingers tugging hard at the fabric of his pants.“I’m not mad,” Tony said. “Mrs. Parker isn’t mad. Chef isn’t mad. I want you to not be scared, or upset, or angry.” He paused. “Do you want to talk?”DJ’s head moved, the tiniest bit, a no.“Can I come sit with you?” Tony asked. A bare movement on his chin, but it was a nod. “Thank you.” “This was my mother’s favorite place in the whole house,” Tony said, pushing away from the stairs. “She used to sit right there, on that same lounger, and watch that fountain. Sometimes, she’d read, or embroider, or go over the ledgers, or the week’s menus. But mostly, she’d just watch the water.” He lowered himself down, until he was sitting on the floor in front of the sofa. “And I’d sit right here.” He stared up at the fountain. “Can I tell you about her?”Out of the corner of his eye, he saw DJ nod. Then, a tiny, rusty sounding, “Yes.”“My mother was from Italy,” Tony said. He glanced back at DJ, who stared back with dark, unblinking eyes. “Do you know where Italy is?” DJ considered that, his nose wrinkling up. Tony waited, amused, until he shook his head. “No.”Tony grinned. “But I bet you know some Italians, don’t you?” he said. That won him a nod. “Well, I’m Italian, too. Half, at least.”He pulled one leg up, bracing his elbow on his knee. “My mother was from Italy, and that’s, well, it’s a long way away. She came from a very old, very aristocratic family. Lots of land. Lots of history. Not much-” He held up one hand, rubbing his thumb against his fingertips. “Not much money.”“My father, meanwhile, had no past, no family tree to speak of, no heritage, no history. But he had a lot of money.” Tony watched the water spill from the statue’s cupped palms. “I guess he went there because he wanted to invest in a vineyard or two. If there was one thing my father knew, it was fine wine.” Tony paused, a wry smile twisting his lips. “But he knew a beautiful girl when he met one, too.“He loved her, I think,” Tony said. As much as his father could love anyone or anything. He shook off the thought. “So her family got a large influx of cash, my father got half ownership of a winery, and a wife, and my mother got-” Tony waved a hand at the fountain, and the house behind it. “All of this.”“Because she married my father and he brought her here. She left the only home she’d ever known, she left her mother and her sisters and all of her friends, left her graceful, dignified old family manor to come here, where she didn’t know anyone but my father and everyone spoke a language that confused and frightened her.” Tony paused, his lips twitching into something like a smile. “She left her home, left everything she knew, to come to New York.”He looked back at DJ with a smile. “In November.”DJ made a face, and Tony laughed. “Right. Not… Not the best time to see New York for the first time. Everything is cold and grey, and if it’s not already dead, it’s in the process of dying, and that might actually be even more depressing.” He shifted on the floor, his polished shoe pushing against the marble floor. “She left a place that was vibrant and bright and warm and alive, and came to a November New York.”Beyond that small alcove, he could almost feel the emptiness of the house pressing in on him. Here, sheltered beneath the curve of the staircase, it was warm and sheltered, thick with color and sensation and light. His thumb rubbed against the leg of the couch, savoring the silky swirl of the wood, carved with skill and care. “My father built this place, I think, as an apology,” he said, his voice quiet. “Sorry. Sorry it’s cold. Sorry it’s gray. Sorry it’s so frightening.” Sorry I’m not a better man. He swallowed that, around the hard lump in his throat. “He built her a house, an amazing, opulent, massive house, bigger than anyone else had, better, he hired craftsmen and artists and stone masons and painters, and he built her this house.” Tony spread his hands above his head, gesturing at the mansion itself. “He tried to make her something like what she’d left behind but…” He smiled at DJ. “His taste was not the best, I think.”DJ smiled at him, quick and bright, and Tony’s shoulders relaxed. “But this was her favorite place, in the whole house,” he said. “She loved it here. She loved the quiet, she loved the fountain, she loved the fact that it was all hers.” He closed his eyes, and he could almost hear her, the soft way she laughed, the way she sang, old, old Italian folk songs and the occasional aria. “I used to sit here, because if I did, I had her all to myself.” Tony stretched his legs out in front of him. “When she died, I used to come here and lie on that sofa and smell her perfume, until the scent faded.” He took a deep breath. “Then I didn’t come here again.”He looked at DJ. “She would be so happy that you like it here, too.”DJ’s fingers picked at the fabric of his pants. “Miss her?” he whispered.“I do,” Tony said. “I miss her. And my father.” It was an afterthought, but it wasn’t a lie. They’d both left a void in his life, in different ways. “Do you miss your parents?”It was a stupid thing to ask, and he regretted it the moment the words had left his lips. But DJ just shook his head. “No,” he said. “Don’t remember.” He smiled a little. “Easier. When you don’t remember.”Tony’s chest ached, and he nodded. “You’ll remember us, won’t you?” DJ nodded. “Then I don’t want you to miss us.”He looked back at the fountain, familiar and foreign, all at once, and felt more sure of what he was about to say than just about anything he’d ever said in his life. “You can stay, if you want.”As soon as he said it, he could breathe again. For the first time in what felt like forever. “It’s your choice. We’ve been moving you around, everyone’s been…” He nodded. “Doing things to you and around you and no one’s given you a choice in the matter, have they?”He met DJ’s eyes with a smile. “You don’t have to. I know this place is… Big. And lonely. The only kid here is Peter, and he’s not much of a kid, he never was.” He held up a hand, finger and thumb almost touching. “Tiny adult from the day I met him, so, maybe having you around has helped. But other than him…”Tony shook his head. “You’ll never be cold here. Never be hungry. Seldom bored. There’s always something to do, and someone who’s doing something interesting, or something new or-”He stopped. “But if you want something different, if you want a mother and a father and maybe siblings? If you want a normal house and a normal life and a school, and all of that, I’ll do everything I can to find you the perfect family. One that knows you and loves you and will make sure you’re happy.”DJ didn’t say a word, his teeth digging into his bottom lip. Tony tried to smile. “But no matter what. I’m not… Sending you back. You never have to go back to Hammer’s. Not if you don’t want to, DJ. You can stay. If that’s what you want.”DJ’s mouth worked. “Want me?” he asked, and then, another attempt, “Want me to stay?”“Yes, and yes,” Tony said. “I do. We do.” He reached out, one finger brushing against the tip of DJ’s nose. “More than you know.”Slowly, awkwardly, DJ pushed himself into a sitting position, dragging his legs up and wrapping his arms around them again. He braced his chin against his knees, his eyes blinking as he considered Tony. “Steve?”Tony’s stomach turned over. He took a deep breath, forcing it back into place. “Steve loves you,” he said, because he knew that was true. That much, he knew. “So no matter what, I’m sure he’ll come see you, as often as possible.”DJ nodded, but his face creased in a faint frown. Tony leaned over. “Diagnostic?”DJ reached out, tapping lightly on the tip of Tony’s nose. “Okay,” he said, and Tony smiled.“Okay? You’re feeling okay?”“Okay,” DJ repeated. “Can stay.” He shook his head. “I can stay?”Tony nodded. “Yes. Yes, you can.” He rolled, going up on one knee so he could press a gentle kiss to DJ’s forehead. He smelled familiar, and Tony didn’t know why. “You absolutely can.”“Ah, here you are!”Obie’s booming voice made DJ flinch, and brought Tony’s head around. Obie ducked around the corner of the staircase, squinting at them. “I’d forgotten that this little nook existed,” he said, with a broad grin. “Could not figure out where your voice was coming from.”“We were hiding,” Tony said, pushing himself to his feet. “From responsibility.” “Which is, unfortunately, what I bring,” Obie said. He gave DJ a smile, fumbling at his pockets. “Hello there, young man. I brought some candy for you, let’s see, where did I-”DJ’s face was blank, his body language closed off, and Tony caught Obie by the elbow. “Not before dinner, or Mrs. Parker will have my head.” He glanced back, giving DJ a wink. “You can give it to me and I’ll save it for later.”DJ’s shoulders relaxed, his lips curling up in a smile. Tony gave him a wink. “Why don’t you just stay here and read for a bit?” he asked. “We’ll come get you before dinner, all right?”DJ nodded, and Tony steered Obie back towards the staircase. “Pepper’s got everything ready for you,” he said. Obie gave him an amused look, and Tony threw an arm around his shoulders. “I have every confidence in Pepper.”“As do I, but that poor woman needs a boss who pays more attention,” Obie said. He glanced back down. “You know, I remember you sitting down there with your mother.”Tony smiled. “So do I. Turns out, it’s the best room in the house.”*“Spying?”Nat didn’t even glance over her shoulder at Clint as he approached. “It’s what I do,” she said, moving to the side to give him space beside her at the banister. Tucked behind a massive column, her spot afforded her a view of the expansive grand hall, but protected her from view from below.Not that either of the people she was observing cared about her presence. Steve and Tony were locked in an argument at the base of the stairs, their voices rising and falling in sharp bursts. Steve was canted forward, his shoulders a hard line, his spine painfully straight. Every so often, he ran a hand through his hair, the movement sharp and frustrated, like he needed to move, and had no other outlet. Tony balanced him, his body relaxed, his hands in constant motion as he bit out his words. His tension bled out in small ways, in the way he shifted his weight back and forth on the balls of his feet, always on the edge of flight. His face was open and calm, a slight smile on his face, but his eyes were blank and sharp.DJ darted around and between them, and occasionally, without looking or even seeming to notice they were doing it, one or the other would reach out, running a gentle hand over his hair or plucking him off the banister as he started to climb up a newel post. Clint braced a hand against the column, his body finding an empty space behind her by rote. “Are they going at it again?” he asked, his voice pitched low. “‘Going at it again’ implies they ever stop,” Natasha said. “Which, they don’t. They merely shift their argument from room to room to bed and back out of it again.” She let out a slight sigh, her shoulders flexing. “I’d really thought that once they made it to the bedroom, we’d have a moment of peace.”Clint grinned. “Who knew they had this much stamina?”“We knew Stark had this much stamina,” Natasha said, running a cloth back and forth across the wood in a loose parody of polishing. “But what were the odds that he’d find someone who could keep up with him?”“I’d salute his sacrifice, but…” Clint shrugged.“But we’re going to have to deal with the fallout,” Natasha said. Her head turned, just far enough for her to meet Clint’s eye. “And there is going to be fallout.”“Yeah,” he agreed. “Right. Maybe we should… Do something?”“And what, exactly, do you suggest we do?” Natasha asked. “Shoot one of them?”“You could choke one of them until he went unconscious,” Clint said. Nat gave him a look. “Well, you could.”“And what do you propose we do when the chokee wakes up?” Natasha asked. “Because he will wake up. And likely remember being choked.”“And that is your problem, not mine,” Clint said, ducking as she aimed a punch at his shoulder. “You didn’t ask for a long term plan, it’s-”“The two of you are going to attract attention, you know that, right?”“I like to think of us as living distraction,” Clint said as Bobbi stepped up beside him. Her hair was tucked up under a flat cap, a heavy pair of canvas gloves hanging from the waist of her overalls. Her clothing was dirty, but her boots were scrupulously clean.She shifted her weight. “It’s one of your best traits,” Bobbi agreed.“The living part or the distraction part?” Clint asked her.“Your corpse would still make a fine distraction,” she said. “But it’s a short term solution.” She peered down at Steve and Tony. “Think we should extract the kid?”Even as the words were leaving her mouth, Jarvis emerged from the kitchen stairs, Peter right behind him. Clint leaned forward. “Oh, this is going to be rich.”“Excuse me, sirs,” Jarvis said, his voice cutting crisply through the argument. “It is time for DJ’s maths lesson.” Without waiting for a response, he stepped between them, catching DJ’s hand and reversed direction, as quick and efficient as any soldier in full march. In a matter of moments, he’d walked in, collected DJ and walked him right back out, handing him off to Peter. Peter, for his part, nearly sprinted back for the kitchen stairs, DJ bouncing right along with him. Jarvis slipped in behind them, closing the door with a firm click.There was a long beat of silence, broken only by the continued discussion down on the main floor. “That,” Bobbi said, her voice awed, “was a thing of beauty.”“Thank you.”Clint was somehow unsurprised to find that Jarvis had materialized directly behind them, his movements utterly silent. “Do you just sprint up the servant’s stairs?” he asked. “Or do you have an actual identical twin who you use just to scare the hell out of us?”Jarvis sighed. “Efficiency should be the watchword in all of your efforts, Mr. Barton.”“He’s many things,” Nat said. “Efficient isn’t on the list.”“There’s always room to grow in a professional capacity,” Jarvis said.“Did you get close enough to hear them?” Bobbi asked, folding her arms on the banister. She leaned forward, one booted foot tapping against the floor. “What are they fighting about now?Jarvis paused, his head tipped to the side. “Are you inquiring as to what the current discussion pertains to, or what the actual argument is about?”Natasha tapped a finger against her cheek. “The second one?” she asked, a faint smile on her lips.“They are two very intelligent men who have each independently come to the unwelcome realization that they cannot control or protect the other, a situation that is both unfamiliar and uncomfortable for them,” Jarvis said, without missing a beat. “But since they cannot verbalize that particular train of thought, that is not actually what they’re discussing right now.”“What,” Clint said, one shoulder braced against the column. “What is the discussion about, then?”“The proper trimming of the trees in the orchard,” Jarvis said.Clint looked at him. Jarvis looked back, the tiniest hint of a smile creasing his cheeks. “I do believe it a good sign that they’re making an effort,” Jarvis offered.“You are a very optimistic man,” Natasha said.“Why…” Clint shook his head. “Why would Rogers give a goddamn about the trees in the-”“Because DJ wishes to help Dr. Banner with trimming them,” Bobbi said. She shifted her weight, forward and back, her feet rooted to the ground. “There’s pruning shears involved. It’s all very exciting.”“Quite so,” Jarvis said. “And sir has decided he should accompany DJ and that means-”“He’ll be outside. In the orchard,” Clint said.“In full view of the western end of the estate, and the wall that runs along the access road,” Natasha mused.“As you might have guessed, Officer Rogers does not approve of this,” Jarvis said. “But as he’s had little success in convincing sir to remain safely under guard, he’s changed tactics and is now attempting to persuade sir that perhaps allowing DJ access to, well....”“Shears?” Clint asked.“Axes,” Jarvis said.“Also a very poor choice,” Natasha said.“From both a childcare as well as a pruning perspective, yes,” Bobbi said. “But if there’s one word that could be used to describe Stark, it’d be contrary.” She tucked her hands in the pockets of her overalls. “The harder Rogers argues, the more Tony’s going to dig in his heels. Until one of them-”“Right.”Clint looked back down at the main floor just in time to see Steve throw his hands in the air. “I’m going to find something more useful to do than argue with you.”“And what would that be?” Tony sounded like he was talking through clenched teeth. “Anything,” Steve said, and it came out in a shout that echoed around the massive hall, swirling around them like a condemnation. Steve stopped, his chest expanding as he sucked in a breath. And another. He shook out his hands, and let them fall back to his sides. “Anything is more productive than banging my head up against this particular stubborn, foolhardy, short-sighted wall.”Tony crossed his arms over his chest. “Feel free to leave,” he said, his voice cutting. “Not that you’ve ever needed my permission up to this point.”Clint flinched. “Ouch,” he said, and behind him, he heard Jarvis sigh.Steve, for his part, just turned on his heel and stalked towards the front door. In a matter of moments, he was gone, leaving Tony staring after him in impotent rage. He took a breath, and another, one hand going to his ribs. He shook his head, and Clint took an instinctive step back. Tony looked up, catching a glimpse of them and his face went tight. “Does no one in this household have anything to do?” he said. “Or am I now just paying for a full Greek chorus to accompany my life?”“Your appreciation of the classics notwithstanding,” Jarvis said, because he was the only one who could’ve gotten away with sass at that exact moment, “we were merely waiting for you to finish your discussion so we could once again continue with our duties.”Tony gave him a look. Jarvis smiled, unconcerned. “Well, consider it over,” Tony said, his voice sharp. “For now. Until our guest decides he has further opinions on how this household ought to run.” He turned towards the main staircase. “I expect it’ll be roughly around dusk when that happens.”Bobbi’s foot was tapping a steady, sharp rhythm against the floor. “Take us off leash, boss,” she said, her voice silken, and Tony paused, one hand hovering just over the wood of the banister. Bobbi rocked forward, a sharp, aborted gesture. “Let’s end this.”For a long moment, Tony was still, his head down, his body taunt as a bowstring. “I wasn’t aware any of you have ever met a collar you couldn’t slip out of,” he said at last. He shook his head, starting up the stairs again. “And no one here seems to have any interest in listening to me anyway.”He reached the top of the stairs and stomped towards the library. “So do whatever you’d like. I’m beyond caring.” To his credit, he did not slam the door behind him. But it closed with a firmness that echoed through the hallway with a terrifying finality.In the silence that followed, Clint realized he’d been holding his breath. “That was a yes, right?” he asked.Bobbi nodded. “That was a yes.”“At the very least, that wasn’t a no,” Natasha said. “Which, in this case, is actually more important than a yes.” She shook out the cloth between her hands, smoothing it flat before folding it neatly into a square. She slid it into her apron pocket. “Difficult, though.”“He’s good,” Clint said. Bobbi stared down at the main hall. “How good?”He rotated one shoulder, almost a shrug. “Better than he should be, even coming off the front lines of France and Germany. More of a concern, he’s faster than he should be, and he knows he’s being watched.”Jarvis sighed. “You tried to follow him.” Clint gave him a look. Jarvis shook his head. “Of course you did.”“Of course I did,” Clint agreed, utterly without shame. “Look, if you don’t get caught, it never happened.”“I’m… I’m not certain that is correct,” Jarvis said.“Jarvis, that’s how you live your entire life,” Bobbi said, folding her arms on the banister. “I’m fairly certain that that’s your family crest.”Jarvis arched an eyebrow. “And I maintain my family honor by pretending to be shocked every time someone brings it up,” he said. He picked an invisible thread from the arm of his coat. “If Clint can’t keep up with him…”His voice trailed away, and Bobbi was already shaking her head. “We don’t need to follow him,” she said, straightening up. “If we already know where he’s going to end up.”Clint looked at Natasha. Natasha looked at Clint. “So,” he drawled. “A trap.”“A trap,” Natasha agreed. “What’s the bait?”Bobbi turned around, leaning her hips back against the banister. “What does he want?”“The assassin,” Clint said.“More than that,” Bobbi said.“The threat,” Natasha said, but Bobbi was already shaking her head.“Too small. What does he want?” Her fingers tapped against the wood of the banister, sharp and staccato. “What does he-”“Answers.” Everyone looked at Jarvis. “He’s looking for answers. Despite the fact that he only knows half the questions he should be asking.” His eyes were sharp, when he looked up. “The shooter is one thing. The person who hired him is another. But beyond that, he wants…”His voice trailed away, and Bobbi picked up the thread. “Answers,” she said. Her smile was slow and sharp and very, very dangerous. “I think it’s about time we gave him some, don’t you?”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
So, that had been a trap.Steve took a deep breath, and another, bracing his feet under him, the toes of his boots almost digging groves in the wood of the wharf. He squared his shoulders, his shield up and braced in front of him. “Last chance,” he said through gritted teeth. “Anyone want to leave now?”The crowd in front of him shifted laughter rippling through the group as they jostled for position. It echoed through the foggy air, low and eerie, as the men pressed forward, their individual shapes lost in the dim light of the street lamps. There were a dozen or more, and they were still coming. Trickling from the dark alleys between the weathered warehouses and piles of cargo, they pressed in on him, cutting him off from any path back to the city at large.The way Steve saw it, he had two choices. He could fight his way through them, or he could jump for it. Steve cast a sharp eye towards the ink black water of the harbor. Fighting seemed far safer.“You been a thorn in our side long enough.”Steve looked back as a man stepped through the crowd. Slightly better dressed than the rest of the others, he had a nose that had been broken more than once, and a cruel twist to his smile. He had a heavy cudgel in one hand, his fingers curled around the handle in an easy, natural grip. “Shoulda minded your own damn business, and kept your nose outta ours.” He swung it through the air, letting it rest against the meat of his shoulder. “Gonna enjoy this.”Steve gave him a cold, hard smile. “Right,” he said, his fingers flexing on the strap of the shield. “Guess that’s a no on the ‘leave while you have the chance,’ option.”The thug swung the cudgel against his palm, the wood hitting flesh with a crack. “Guess so,” he said, taking a darting step forward. Steve shifted his weight, centering the shield in front of him, bracing himself for the coming rush.It never came.In the back of the mob, someone made a noise. Not quite a word, just a warning sort of grunt, and the thug paused, his head swinging to the side. Steve’s eyes darted in the same direction, trying to track what had gotten their attention. A high, warbling whistle came through the fog, soft at first, and then growing in volume. The thug in front of Steve took a step back, and another, his eyes narrowing as he tried to peer through the shadows. “Who’s that?” he snapped at one of his men, who shook his head. The thug jerked his head to the side, biting out a curse. “Idiot. Go check.”“Some drunk,” someone called, and Steve’s teeth locked. The last thing he needed was a civilian getting in the middle of this. And yet, it would seem that was exactly what he was about to get. “What should we-”“Get rid of him,” the thug hissed, even as a big, broad figure of a man came stumbling out of the fog, a hat clamped on his head, his jacket sliding off his shoulder, one foot scraping behind him with each step, in an awkward, protracted limp. A bottle swung wildly from his other hand, bumping against his side every time he moved forward.He looked up, squinting against the faint light, and Steve’s stomach iced over as he found himself staring, slack jawed and stupid, at Happy Hogan. Happy, for his part, was still whistling a jaunty jig, high and bright, as he stumbled his way through the mob of men, patting arms and shoulders as he passed.Happy peered up at men as he wandered, wobbling back and forth like a billiard ball, through the crowd. Men got out of his way, glancing at each other with various degrees of amusement and annoyance.The leader made a grab for his arm, and Steve jerked forward, his heart in his throat. “Hey!”Happy sidestepped the thug’s grip, his body swinging hard to the side. He stumbled to a stop in front of Steve, his eyes bloodshot and blurry under the crumbled brim of his cap. His lips were still pursed, caught mid-whistle, a cigar stub in one hand and a bottle hanging from the other. His head swung from one side to the other, and then back, spinning in a full circle as his feet tangled under him. He tumbled backwards, his shoulders hitting the warehouse with an audible thump.He grinned at mob, raising his bottle up over his head. “Did I find me a party?” he asked, the words slurring into each other. His head rolled to the side, and he scrubbed at his nose with the back of one hand, splashing liquor down the front of his filthy jacket. “What’s…” He stopped, his gaze going glassy for an instant. He blinked, and he cast about, confusion sweeping over his face until he looked over, catching Steve’s eye. His face split in a grin.“Bless me, boyo, what's all this then?” he asked, trying and failing to push himself up. “You’re… Don’t tell me.” He stabbed the cigar in Steve’s direction. “I know a good Irish boy from Limerick when I see one, you know Kelly? Kelly, down at the Green Clover? Pours a mean pint, he takes care of-”“Shove off,” the thug said, cutting him off mid-word. “This has nothing to do with you, you old drunk.”Happy’s head snapped up. “Drunk?” he sputtered. “Who you calling a drunk, you-” He tried to stand up, wobbled on his legs and fell right back against the wall with a thump. “I’ve never been one t’ walk away from a fight.” He brought the bottle to his lips, draining what remained in a couple of hard, fast swallows and then wrenched it away with a belch. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. “Right. Right.” He looked around, swaying on his feet. “Who’s first?”There was a chuckle, from somewhere in a crowd, then a snort of laughter. The thug rocked back on his heels, gesturing towards Happy with the tip of his club. “Put him in the drink,” he said, his voice almost amused. “Maybe that’ll sober him up.”A man stepped forward, one hand coming up towards Happy, and Happy brought the bottle up, swinging wildly. Cursing under his breath, Steve’s hand snapped out, trying to drag the back behind him.Happy stepped out of his reach, the movement so smooth and easy that Steve was left clawing helplessly at the air. One of Happy’s hands shot up in the air. “Wait. Gotta…” He looked at Steve, his eyes wide. “My cigar. Don’t wanna drop, it, gotta find someplace to-”The thug made a grab for him and Happy tossed the stub of his cigar in the air. “Pull,” he called, his voice bright and breezy.It happened so fast that Steve couldn’t even track it. Something sliced through the night, so close that he could swear that he could feel the air part in its wake. The cigar disappeared in the blink of an eye, and a dull, vicious sounding thud came from the wall behind them.Happy looked over his shoulder at the wall. Steve stared, his mouth falling open. The cigar was pinned to the wall by an arrow. Happy chuckled. “Now, that’s what I mean.” “What the fuck-” The thug swung around, his head darting from one side to the other. “Where the fuck did that come from, what is-” Someone made a noise, like a choked off scream, and the thug spun back around, the club coming up. “Who are you?”Happy just considered the arrow, an easy smile on his face. “Wasn’t that just a beautiful shot? It would be, of course.” He reached behind him, his hand closing on the shaft of the arrow. He wrenched it free, tearing a shower of splinters along with it.Tucking the empty bottle under one arm, he pried the cigar free from the arrowhead, brushing loose tobacco free from the gleaming tip “Look at that,” he mused, his head tipping to the side. He rolled the shaft between his finger and thumb, letting the light play across the metal arrowhead. “See that?” He flicked it towards the head of the mob, who flinched back. “The barbs? They make a real mess of whatever they go into, you know. They bite in deep, and when you take it out…”Happy twisted around, his head tipping towards the deep scar the arrow had left into the wood of the building. “Well, let’s just say,” he mused, “you’re usually better off snapping the shaft off, and shovin’ it the rest of the way through.” He tapped the arrow against the broad expanse of his palm. “Sure, that’d hurt like hell, but pulling it back out, that just rips you to shreds.”The mobster took an aggressive step forward. “What the hell are you about, what is-”Another arrow hit the wall, mere inches from Happy’s head. Happy didn’t even seem to notice. “He’s faster than you’d think, it’s a real treat to watch.” He flipped the arrow in his hand over, catching it with a flick of his fingers. “See? This is-” He gave the arrow an easy toss. And this time, another arrow caught it broadside, the tip going through the shaft and slicing it in half.Happy let the two pieces clatter to the ground in front of him “Quite a show.”The mobsters were milling around now, a few young men glancing around desperately, trying to figure out where their newest opponent was hiding. Happy smiled. “How many men’d you start with?” he asked the thug. “How many did he already get?”The thug spun around, and Happy snatched the bottle from under his arm and fired it straight at the back of the thug’s head. It hit a crash, glass shattering in all directions. “Widow,” he called, his tone almost bored, and his head swung in Steve’s direction. “Duck.”“No,” Steve said, and before Happy could grab him, he plowed forward, putting the full weight of his rage behind the force of his rush. The shield slammed into someone, lifting a mobster off of his feet, and with a flick of his arm, Steve sent the body crashing into the side of a warehouse. He spun on his heel, meeting another rush head on, his feet digging into the wood of the pier.He had no idea what was happening and that wasn’t new and that wasn’t something that even bothered him anymore. Behind him, he heard Happy singing at the top of his lungs as he laid a man out with a haymaker of a right hook. “Who’s next?” he howled, just as a man behind him pulled a gun from the pocket of his coat.“To hell with this,” he said, and Steve spun, throwing the shield with quick, sharp precision. It hit the attacker in the chest, lifting him straight off of his feet and sending him rolling across the pier. Happy kicked him solidly in the ribs, sending him crashing down into the darkness of the water. “Hey, what’re you-”Steve snagged his shield out of midair, swinging it back into place. “Not now,” he gritted out, as he ducked under a punch, countering with a body blow to the solid center of the mobster’s mass. He twisted, tossing the limp form aside, and turned to meet the next attack.It didn’t come. There, standing in the mouth of the alley, a slim, elegant figure in all black was holding onto the front of the mob leader’s shirt. He hung, limp and silent from her hand, and her fingers uncurled, letting him fall to the pier with a muted thump. Around her feet, there were half a dozen still forms, and in the distance, Steve could hear the echoes of footsteps and curses as the last fragments of the mob fled.Steve took a deep breath, and then another, the shield falling, half-forgotten to his side.Happy tossed the cigar off of the pier with a flick of his fingers. “You took your sweet time,” he said, as the slim figure pulled her mask off.“Pardon me, I got five of them before you stopped talking, and you used to be better at distractions,” Natasha said, shaking out her hair. She gave Steve a slow, considering look from under the sweep of her lashes. He tried to steady his breathing, because that was easier than putting his thoughts in order. Nat smiled at Steve, even if she was still talking to Happy. “But you were tethered quite tightly to a wrecking ball, so I suppose you did the best you could.”Happy straightened his hat. “I did damn well,” he said, tucking his hands in his pockets. He rocked back and forth on his heels. “All things considered.”“Those things are expensive, can you not use ‘em as props?” The voice echoed through the fog above them, and another form in black, a bow slung over one shoulder, slid down the drainpipe. Clint landed with a surprisingly light tread, the arrows in his quiver sighing against each other. “Yeah, and you ain’t paying for ‘em, so whatta you care?” Happy shot back.“Professional courtesy, that’s all I’m saying.” Clint swung the bow off his back, snapping the tip of it against the shield that Steve immediately moved, trying to tuck it behind his back. Clint exhaled, a soft whistle of breath. “Now, that’s curious.”“Let’s get out of here, before reinforcements arrive,” Steve gritted out, not sure how he’d gotten into this situation and even less sure how he was going to get out.“No one’s coming.”Steve spun to face the new threat, his shield coming up in front of him. The man who stepped out of the shadows was tall and lean, dressed in an expensive looking coat and well-tailored suit. The fog swirled around his polished shoes, and one gloved hand reached up, adjusting the angle of his hat.And Steve found himself face to face with Bobbi Morse. Just not the Bobbi Morse he’d ever met before. Her brows seemed heavier, the sharp line of her jaw held at an aggressive angle. Her hair was hidden under her hat and the cut of her suit camouflaged the lines of her body, making her slim and tall and angular.If Steve didn’t know better, he would’ve thought he was meeting her brother.“No one’s coming,” Bobbi repeated, and her voice was lower than he was expecting. Huskier. Like the rest of her, there was a masculine slant to that voice now. “That’s my job.” She stopped in front of Steve, holding out a gloved hand. “Mockingbird. I’m the fixer.”It took him a moment, but he reached out, clasping her hand in his. “I think you know who I am.”Her lips kicked up on one side. “I had thought so,” she said. “Now I’m not so sure.” Her head tipped back, towards the others. “Black Widow. Espionage. And Hawkeye-”“The Amazing Hawkeye,” Clint said, swinging his bow across his shoulders and bracing his wrists on the ends, his fingers dangling down, lanky and easy.“No one calls him that,” Bobbi said, her lips twitching. “But he is a pretty decent marksman.”“Pretty decent?” Clint asked Natasha, his voice incensed.She shrugged. “Passable,” she said, and he made a pained noise. Natasha struggled against a smile. “You’re very good,” she amended, reaching out to pat him gently on the head.“The Amazing Hawkeye,” he said with a nod.“Right. And what’s your codename?” Steve asked Happy.“What, Happy’s not ridiculous enough for ya?” Happy asked, peering into the fog. A man by his feet groaned, trying to roll over, and Happy kicked him in the ribs, making him yelp. “And not to disrespect your very specialized skill set, Mockingbird, but maybe-”“Let’s go,” Bobbi said, and though she addressed the group, she was looking directly at Steve, her eyes sharp.“Harbor’s looking better and better,” he gritted out, even as he started walking up the pier, flanked on all sides by his sudden and unexpected escort.*“Get in.”Steve stalked past the car, his shoulders squared. “Don’t need a ride,” he said, and Natasha stepped in front of him.She met his eyes without blinking. “Get. In. The car,” she said, her voice soft and silken.Steve stared down at her, weighing his options, and from behind him, Bobbi sighed. “We know where you live,” she said. “And you might’ve noticed that Happy and Hawkeye have vanished. They’re the back up. In case you do something stupid.”Steve gave her a tight smile. “Think I’ve had my fill of that.”“You’re not the only one. So you can go, but either you’re coming back to the house-”“You’re coming back to the house,” Natasha said, and Steve felt goosebumps pop up along his arms. He glared at her. “I don’t-”Bobbi stepped up beside the car, one arm braced on the roof. “Rogers. If you don’t come back with us, we’re going to have a very different problem.” Steve paused, his hand tightening on the strap of his shield. Bobbi’s eyebrows arched. “We can’t lie to him.”He didn’t have to ask who ‘he’ was. Steve took a deep breath, ignoring the way his chest ached. “He sent you.”“He…” Bobbi paused. She looked at Natasha, who raised one shoulder in a half shrug. Bobbi looked at Steve. “He didn’t send us. But he didn’t stop us.” “Right,” Steve gritted out, giving Natasha a measuring glance. She smiled, just a little, amusement flickering over her face. “We needed to know what you were doing,” Bobbi said, and he turned on her.“No,” he said, his jaw tight. “You didn’t. I had a job to do, and I was doing it, you-”Her hand lashed out, catching him by the front of the coat. She gave a yank, and, startled, he rocked forward a single step. Bobbi leaned in. “Someone’s trying to kill him,” she said, her voice cutting. “And it’s hard to miss the fact that those attempts accelerated right around the time you walked through the front door.”Steve blinked at her, shock washing over him like an icy wave. “What-”“So this was our last ditch attempt to keep him from trying to find out what was happening for himself,” Bobbi said. “If we come back empty handed tonight, he’ll be the one following you next time, and I don’t think you want that.” She was so close that he could feel the heat of her body. “Do you?”Steve took a breath, his mind racing. “No,” he said at last.“Right.” Bobbi’s fingers uncurled, one by one, and she took a step back. “Let’s go.”Steve shifted his weight, caught between fight and flight, but Bobbi’s gaze was level and steady. Natasha opened the back door of the car. “Get in,” she said, her voice flat, and Steve got it. She shut the door behind him with a very final sounding thud, and he did his best not to flinch.There was a thick file folder sitting in the middle of the seat, and looking at it, Steve felt his stomach flip over, and he didn’t know why. But when Bobbi slid into the car from the other side, his hand twitched, making an instinctive move towards it.She pulled her hat off, cradling it in the palm of her hand. “It’s too late,” she said, and her hair had been swept back, twisted in on itself, almost flat against her skull. She set the hat down on the seat, and picked up the folder instead. “I’m the one who put it together, so it’s a bit late to be worried about me reading it.”Steve braced himself as Natasha started up the car. “So if you’re the fixer, and she’s the spy, does that make Hogan the muscle?” he asked.“If you ever meet the muscle, things have gone very, very wrong,” Natasha said from the front seat. The motor rumbled as the car accelerated. “Let’s hope we don’t get to that point.”Bobbi’s fingertip tapped against the folder, sharp and staccato. “No,” she said with a faint smile. “Happy’s the distraction. He’s the guy everyone likes, the one everyone talks to. He’s harmless, and he takes up a lot of space and makes a lot of noise.” She shook her head. “Once he gets going, it’s very hard to focus on anything else.”Steve looked out the window, still on edge. They turned onto a larger road, and he caught a glimpse of another car following them. He couldn’t see inside, but he was pretty sure Happy was behind the wheel. “Yeah, I caught his act.”“It’s pretty good,” Bobbi said. “He reworks it every so often; in case the job driving for Mr. Stark doesn’t work out, he figures he can transfer it over to Vaudeville. His name’d look good in lights, don’t you think?”“Among others,” Steve said. He shifted, the shield bumping against his knees. He gripped the rim, holding himself together with the same grip. “Does everyone in the house have a codename?”“Everyone except Peter,” Natasaha said.“Excuse me, I gave him a perfectly good codename,” Bobbi said, tapping a finger against her lips. “He seems to disagree.” Natasha took a corner a little too fast, the tires squealing against the pavement. On the other side of the windows, Steve could see the city flying past, faint ghosts of people still clinging to the edges of ruined buildings.“He’s young, he’ll accept it one of these days.” Bobbi flicked a hand in Steve’s direction. “Did he get one?” “Hawkeye gives everyone a nickname, but they’re not usually fit for polite company.” Natasha rotated the wheel, pulling the car around another corner. “Then again. “I suspect he already has one.”Bobbi crossed her legs, settling the file on her knee. “I think you’re right,” she said. “Do you want to share, Officer Rogers?” She looked up, the hard line of her brows arching as she flipped through the pages. “Or did you not know?”Steve glanced at her, and then back out the window, his jaw locked.She made a slight humming noise under her breath. “Right,” she said, spreading the pages out. “You see, there’s been a man causing a great deal of problems for the various crime families lately. It’s been a real topic of conversation, obviously, in the back rooms and the back alleys. Because they’ve been playing the game the way it’s always been played. They’ve been paying off the right men. Politicians. Ward bosses. Beat cops. A little cash in the right hands, and everyone’s supposed to look the other way.”She shifted in her seat, the light of the street lamps flickering over her as they sped through the streets. “Someone doesn’t know the rules, it turns out. Or, more likely, someone doesn’t care.”Steve caught a glimpse of his reflection in the window and wondered when he’d stopped recognizing his own face. He was numb to it now, to the split second of confusion, when he met his own eyes in the mirror. Like someone else had taken over his life.Someone he didn’t know. Someone he wasn’t even sure he liked.“It’s hard to separate the rumors from the facts, but I’m used to that,” Bobbi said. “Men who trade in bad behavior like to inflate their victories, and their enemies’ misfortune.” She pulled a sheet of newsprint from the folder. She held it up in front of her, her chin tipped a curious angle. “And it’s hard to find anyone who’s willing to talk, outside of the bad elements.“Especially when you get the idea that most of what’s happening never gets reported.”She flipped through the pages. “But here were a few cases that I could trace back, beyond the rumors and speculation. Police reports, a few stories in the less reputable papers, even a ballad.” She held up a piece of sheet music. “It’s not good. But it’s catchy.”Steve refused to look at it. “I don’t sing.”“Oh, I don’t either, but Mrs. Parker plays a mean rag on the piano.” Bobbi dropped the music back into the folder. “But still. I managed to track down a few incidents that I’m fairly certain happened, at least to some extent.” She spread the pages out. “An Italian grocer who refused to pay the protection money that la Cosa Nostra demanded of him. Rumor has it that the four men who came to firebomb his storefront met... Unusual resistance. No one’s bothered him since.” Steve’s fingers flexed, an instinctive motion that he couldn’t quite control. He forced his hands flat on his thighs.“A group of girls, newly arrived from Poland, disappeared from the piers before they could be collected by their families. They turned up a few days later, unharmed but terrified, in the care of the Sisters of Perpetual Mercy. They’d been railroaded into the dubious care of men who had plans to sell them into prostitution, or to the brothels. None of them were willing or able to talk about how they got free, but the Sisters say a single man escorted them to the gates of the convent in the middle of the night, before disappearing without leaving his name.” She looked up. “A stolen truck was found a block away.”She flipped through the pages in the folder. “A thwarted attempt to steal the payroll of a factory down in the slums. An armed gang war stopped before it had a chance to start. A corrupt ward boss who’d been setting up ‘soup kitchens’ that never actually served a single bowl to the starving people he claimed to serve had a change of heart and fled the city with a suitcase and his tail between his legs. Men trying to rob cargo from the docks found someone waiting for them. They were forced to jump into the river to escape.”Bobbi paused. “I suspect most of what’s been happening has gone unnoticed. But people talk. Rumors and innuendos. Gossip and whispers.” She tossed a page onto the seat between them. “It was a group of sailors from French Sudan who gave him his name. The cloth he wrapped around his head and face reminded them of the Bedouin who wandered the Sahara desert.”Steve looked down at the page, some bit of yellow journalism from some no-name paper. But the drawing it featured was more accurate than he would’ve liked.“They call him the Nomad,” Bobbi said, and it took everything he had not to flinch. “A big, broad man. Seldom speaks. Fights like a demon, but never kills. Occasionally, he’s reported to have a knife, never a gun. Always-” She reached out, running a fingertip along the rim of the shield. “A shield.”Steve tossed the page back. “Is there a point to this?” he asked. He was proud of himself. He sounded calm. Normal. Almost bored.Bobbi picked it up, tucking it back into the folder and closing it, her hand resting on top of it. “It was odd,” she said. “In the past, he’d broken up a few anarchist groups. Which, since that’s to the benefit of the rich and powerful of this city, that’s not so surprising. What is surprising is that the only ones he seemed to bother were the ones who were actually a threat. Men with bombs. Men who planned on killing people.” She met Steve’s eyes. “As many people as possible.“Unlike the police, he never attacked peaceful groups, immigrants and the disenfranchised who’ve found that the American dream is fleeting. In fact, a few police raids came up empty handed. The men they were trying to arrest suddenly, and mysteriously, had none of the anarchist literature and fliers they’d been seen handing out.”“Almost as if they’d been warned the raids were coming,” Natasha said. “Almost as if,” Bobbi agreed. “But there’s no chance anyone would warn such dangerous people of a legitimate police action.” She picked up her hat, rotating it between her hand. “Sure, their tactics are brutal. And innocent family members often get injured. And whole ethnic enclaves have been the focus of raids with little proof that anyone there is involved in anything illegal, but…” She smiled at Steve. “The police know what they’re doing. Don’t they?”Steve smiled back, and it held no humor. “The law’s the law,” he said, in a tone that sounded mocking, even to him.“That it is,” Bobbi said. “So. It was odd. That starting the night Mr. Stark was shot, the Nomad seemed to refocus his attentions. Almost exclusively to rooting out the most dangerous elements of the anarchist groups. Most people don’t believe the rumors, of course. A single man? Going after groups like that?”“Most people would say that would be suicidal,” Natasha said. “Anyone sane, yes, but well….” Bobbi steepled her fingers over the peak of her hat. “That’s in rather short supply around us.”“Believe me,” Steve muttered, glancing at the window. “I noticed.”“So did we. Enough to form a theory,” she said. “A good, working theory. Not to hard to test it, either.”He focused on the light passing over Natasha’s hair, like sparks in the night. “I have some… Friends in the police department,” Bobbi said. “They’re not good men. In fact, they’re gangsters with uniforms. But they have their uses. They’re good for getting the right information in the right ears, for the right price. They’re good for baiting a trap.”Steve knew what was coming, but if they were going to do this, he was going to make them work for it. “And?”“And it was easy to manufacture the paperwork to make it look like a cache of weapons was coming into the docks tonight. A tempting target for anyone who wanted to make trouble. Wanted to kill a lot of people as quickly as possible.”She stopped, her mouth going tight, and it was Natasha who continued. “Who knew you’d stumble into a completely different trap on the way to ours?” she asked, her voice bright.Bobbi’s head twitched in something like a nod. “Right,” she said. “What are the chances?”“Person’d have to be pretty stupid, to get distracted from one trap by another one,” Steve agreed with a tight smile.“I consider myself to be ready for all contingencies, but I’ll admit, it wasn’t something I’d anticipated,” Bobbi admitted.“However,” Steve aaid, “I am smart enough to know that we’re going in circles.”“See, he wouldn’t have figured that out if I was driving,” Bobbi said, tapping her fingertip against the brim of her hat. Natasha’s eyes cut up, catching theirs in the rearview mirror. Bobbi raised one shoulder in a half shrug. “I’m just saying, that’s all.”“If you were driving, we’d be in the East River by now,” Natasha said.“Please, I haven’t wrecked a car in at least six months,” Bobbi said. Her eyes slid sideways, looking at Steve. “You know why.”His stomach churned. “Happy and Clint needed to beat us back.” His fingers flexed on his thighs, going into hard fists. “To tell him what happened.” He shifted in his seat, the need to move almost unbearable. “I’m surprised you trusted them to do it.”“Clint is good at many things,” Bobbi said, one elbow braced on the door. “Subtlety isn’t high on the list.”“Wait.” Steve looked at her. “Clint is talking to Tony? In English? Or in gibberish?”“Hawkeye is talking to Tony,” Natasha said.Steve looked at Bobbi. “Hawkeye speaks English, obviously,” Bobbi said, her eyebrows arched.Steve’s eyes slid shut. He took a deep breath. “Clint. Is. Hawkeye.”“Yes, but Clint only speaks French and Hawkeye doesn’t understand a word of it,” Bobbi said.“And you call me crazy,” he muttered.Bobbi smiled. “You fit right in, Nomad.” *As they pulled up in front of house, Bobbi leaned forward, bracing one arm on the back of the seat in front of her. “I’ll put it in the garage.”“I can do it,” Natasha said, as the car rolled to a stop.“Yes, you can, but you could also get an idea of taking revenge on Happy for his spontaneous change of plans tonight by running over something he likes or needs. Like his foot,” Bobbi said.Natasha looked over her shoulder, her eyes huge and her lips pursed in a pout. “Would I do that?”“In a New York minute,” Bobbi said, slapping the back of the seat. “Out, sister.”Laughing, Natasha slid out of the car, leaving the driver’s side door open. She waited, her hands on his hips, as Steve and Bobbi climbed out of the back. “You ruin all my fun,” Natasha said to Bobbi, who ducked around her, grabbing the top of the door.“I’ll make it up to you later,” she said, amusement running through her voice.Steve half turned away, tossing the shield onto his back. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Bobbi lean in, brushing a delicate kiss against Natasha’s lips. Her hand brushed against Natasha’s back, sliding down over the curve of her hip, the touch fleeting and gentle, as she slid into the driver’s seat.Natasha took a step back as Bobbi pulled the door shut, wiggling her fingers in a wave. “Crush something for me,” she called as Bobbi pulled the car around. She looked at Steve, and whatever she saw in his face made her smile. “Do you have questions, officer?”Steve looked from her, to the departing car, and back. “Are you- And-” He gestured awkwardly after Bobbi.Her head tipped to the side. “Together? Sometimes.”He nodded. “When-” He stopped. “Like, that?”She laughed. “Oh, I do like him,” she said. “But I like her, too.” She turned on her heel, heading up the front steps towards the door, her hips swaying. “You might say I like them, no matter what they’re wearing.”He looked at the garage door, and back up at Natasha. She was looking back at him. “Problem?”“No. Just.” Steve shrugged. “You learn something new every day.”“The world is full of contradictions,” Natasha mused. “Well, this house sure is.”“That it is,” she said, tapping a finger against her lips. “Know who’d fit right in with this mess of contradictions?” She smiled. “A cop who spends his nights being a vigilante.” Her eyebrows arched. “Know anyone who fits that description?”“Nope,” Steve said. He hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “I’m going to go check the grounds.”“Are we perhaps avoiding a difficult conversation with Mr. Stark?” she asked.“Thought I’d give you a chance to make your report, that’s all,” Steve said. “Very polite of you,” Natasha said. “Bobbi?”The gravel crunched behind him, and Steve sighed. “Right. You were stalling.” Natasha held up a hand, her finger and thumb a bare inch apart, and he tried not to smile. “Right.”“She just wanted you to have a proper escort,” Bobbi said, coming up beside him.Steve swung his shield up onto his shoulder, letting its slight weight settle against his back. He exhaled, and felt it shift, and everything was better because it was there. “I’m not going to jump the wall.” Bobbi gave him a look, her eyebrows arching, and he felt his lips twitch. “Again, I mean.”“But you’re going to walk it,” she said. She slapped her hat against her thigh, and slipped it back into place with a fluid twist of her wrist. “And I’ll come with you.”“I can’t stop you,” Steve said. He turned on his heel, the stones of the drive grinding beneath his boots. “But you’re also not going to acknowledge me?” Bobbi asked. She seemed amused.“Generally, reconnaissance missions don’t usually involve conversation,” he pointed out. He headed down the path along the edge of the house, scanning the windows as he passed each one.Bobbi hummed under her breath. “Right,” she said. “Though I think I have something you want to discuss.” Steve glanced back, and she smiled. “I’m hearing that you’ve been asking everyone how they ended up as part of the household.”He shouldn’t do it. He knew better. Two traps in one night was a lot, even for him. Especially for him. He should learn from his mistakes. Hadn’t Bucky always said that? That maybe, just once, Steve would learn from something dumb he’d done.Steve could hear Bucky’s voice in the back of his head, the only ghost he’d ever admit to carrying. “Rogers. Don’t. You. Dare.”“You said he found you in jail.”He heard his voice, as if from a distance, as if it was someone else being an absolute idiot and all he could do was stand there and watch. Because there was no way he’d be that dumb. Not twice in one night.No wonder Bucky had spent half his life cursing him out.“He had some help,” Bobbi said. They crested the edge of the grounds and headed down, towards the wall that circled around the orchard and the lake, down into the darkness, lit only by the moon. She didn’t seem bothered by that, but he supposed she knew the way even better than he did. “And a lot of things had to happen to land me there.”Steve paused by the wall, checking a gate with a quick tug. The lock held. “I’m guessing an arrest.”“Well, that was a long time coming.” Bobbi tucked her hands in her pants pockets, pushing the cloth of her trench coat back. It bunched against her wrists, floating behind her. “My father was a brilliant chemist,” she said. “A good husband and father, and a very good scientist.” She gave Steve a wry smile. “He came to the United States to teach at Empire University, and he brought my mother along. I was born here.”They wove through the old apple and pear trees together, their steps almost in tandem. Bobbi didn’t seem to be paying attention to where they were going, her head down, her shoulders squared. “When I was a teenager, things started to fall apart. There was a political skirmish in the Chemistry department, and my father’s loyalty to his adopted country was questioned. When he got fired, well, he also got blackballed. No one would hire him.”She paused. “No one legit, anyway.” Her head came up, looking up at the sky. “As it turns out, a well-trained chemist can make other things. Things that may or may not be one hundred percent legal at the time when it’s being made.”Understanding dawned. “He started bootlegging,” Steve said.“He started bootlegging,” Bobbi agreed. “And he was good at it. He was very good at it. At making a product that could be relied upon to be clean, hygienic and relatively tasty.” She paused. “Also, wouldn’t make you go blind.”“Better than most of what was floating around New York during prohibition,” Steve said.“And just as illegal.” She reached out with one hand, trailing it against a wall as they passed. “Punishment’s the same, if you made it yourself, or if you bring it down from Canada, and I guess the mob found it easier to have my father make it. Found him a nice little chunk of isolated countryside in upstate New York, and a very demanding set of quotas. He wasn’t proud of his new employers, or even what he was doing, but neither did he think that Prohibition was a good law. Or even an enforceable one.”Steve gave a short, hard laugh. “As it turns out, he was right.”“Cold comfort.” Her chin came up. “He didn’t want me involved, but by then, I was just old enough to be useful and still young enough to think I was invincible. He’d trained me to be his lab assistant from the time I could hold a test tube still for him, but I wasn’t particularly interested in running a still, or taking shorthand, or packing boxes for him. So, I learned to drive, and I learned to drive well. Not a job for a girl, but…”One shoulder rose in a shrug. “Chop my hair short, put on the right sort of clothes, and take the truck. I’d say that it was something I had to do, if I wanted to be a runner, but the truth of the matter is-” She spread her arms wide. “This felt just as natural as a dress.”“Men’s clothes?” Steve asked. He’d run into it before; New York welcomed all sorts. He’d never been bothered by it, one way or the other. Her teeth flashed in a grin. “Being a man,” she corrected. “Sometimes. Some days, I’m happier like this, in a suit, or overalls, or a uniform. Other days…” She shrugged. “I fit a sheath dress and pin curls just as well.” She reached up, adjusting the brim of her hat. “So things I should’ve questioned, things I should’ve known were wrong, were dangerous…”Bobbi’s face was still. “It let me be who I knew I was, and let me do everything I wanted to do. I learned to outrun the cops and fight and drink. It gave me connections, to people who found me amusing and people who found me useful. I got to do whatever I wanted. Spit in the face of authority. Kiss some boys. And some girls. Mostly, it let me be who I’d always known I was, because as long as I drove well, and fought well, and fucked well, well…” She shrugged. “I could have it all. And didn’t have to pay for any of it.”Steve waited, but she didn’t say another word as they wandered down the slope of the path. He nodded. “Let me guess,” he said, his voice quiet. “The bill came due.”Bobbi smiled. “Doesn’t it always?” She paused beside a plant bed, crouching down to run her fingers over the leaves, turning them over, checking them for something. “As it turns out, once they had my father on the payroll, they found other things for a talented chemist to make. Worse things.” She went still, gently stroking a leaf between her finger and thumb. “Things that he made, because now they had his wife and his teenage daughter living right under their control. Things he could swallow his pride, to keep his family safe.”She straightened up, letting the leaf fall away. “Until they finally asked him to make something he wouldn’t make. Something… Unconscionable.” She smiled. “Then, they shot him.”Steve’s eyes slid shut. “I’m sorry,” he said.“So am I.” She took a deep breath, her head twisting away. “The cops didn’t think much of it, of course. Just another criminal who got what he deserved. They had other priorities. And my mother didn’t make a fuss. She just gathered whatever she had left and moved back to the city. She could disappear here. Forget. Pretend that none of it had happened.”“I take it you had other ideas,” Steve said when she paused.Bobbi nodded, a sharp dip of her chin. “I wanted to know who did it. Who actually pulled the trigger.” Her hand, at her side, was curled in a fist, the muscles so tight that her arm was almost vibrating with it. But her voice was cool and steady. “I still had an in or two. People who were pleased that I didn’t walk in guns blazing. And people who found my driving skills useful.“I spent the next few years making a place for myself in one of the crime families,” she said. “Fisk’s, to be precise.” Steve’s head snapped up, and she met his eyes with a faint smile. “Yeah. Fisk.”“Not a risk I’d take,” Steve said.“Well.” Bobbi’s head tipped to the side. “I never said I was smart. Besides, The Kingpin’s a fair man,” she said. “Prone to acts of unbelievable violence. Possibly insane. But mostly, fair. And uninterested in his people’s private lives or histories, as long as they were loyal and made him money.” Her shoulders flexed in something approaching a shrug. “I was smart, useful and I kept my mouth shut. He didn’t have any further interest in me.”Steve nodded. “You find who pulled the trigger?”For a moment, she was silent, her face an unreadable mask. “It wasn’t as satisfying as I had hoped,” she said, and Steve nodded again, a little slower this time.“Revenge seldom is.”“I told myself it wasn’t revenge,” she said. “After all, revenge is an ugly thing, isn’t it? An eye for an eye, a bullet for a bullet. I’d convinced myself that what I was doing was saving the next kid in line, the next one with a father who didn’t have a lot of choices and still made the worst possible one.”Her head came up and she looked at the sky, her hands tucked in her pockets, her body pushing forward into the slight wind. “But it doesn’t matter, does it? Even if I find the man who held the gun that day, there’s a dozen, a hundred more willing to pick it up before his body even hits the floor.“The problem was the system, and the real problem was-” She looked at Steve. “By the time I figured that out, I was part of that system.”Steve ducked under a branch, pushing it out of her way. “But you’re not anymore,” he asked, not quite a question. Bobbi shrugged, the fabric of her coat rippling like a wave. “Mostly, I’m out,” she agreed.Steve paused, his eyes scanning the top of the wall. “Mostly.”“A lot of groups you join don’t have an easy escape clause, other than a coffin.” Bobbi’s head swung in the opposite direction, covering the ground he hadn’t. “Like the Army.”He struggled not to smile. “Well, you avoided that.” He took a step forward, and she fell into step next to him, natural as breathing. “So. What happened?”“I got arrested, caught up in a raid,” Bobbi said. She smiled, her lips kicking up on one side in a wry twist, and spread her hands out. “Wearing clothes like this. The arresting officers didn’t do a lot of investigation, they had much bigger fish to fry, but sooner or later, someone would’ve figured out that I wasn’t the sort of man that they thought I was.”She looked at Steve. “I called my mother, because, well, what else could I do? She’d…” Something flickered over her face, some sharp and broken fragment of an emotion, gone almost before it was fully formed. “Washed her hands of me, a long time before that, but I was still her only child. She took the call. Not that she had the money for bail, or the influence to appeal to anyone who did. What she had was a few numbers, a few people who remained loyal to my father when he’d been ousted.“She managed to get in touch with Henry Pym, an old graduate student of my father’s, who still remembered my mother. He promised to help, any way he could.” She stopped, grinning at Steve. “He’s not much good in a crisis, but his fiance is. I think you’ve met her.” Steve blinked at her, confused, and Bobbi gave a quick spin, the tails of her coat floating out, almost like a skirt. “You remember her. She likes to get hands on with everyone she meets.”The confusion melted away. “Miss Van Dyne.”“Janet Van Dyne,” Bobbi agreed, “who loves her fiance and knows him well enough to know that he wasn’t the one who needed to go down to the station that night. She called in a favor.”“Stark,” Steve said, putting the pieces together. “She told him you were in jail, and-”“And he showed up, with Rhodey and Happy in tow, to spring me.” She patted a tree as they passed, her palm firm on the bark. “I still remember that. Sitting there, in that holding cell, too numb to be scared. Too resigned. Too jaded.“I knew I was going to die,” she said, the words still and calm. “I didn’t see any other way out or any way forward, I was going to die and that had been a long time coming.“Then I looked up, and Tony Stark was standing there, looking at me like…” She stopped, shaking her head. “Like he’d figured something out, but he didn't know what it was. And without looking away from me, he just said to the desk sergeant, ‘The kid’s mine. And he’s late for work.’” She raised her hands, a universal gesture of surrender. “Then he just turned and left. By the time the sergeant wrestled me out to the front desk, with me fighting him the whole way, Tony was just calmly counting off bills, and I still don’t know if he was paying my bail or he just thought a bribe involved just…” She shook her head. “Putting down money until someone told him to stop.”Steve realized he was smiling. “Dear God.”“In as many words.” They rounded the house, heading back to the front door. “Anyway, they got me out of the station and into the car, and I was almost rabid by that point, I was wondering if I could punch him in the throat and make a run for it, and I probably would’ve tried it, but Happy had me by the back of my collar and-”She stopped, right on the front stoop. “And Tony slid into the back seat of the car, looked at me, and said, ‘so, how are you with plants?’”He could hear that. Somehow. Steve could hear Tony, in the early hours of the morning, half awake, trying to figure out this newest puzzle, making the offer. “I take it you were good with plants?”“The ones that can be brewed into alcohol?” She gave him an okay gesture, her thumb and index finger making a circle. “Absolutely. All the others? Not so much.”“And you told him that?”“I absolutely told him that,” Bobbi said. “In short, not so polite words. But I had him on one side of me, and Happy on the other, and Rhodey watching me in the rearview mirror with the sort of expression that made it clear that even if I did get out of the car, he’d be more than happy to back up over me.” She braced a hand on the doorframe, her thumb stroking over the silky wood. “And where could I go, even if I got out? My mother made it clear I wasn’t welcome in her home. And I never had any illusions about Fisk and his people. They wouldn’t have dropped a dime to spring me.”She looked up at the house, her jaw tight. “I walked through these doors, because I had nowhere else to go.” Her chin dipped, a slight nod. “And I learned something very important.”“And what would that be?” Steve asked.She smiled. “As it turns out? I’m very good with plants.” She reached for the doorknob, and before her fingers could make contact, the door swung open. Jarvis stood there, framed in the light of the foyer. “Welcome home, sirs.” He inclined his head in Steve’s direction, but he was clearly speaking to Bobbi. “Mr. Stark has asked you to join him for a drink.”Bobbi paused, her hands on the lapels of her coat. “Has he, now,” she said, her voice musing. Her eyes cut in Steve’s direction. “Him?” She pulled off the coat, handing it over, and Jarvis folded it neatly over his arm and held his hand out for her hat. “You’re sure?”Jarvis nodded, settling the hat on top of the coat. “Yes, sir. Mr. Stark was quite adamant. I would be happy to escort Officer Rogers, if you’d prefer not to-”Bobbi shook her head. “I could use one myself.” She looked at Steve. “Let’s go, Officer. Looks like you’re being offered the good stuff.” She headed across the foyer, long-legged and easy, her hands tucked in her pants pockets, leaving Steve scrambling to catch up.“Where are we going?” Steve asked as he pulled up next to her, suspicion pricking the edges of his mind.“Like I said, we’re going for the good stuff,” Bobbi said, the words echoing through the Great Hall. She looked over at him, one eyebrow cocked. “That’s what ‘asked you to join him for a drink’ means. It means, meet him at the still, because, well, that’s where we hide it.”Understanding dawned, and behind it a rush of excitement. “The greenhouse,” Steve said, almost gleeful. “The damn greenhouse.’“The damn greenhouse,” she agreed, as they ducked through the doors and down the stairs to the kitchen. It was quiet and still now, a pot of coffee on a back burner and a napkin covered basket the only sign of the chaos to come in the morning. Bobbi paused, just long enough to fish a scone from the basket, tossing one to Steve and taking one for herself. “Eat it,” she said, cutting off any objection. “Drinking on an empty stomach is not a good idea.”“I’ve done it before, and I’ll probably do it again,” Steve said, but he took a bite of it anyway. The pastry melted on his tongue, warm and buttery, the raw sugar from the top crunching between his teeth. His eyes closed, just for a second, as he savored the flavor.“And it was a bad idea before, and it’ll be a bad idea in the future,” Bobbi said, breaking off a piece and tossing it into her mouth. She hip checked the kitchen door open, waving Steve into the laundry yard. “Trust me. I speak from experience.”They walked in companionable silence across the lawn, down to the greenhouse, leaving footsteps in the dew-damp grass. He finished his scone just as they reached the door. “Why do I think it’s not going to be locked tonight?” he said, as she reached for the handle.Bobbi met his eyes with a faint smile. “Kind of surprised it wasn’t just left standing open,” she said, pulling the door open and waving him past her.The greenhouse was full of shadows, the moonlight cut to pieces by the heavy foliage. Steve squinted, trying to see through the darkness, but Bobbi just slipped forward, disappearing between the rows of tables in an instant. He gritted his teeth, ducking under the trailing leaves, trying his best to shake the feeling that he was walking into his second trap of the night.By the time he caught up to her, Bobbi was already at the still, making minute adjustments to the gauges there. She took a step back, sweeping her hat off and tossing it towards a trailing bit of pipe. “There,” she said, reaching up and catching a lever in one hand. She looked back at Steve, even as she gave it a sharp tug. “Enjoy your drink.”There was a moment of silence, and then, the flagstones under his feet shuddered.Steve scrambled backwards, making a futile grab for the shield, his heartbeat accelerating as adrenaline spiking through his veins. Bobbi, for her part, didn’t move, her shoulder braced against the still as the stone in the middle of the floor simply dropped down and moved back and out of the way. Revealing a stone staircase that stretched down, down, down into the darkness. Steve took a step forward, and another, staring down into the passage that had opened up in front of his feet. He couldn’t see the bottom, he couldn’t see anything beyond the first five or six steps, but he could feel the movement of air, hinting at a massive, monstrous space beyond the reach of his eyes. A faint, soft swirl of music, melancholy and soft, came with it, a siren’s call that made his breath still in his chest.He looked up, and Bobbi hadn’t moved, her arms crossed over her chest, her gaze level. Steve’s mouth moved, struggling to form words. “The hall beneath the hill,” he said, at last, and she smiled.“Don’t go down beneath the hill,” she said, a faint hint of an Irish brogue curling the edges of the words. She pushed herself upright, reaching for a bottle up on the shelf above her head. “But if you must, carry cold iron against your breast, and hold tight, hold tight, hold tight.”She wrenched the cork free. “Your choice. But what you’re looking for?” She took a sip, straight from the bottle, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “You’re not going to find it up here.”Steve’s gaze floated from her, and down into the darkness. It was almost hypnotic, that heavy, empty, consuming darkness, it threatened to swallow him. It threatened to draw him down, to pull him in, to drown him.He could feel the pull, even as he set his foot on the first step, on the second, on the third. The sound of his footsteps disappeared first, never reaching his ears, never escaping the pull of that darkness. He ducked down, beneath the level of the floor, his eyes wide, trying desperately to see something beyond the reach of his hands.He was blind and dumb and he descended anyway.“Don’t worry.” Bobbi’s voice echoed down behind him. “There are lights. There’s always light. If you’re willing to risk it.”He looked back up, and she was standing above him, the pale moonlight casting a halo around her head. She flicked a salute, her fingers cutting through the air. “Give it a minute, and-”“Wait.” Steve stared up at her. “What… What do I call you? When you’re-” He gestured at her. “Jarvis said sirs, is it…” He stopped. “I don’t know what to ask,” he admitted.He couldn’t see her face, but he got the feeling she was smiling. “What do you know,” she said. “Bobbi works just fine, no matter if people are expecting a man or a woman. Follow my lead. That’ll be fine.”“That, I can do.” Steve took a deep breath. “Promise me this isn’t another trap.She leaned over, one arm braced on her upraised knee. “Would I do that?”Steve smiled. “Yes, sir, I think you would.”Bobbi straightened up. “Follow the music,” she said, reaching for the lever. A moment of silence, and then the stone started moving, sliding back into place, sealing him away.Steve closed his eyes, before the stone fell into place, telling himself that he couldn’t feel the darkness close in around him. The passage closed with an almost silent scrape of stone on stone, and then there was darkness and stillness, broken only by the soft, lilting jazz music.The lights flared and he blinked hard, trying to clear his vision. Squinting against the sudden glare, he found himself in a narrow stone stairwell that ended at a door just ahead of him. In just a few steps, he reached the door, pushing it open with one cautious hand.He stepped into a whole other world.The hallway that stretched in front of him was unlike anything he’d ever seen, the walls made of unbroken, polished metal. At first glance, it seemed utilitarian, almost featureless, but as he ran his fingers along the walls, he could feel flourishes, smooth and flowing, across the surface. Recessed alcoves glowed above his head, the light as warm as sunlight on his skin.The music lead him on, and he followed, his heartbeat loud in his ears.The room at the end of the hall was large and imposing, with the beautiful, arched ceiling of a cathedral, but in platinum-white metal that reflected the lights. Trimmed in gold, and ringed with columns, it was empty except for a large, imposing round table. It filled the center of the room, surrounded by chairs made of the same matte silver. The table was inlaid with an intricate, flowing pattern. As he stepped forward, the light caught it head on, and it seemed to light up, a single, artistic letter A.Tony was sitting at the far side of the table, facing the door, a wine bottle and two empty glasses next to his elbow. He was wearing a silk dressing gown over an unbuttoned shirt and pants from the suit he’d been wearing earlier in the day. His feet were bare, his hair disordered, his hands cradling a file folder. His eyes were focused on the pages, a faint frown tugging at the corners of his lips.“Please tell me you’re armed,” he said, without even looking up.Steve walked forward, trying without success to hear the sound of his own footsteps. “I’m armed,” he said, his head tipping back. The vaulted ceiling above them gleamed, light spilling over the white and gold surface. Tony made a non-commital noise under his breath, flipping another page. “Let me rephrase. Please tell me you have a gun,” he said.Steve struggled against a smile. “I have a gun,” he said, stopping in front of the table. It stretched between them, an unfathomable barrier. “You made it, actually.”For the first time, Tony’s eyes came up, sharp and brilliant beneath the dark sweep of his brows. “Tell me you have a gun on you right now,” he said, his voice patient.Steve shrugged. “Never really was comfortable with them,” he said. He swung his shield off of his back, settling it in front of him, braced on a chair. “Don’t really need one, though.”Tony pinched the bridge of his nose. He took a deep breath. “You know, if you’d asked me this morning what my absolute worst case scenario was for what that pack of jackals would come back with, I would’ve said that it was that you’re here to kill me.” His hand fell to the table and he looked up. “Who knew that ‘he’s running around the city fighting mobsters with just his bare fists and a trash can lid’ could actually beat that, in terms of nightmare scenarios?”He reached for the wine bottle. “Please tell me they’re wrong. Please tell me you’re not-”“Someone had to do it,” Steve said, his voice soft, and Tony paused, his fingers just resting on the glass of the bottle. Steve shook his head. “It’s not… It’s not right. I hate it. I hate that the only way I can do this is to take my badge off and do the things that no one else would do, because it’s not right, it’s not something anyone should have to do, but no one else-”He stopped. “Some people. The law doesn’t care about.”Tony’s eyes were brilliant and beautiful and somehow sad. “But you do,” he said, the words almost inaudible.“It needs doing,” Steve said. His fingers ran across the rim of his shield. “Someone has to do it. Someone…” He looked up. “If it’s gotta be me, then I suppose it’s gotta be me.”Tony dumped a healthy amount of wine into his glass. “I’m not entirely certain that it’s got to be you, but that’s a discussion for a night when I’m not exhausted and on my last nerve.” He took a long sip, his eyes narrowed at Steve over the rim. “Not that I have many left on a good night. I blame the company I keep.”His lips were red from the wine, and Steve found he was having trouble breathing. “Can we discuss this, then?” he asked. He looked up, and around the room. “Because. If you’d asked me what my worst case scenario was this morning, it’d be that you made your money through organized crime and somehow kept that quiet. Instead-”Steve shook his head. “You have a secret…” He looked at Tony. “Would you call this a lair?”Tony smiled. “I’d call it a war room,” he said. “Or a conference room.”Steve leaned forward, bracing his hands on the tabletop. “I’d call it a secret lair, right out of the funny books, Mr. Stark.”Tony’s eyebrows arched. “Do you like it?” he asked, taking another sip of his wine. “Thor’s people helped me build it. They’re… A bit ahead of us, in terms of technology.” He leaned back in his chair, crossing his legs. “And they’re not the only ones. I tend not to bring up our other friends, but then again, that little trinket that you’re carrying makes me think that it’s a secret you might already know.”Steve’s hand rested on the shield’s rim. “It was a gift.”“I suspected. They don’t tolerate thieves.” Tony’s head tipped to the side. “I’m going to say something to you, that someone said to me, not that long ago.” He stood, the wine glass cradled in his hand. “You think you’re the only one fighting this battle? Officer Rogers, you’ve become a part of a bigger universe.” He saluted Steve with the glass. “You just don’t know it yet.”“You’re building, what, an army?”“A team,” Tony said. “A team of remarkable people.”“Right,” Steve said. “A spy. A sniper. A fighter. An underworld contact.” He nodded. “Who’s the demolition expert? Mrs. Parker?”“Rhodey, actually,” Tony said. His eyebrows arched. “The Army brass had limited use for a man of his intelligence and abilities, but he likes to make his own opportunities.” He swirled the wine in his glass. “However, if you threatened any of her ducklings, I’m fairly certain May could figure out which end of the dynamite to light.”Steve realized he was smiling. “I think you just might be right.” He was moving around the table, without even thinking about it. “So. Everyone except Pepper, Mrs. Parker and Jarvis? And Bruce?”“Bruce makes his own choices,” Tony said. “Which are, mostly, to stay in his garden. And drink.”“I’m understanding that impulse.” Steve straightened up, walking around the table. “Why.”“Why?” Tony echoed. He reached for the wine bottle, filling first his glass, and then the other one. “So many reasons. But mostly…” He set the bottle back down. “Do you think the war’s over?”Steve froze. “A whole lot of men who are a whole lot smarter than me say it is.”Tony stood, his glass cradled in his palm. “You were there. You saw the end. You saw what was left of Europe.” His chin came up. “Do you think that war is over?” “I want it to be,” Steve said.“I do, too,” Tony said. His free hand came up, his fingers tapping against his breastbone. “But I think something’s coming. Something worse. Something… Unavoidable.” He took a sip of his wine. “And we’re massing something to meet it. Something just unstoppable.”He picked up the other glass and held it out to Steve. “Drink?”Steve stepped in, his hand sliding across Tony’s shoulder and up to cradle the nape of his neck with gentle fingers. Ignoring the glass, he leaned in, and Tony met him halfway, his head tipping up into the kiss. His lips tasted like wine, rich and intoxicating, and Steve groaned into his mouth.When they broke apart, they were both breathing hard. “You taste like sugar and lemon. You’ve been raiding the kitchen again,” Tony whispered against Steve’s throat, as Steve took one of the wineglasses from him. “That one’s mine.”“I know,” Steve said, taking a sip. Then he set it down on the table. “Tastes better on your skin.”“We can test that later.” Tony dropped the other glass on the table and it wobbled on its base, tipping over and splashing its contents across the metal surface. Tony didn’t seem to notice. He slid his hands into Steve’s hair, his eyes searching Steve’s. “Tell me you’re all right.”Steve kissed him. “I’m fine,” he whispered against Tony’s lips. It sounded like the truth. It might even have been the truth. He wasn’t sure anymore, but he was willing to take the risk. “You thought I was here to kill you?”“Worst case,” Tony said, and Steve laughed against his skin. “It ranked just above, or below, as the case may be, the possibility that you were married and sneaking off to see your wife and what was probably half a dozen lovely blonde children.”Steve choked on a laugh. “My god,” he manged.“Well, there could also have been a boyfriend,” Tony mused, and Steve gave up and buried his face in Tony’s shoulder. Tony stroked his hair. “I mean, I do not possibly know how you could be satisfying more than one person in bed on a daily basis and also making it down to breakfast in a timely manner, but it turns out you were working up all sorts of appetites.”Steve wrapped his arms around Tony’s waist. This, he understood. “We’ve got a few hours til breakfast,” he whispered against Tony’s shoulder. “And I haven’t got a wife.” He resisted the urge to ask if he had a boyfriend, because that way lay madness. Instead, he slipped his hands under Tony’s shirt. “Just a secret identity?” Tony said, his hips arching into Steve’s.“Better than a wife?”Tony kissed him. “Ask me again in the morning.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“Well?”Natasha poured a cup of coffee, holding it out to Bruce. “Well, what?” she asked.Bruce took it. “Well, what’s happening?” he asked, wrapping both hands around the cup. He made no move to drink it. His eyes darted around the room. “Do we… Do we know what’s happening? Downstairs, I mean?”Bobbi and Clint exchanged a glance with each other. Happy made a show of taking a sip of his coffee. Jarvis continued polishing a silver tea pot that absolutely did not need polishing. Rhodey didn’t look up from his book.Bruce huffed out a breath. “Nat?” he asked, a faintly pleading note in his voice.Natasha allowed herself a shrug. “Hard to say,” she said, reaching for the sugar bowl. “Rogers has proved… Difficult to anticipate.” Not that she wanted to admit that, but she did like to give credit where credit was due. “And Tony is… Tony.”“Not hard to say,” Clint mumbled into his newspaper. “They’re fucking.” Bobbi kicked him under the table, and he gave a yelp. “What? They are.”“Manners, Barton,” Bobbi said, sipping her coffee.“Je ne comprends pas,” Clint said.“That was very nearly something,” Rhodey said, holding up his thumb and finger an inch apart form each other. “So close. Almost words.” Clint flipped him off with a grin, and Rhodey laughed.“Not… Not what I was asking about,” Bruce said, looking pained.“Mostly cause he knew that,” Happy said, bracing a foot on the edge of the kitchen table, rocking his chair onto its back legs. “Hell, everyone knew that.”“Put your feet down,” Jarvis said, not looking up from his work. “I can’t keep you from gossiping, I can keep you from destroying the furniture.” He smoothed the cloth along the curves of the teapot. “I believe we should to take comfort from the fact that we are no longer working at cross purposes.”“Are we sure about that?” Clint asked, his head falling back. “Really?”Bobbi flicked a strip of apple peel free from the blade of her knife, tossing it in his direction, and it landed squarely on his forehead. “Can we say we’re more united than we were?”“We can say whatever we want, ain’t gonna make it so.” Clint picked up the peel and popped it into his mouth. “I think there’s some uniting happening downstairs, that’s for sure. Natasha gave a whistle, and he opened his mouth. She tossed a sugar cube into his mouth. “He’s right,” she said, flicking grains of sugar from her fingertips. “As a recruiting tactic, seduction isn’t always effective.”“It… It shouldn’t ever be effective,” Bruce said, sounding pained. “It’s, that’s not a good way to, to do this sort of…” He stopped. “Anything.”“Wait, weren’t the rest of you seduced?” Rhodey asked. He looked around the room, his eyes wide. “I assumed the rest of you-” He picked up his coffee. “Just me, then?”“Just you,” Natasha said, stirring her coffee. She licked the bowl of her spoon. “The rest of us joined up because the alternative was jail time.” “Okay, that’s… That’s bad, too, you know that, right?” Bruce asked.Clint nicked another piece of Bobbi’s peel. “Still not sure we made the right choice.” His head rolled in Bruce’s direction. “How about you?”“How about me, what?”Clint grinned. “Did you make the right decision, Doc?”“I’m not part of this,” Bruce said, his voice tense. “Just as a reminder. I-” He held up a hand. “I am not a part of this.”“Oh, so that’s not your lab down there?” Bobbi asked, stabbing a piece of the apple and eating it from the point of her knife. She grinned, white teeth flashing against the polished steel. “My mistake.”“I-” Bruce stopped. Set the coffee cup down on the table. “This game we’re playing is hard enough when we know where all the pieces are,” he said, and everyone went silent. He looked around, blinking nervously behind the crooked frames of his spectacles. “Let alone who’s moving them.”Jarvis set the tea pot down, dusting off his hands. “It is neither the pieces, nor the players that concern me,” he said, his voice quiet. He turned in his seat. “It is the rules. Rules that bind our movements, our choices, and most importantly, the winning conditions.“And I very much fear that the last has changed, without any of us knowing.”He pulled his watch from his vest pocket, opening it with a brisk tap of his thumb. He checked it with a faint frown. “It is late.” He looked up. “And I expect this household to run as it always has tomorrow, which means that we should all take the chance to sleep while we can.” Clint rolled to his feet, folding the newspaper with a theatrical flick of his hand. “Who’s got first watch?”“I’m too wired to sleep,” Bobbi said, tossing the apple core towards the trash can. “I can.”“Off to bed, with all of you,” Jarvis said, collecting the cups from the table. “There’s guards all over the grounds.”“Oh, do we trust them now?” Natasha asked, setting the kettle on the stove for the morning’s tea.“We do not,” Rhodey said, marking his spot in his book. “I think it’s important that we make it clear that we do not.”“No, we do not, but they are loud and clumsy, and get in each other’s way, making it impossible for them to do anything without being seen. For now, that’s enough.” Jarvis set the plates and cups in the rack to be washed. “Mr. Rhodes, will you be spending the night?”“Might as well, by the time I get home it’ll be just about time to turn around and come back,” Rhodey said with a yawn. “I take it the greenhouse is secured?”“No one’s getting in or out through that entrance,” Bruce said. “Tony’ll have to take him up the back way straight into the house.”“And what if he’s not intending to tell Rogers about the rest of the passages?” Natasha asked, not really concerned about the answer.“Then he should not have annoyed the man responsible for keeping the doors locked,” Jarvis said. “Luckily for sir, I do have a spare set.” He gestured to the kitchen door. “I shall wait up. The rest of you, get some sleep. I expect you to be at your posts at the normal hour tomorrow.”Bobbi wrapped an arm around Bruce’s shoulders. “C’mon, bossman. You can take out your stress on the hedges tomorrow.”“There aren’t enough hedges in the world,” Bruce said, his voice dire, but he let Bobbi propel him out of the kitchen.“I was promised world saving,” Clint said, balancing an apple on his head. “I was promised minimal jail time and maximum amounts of saving the world. And now I’m just sitting in a kitchen in the small hours of the morning, wondering if we have enough bacon for breakfast and hoping that the boss’s latest squeeze isn’t going to go straight to police before I have a chance to cook it.” He paused, the apple wobbling on his head. “Which is pretty likely. Because he is the police.”“What’s he going to tell them?” Natasha asked him. “That Anthony Stark has a secret high tech facility under his mansion and he’s building a private army made up of ex-mobsters, scientists, carnies and military operatives?”“He could,” Clint said.“Don’t worry, if anyone asks, we’ll tell them you only speak French,” Natasha said. She looked back over her shoulder. Jarvis was wiping down the table, the movements brisk and efficient. “Jarvis?”He looked up. “Good night, Miss Romanov. Sleep well.”She nodded. “If the boss needs us-”“I’m certain he’ll let you know.” Jarvis smiled. “Good night.”“Good night.”*“Tony?”Tony hummed into his coffee cup, watching as Peter wobbled across the lawn, DJ perched unsteadily on his shoulders. Steve followed them, just a few steps behind, a bushel basket braced on his hip. Tony had no doubt that he had collected twice as much fruit as the two boys combined. As Tony watched, DJ reached up, carefully pulling an apple free from a branch just above his head, and handed it over to Steve. Steve held it up in front of him, as if this one piece of fruit was worth the full force of his attention. Tony’s lips twitched as Steve gave a firm nod, and added the apple to his basket. Pleased with this small approval, DJ went back to harvesting, one hand planted firmly on top of Peter’s head.“Tony.”Peter stumbled, and Steve caught the back of his shirt, steadying them both before he set down the bushel basket. He lifted DJ off of Peter’s shoulders, and boosted the boy onto one of his own. DJ grabbed hold of his hair with one hand, reaching up to snag an apple with the other. Peter trotted off towards the ladders stacked against the tool shed. Judging by the way his hands were cutting through the air, he was talking the entire way.“Tony.”The word was sharp, hard, and Tony’s head swung around. Obie was sitting in one of his leather arm chairs, his hands folded in his lap, his head tipped forward over the tip of his cigar. The glowing tip cut through the soft cloud of white smoke that wreathed his face. Tony gave him a smile. It wasn’t returned. “Yes?”Obie sighed, a stream of smoke curling from his pursed lips. “I get the feeling,” he said, tapping the cigar against the rim of a nearby ashtray, the movement sharp and hard, “that I don’t have your full attention right now.”Tony returned to his desk, only to find his chair occupied. “Hello,” he said, and one of Furbro’s ears twitched, but he didn’t raise his head. Tony scooped the cat up, and dropped into his seat with a distinct lack of grace. “I can’t imagine what you mean,” he said. Furbro padded in a circle on Tony’s lap then flopped over, draping himself over Tony’s knees. Tony considered pushing him off, but the damn animal was purring already. He scratched the cat behind the ear. “I can’t think of anything that’s more important to me right now than this conversation.”Obie smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Oh, you can’t?” he asked, his fingers rattling against the arm of his chair. He exhaled. “Tony. You can’t just… Keep the child.”Tony considered that, his eyes narrowing. “Yes,” he said at last. “As it turns out, I can.”Obie shook his head. “Tony, that’s just… It’s not done.”“Again, yes. That’s what orphanages do, Obie,” Tony pointed out. “They… Find families for orphans.” He rocked back in his chair, one foot bouncing against the floor in a rapid tattoo, and Furbro jumped off his lap with a swish of his tail. “And while I might not be the sort of family the Board of Orphans of New York had in mind, money does cover a great multitude of sins.” He reached for his coffee cup. It was almost empty. He considered ringing for Jarvis, but it didn’t seem worth the effort. “I make a healthy donation, they have one less orphan to worry about. That is, in fact, how these things go.”“Except he’s not?”Tony paused, his coffee cup halfway to his mouth. “Not… What?” he asked, and Obie pinched the bridge of his nose. “The child isn’t an orphan,” he said, and Tony stood. Obie looked up at him, his brow furrowing. “Tony?”Tony held up a finger, and crossed back to the window with long, brisk steps. He braced his hand against the frame, frowning down at the lawn, but the three of them were still there, Peter with a ladder now and DJ on Steve’s back, clinging like a monkey as Steve piled apples in the fabric of his untucked shirt. Tony took a deep breath, and let it out.Stalking back to the desk, he picked up the phone, stabbing the button for the kitchen. A moment later, Jarvis’ smooth voice came across the line. “Yes, sir?”“The boys are out back in the orchard,” Tony said. “They are, yes, sir, with Officer Rogers.”“When they come in, see if you can keep them in the kitchen. Ring me if you can’t.” He paused. “I don’t want my current negotiations to be misconstrued.”There was a beat of a pause. “Of course, sir. I shall put the kettle on now, by the time they come in, I’m sure some cocoa and a bit of bread and jam would be appreciated. After all, they’ll be cold and tired.” Another beat. “I do assume this request encompasses all three parties? Not just the younger ones?”“It does. Thank you, Jarvis.” “Of course, sir.”Tony dropped the phone back into the cradle. He looked up to find Obie watching him, a strange expression on his face. Tony smiled at him, his lips thin against his teeth. “Learning from my father’s mistakes,” he said, lowering himself into his chair, bracing his elbows on the top of his desk. He folded his fingers in front of his mouth. “I overheard a lot of things.”Obie’s eyebrows arched. “You were your father’s little mouse,” he said, sucking on the cigar. The tip flared red, casting shadows over his face. “Always hiding under a table or behind a chair.”Tony’s jaw went tight. “Right.” He arched an eyebrow. “You were saying?”Obie scooped up the folder from the table next to him. He flipped through the pages Hammer had sent over, his face set in a scowl. “Anthony. He is not an orphan. He was left at the Orphanage, but there’s no reason to think his parents are dead.” He slapped the folder against his knee. “In fact, it’s far more likely that they’re not.”Tony shrugged. “I’m not sure what difference that makes.”Obie leaned forward, his elbows braced on his knees. Tony decided to ignore the way his cigar dripped ashes across the carpet. “Anthony. Have you considered what you’re going to do when his parents show up to collect him?”Tony met his eyes without flinching. “Of course.”Obie’s shoulders relaxed. “Good. At least you’re showing sense, there’s-”“I expect you to research anyone who shows up claiming a relationship to him,” Tony said, cutting him off, his voice tinged with ice, “and if you find their claim to be plausible, I expect you to pay them off and send them packing.”Slowly, Obie straightened up. “If they’re really his parents, you can’t deny them,” he said. There was a note in his voice that Tony couldn’t quite quantify. He was surprised to discover that he really didn’t care. “Tony. You can’t just-”“Yes.” The word was soft. Steady. Utterly implacable. Obie fell silent, and Tony smiled. “Yes. I can.” He leaned back in his chair. “It’s possible, of course. It’s possible that his parents are still out there, somewhere. It’s possible that they’ve spent all these years struggling to make a life that could include him. Making a home for him, making a place for him. It’s possible that they’ve been working for all this time, and by some incredible, almost unbelievable, coincidence, that they’re on their way back to Hammer’s right now.“Ready at last to collect the child they abandoned.” The office was so quiet that Tony could hear the slow, steady click of the clock on the wall. He glanced at it. “That’s possible. Anything is, after all.” He set his coffee cup down. “However, it’s far more likely that if they are even less able to take care of him than they were when the left him behind. Which, by my calculations, was years before the stock market crash. Years before the world went straight to hell.“They couldn’t take care of him then, and that is a shame,” he said. “I’m not going to judge them for leaving him where he’d at least be warm and fed, however poorly. They did what they had to do. They probably did what they thought was best for him.”He reached for his pen. “And now I’m going to do the same thing.” He pulled the contracts across the desk to his blotter. “If they show up now? Pay them. And make sure that they understand this is not the first payment of many. This is the final offer. They are to take it, and they are to go away. If they come back with their hands out again?” The tip of his pen carved a signature against the pages, one after another. Ink bled through the fiber of the paper, each stroke a wound. “I can promise you, they won’t like what they find.”Obie stood. “You are not his father.”Tony didn’t even look at him, done with this conversation already. “A problem that money can, and will, fix.” He stabbed a period at the end of his signature, and tipped his eyes up. Obie looked… Almost confused. As if Tony had surprised him, in a way that he was not prepared to deal with. Tony set the pen down his fingers, resting against it for a moment. “You know a liar when you see one, Obie. You’ve always been very good at finding a cheat and a scammer.“You have the files from Hammer.” Tony gestured at the box of paperwork Happy had collected for him. “Anyone who shows up?” Tony smiled at him. “I expect you’ll do everything possible to protect the company from…” He paused, and reached for his cup. “Unacceptable losses.”Obie reached out, grinding his cigar out in the ashtray on Tony’s desk. His fingers twisted the stub, and it disintegrated against the crystal. He flicked the remains free of his fingertips. He smiled. “Haven’t I always?”Tony smiled back. “Yes. You have.” Furbro jumped onto his desk, scattering his paperwork, and he leaned back in his chair with a sigh as pages floated to the floor. He looked up at Obie. “I seem to have lost control of my life.”Obie smiled back. “We’ll get it back where it should be. Trust me on that.”*“Enjoying your bath?”Steve dropped the bar of soap into the soapdish. “It’s a bath. How do you ‘enjoy’ a bath?” he asked, splashing water onto his face. Soap suds dripped from his nose, and he swiped at them with the back of his hand. “I’m done.”There was a moment of silence, and then Tony appeared in the bathroom door. His shirtsleeves were rolled up to his elbows, his vest unbuttoned, his jacket long since abandoned. He leaned a shoulder against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest, a faint, amused smile on his face. “Jarvis just ran that for you.”“Right,” Steve said, running a hand through his wet hair. “And I’m done.” He frowned at Tony. “I thought you were putting DJ to bed.”“So did I,” Tony said, his voice wry. “I got his face and hands washed, his teeth brushed, got him into his pajamas, and then I was dismissed.”Steve’s lips twitched. “You were, were you?”“I was.” Tony crossed to the bath, trailing his fingers through the bathwater. “He wanted May, and let me tell you, she was quite smug about that.” He gave Steve a look. “My story reading is, apparently, subpar.”Steve choked on a laugh. “You have to be bad at something, I suppose.” Tony reached for the hot tap, and Steve kicked water at him, making him laugh. “Don’t bother. I’m done.”Tony ignored that, turning on the water. “You just got into that bath, scrub something.”“I’ve scrubbed,” Steve said. He shifted, bracing his arms on the sides of the tub. “There’s only so much scrubbing a man can do.”“There’s a lot of you, perhaps you missed a spot,” Tony said. Steve gave him a look. “Fine. Well, then, you can sit there for a moment and…” He waved a hand at the bathtub. “Just relax.”Steve blinked at him. “But… What am I supposed to do?”Tony sighed. “Would you like a book?”Steve frowned at him. “A book,” he said, his voice flat. Tony nodded. “In… Water.”“The idea,” Tony said, his head tipping to the side, “is to keep it OUT of the water.”“Even so.” Steve slumped a little lower in the bath, wincing as the water licked against the rim. “A book with wet hands?”Tony grinned at him, his eyes dancing. “Finally. I’ve scandalized you. I’m oddly proud of myself.” He straightened up, dusting his hands off on his legs. “Disappointed that it’s so… Banal, but one takes one’s victories where one can.”Steve gave him a look over the rim of the tub, and Tony’s lips twitched. “How do you pack so much disapproval into a single look? I’ve dealt with priests and politicians who would envy your ability to shrivel the heart of a sinner with a single glance. It’s rather impressive, I don’t know-” “Right, I’m getting out,” Steve said, shifting his weight forward, and Tony reached over, catching him by the shoulder.“Can you please relax?” he asked, and there was such warmth in his voice that Steve felt his face flush. “Is that even a possibility with you?” Steve stared at him, and Tony started to laugh. “Fine.” He reached for a towel from the stack and tossed it onto the tile next to the bath. “Give me that bottle.”Steve gave him a suspicious look. “What are you-”“Bottle,” Tony said, kneeling down on the towel, bracing an arm on the edge of the tub. He trailed his fingers through the water, and Steve shifted in place. “Did Jarvis put any bath salts in here?”“Why would I let him do-” Steve started, realizing his error only when Tony snagged a box from the shelf. “Actually, now that you mention it, I’m sure he did.”Tony met his eyes as he popped the lid off of the jar. “I love watching you try, and fail, to lie.” He tossed what Steve considered an excessive amount of salts into the water. “It’s honestly quite charming.”“That’s an opinion not many people share,” Steve said. Tony was rifling through the shelves next to the bath, and Steve gave him a suspicious look. “What are you doing?”“I was always an iconoclast,” Tony said, selecting a bottle. “And I’m doing what you won’t do on your own: make you relax for at least ten minutes.” He poured shampoo into the hollow of his palm. “Come here.”Steve shifted his weight to the other side of bathtub, leaning away from Tony with a scowl. “I’m not a child.”Tony’s eyes canted downwards, a wicked smile curling his lips, and Steve felt his face heat. “Trust me,” he said, his voice a low, warm purr, “I noticed.”While Steve was still sputtering, Tony rocked up onto his knees, catching Steve’s head in his hands. A few quick rubs, and he’d worked the shampoo into Steve’s hair. “There,” he said, the pressure of his hands changing, his fingers smoothing over the lines of Steve’s head. “That’s not so bad, is it?”Steve’s eyes fell shut, tension bleeding out of his shoulders as Tony’s fingers, slick with soap, slid down the back of his neck, rubbing away the soreness there. “You don’t have to…” The words trailed off on an inarticulate sound as Tony’s fingers found a knot of tension at the base of his skull.Tony laughed, and Steve pried one eye open, blinking at him through the soap suds dripping down his face. Tony wiped them away with the side of one finger, his thumb rubbing Steve’s cheekbone. “Lean over here,” he said.“No,” Steve mumbled, just to be difficult.Tony pulled back. “Fine,” he said, catching the edge of the tub with one hand and pushing himself up. “If you’re going to be like that…” “I am, and-” Steve rocked backwards as Tony stepped, fully clothed, into the bathtub. Steve’s hands shot up, catching him around the waist as water splashed over the edge of the tub and all over the floor. Steve lashed out with one foot, bracing them in the tub as Tony’s full weight settled against him. “Are you out of your mind?” Tony grinned down at him, water lapping at his waist and dripping from his arms. “Why would you say that?” he asked, laughter running through the words. His white shirt was plastered to his skin, his pants causing eddies in the water as he shifted his legs to straddle Steve’s hips. Ignoring Steve’s efforts to fend him off, he reached out, smoothing wet hands through Steve’s hair. “What do you know? Much easier from here.”“Right, now all we have to do is worry about mopping up the water all over the floor,” Steve groused as Tony scooped up water in one hand, letting it drip over Steve’s head.“There’s a drain,” Tony said, rubbing his hands through Steve’s hair.Steve glared at him with one eye. “Of course there is,” he said, knowing it would make Tony laugh. When Tony poured more water over his head, washing the soap away, he let his eyes close, savoring the small comfort of Tony’s touch.“Yeah, do one cannonball into a third floor bathtub and flood two rooms under it, and people learn,” Tony said, leaning forward to press a kiss against Steve’s forehead. “Was this last week or the week before?” Steve asked, just to hear him laugh. He looped his arms around Tony’s waist, tipping his head forward to let Tony finish messing with his hair. “See?” Tony asked, and Steve got the feeling that Tony wasn’t washing his hair so much as playing with it now. “Was that so hard?”“At this point, fighting with you’s going to result in something getting broken, and I’m not interested in being blamed for it,” Steve said. His fingers brushed against the small of Tony’s back, tangling with the wet fabric of his shirt. “Or given a bill.”“Don’t worry, Jarvis knows who’s responsible for all the disasters in this house. One day,” Tony said, his fingers smoothing along the line of Steve’s jaw, “I should give you a shave.” He leaned in, his lips tracing the same path, his breath soft against Steve’s skin. “Though I find myself curious what you’d look like with a beard.”Steve’s breath hissed out from lax lips. “Like a hobo,” he managed, and he felt Tony’s laughter, soft and warm, against his jaw. He smiled. “Just because you look good with a beard doesn’t mean that everyone else does.”“I think that’s the closest you’ve come to giving me a compliment.” Tony rocked backwards. “Down. Let’s get rid of that soap.”“You put it there, now you want it gone?” Steve asked, but he let Tony push his shoulders down, his head sliding under the water. It closed over his face, and he exhaled, bubbles slipping from his lips. It was warm and quiet and he reached up, tugging Tony down to him.The kiss was soft and sweet and over too soon, and Steve sat up again. Tony breathed against his lips, water dripping from his nose, from his hair. “Have I mentioned,” he whispered, the words soft against Steve’s skin, “that I have a pool?”“No,” Steve told him, already struggling to get buttons through wet buttonholes, cursing under his breath as the fabric fought him and Tony provided no assistance at all.“No, I haven’t mentioned it, or-”“No, we’re not doing that,” Steve said. “Help me get this vest off of you or I’m going to rip something. Tony grinned against his mouth. “I’m willing to call your bluff here,” he said. “Since you’d feel obligated to repair it if you did.”Steve snagged the front of his shirt in one fist, pulling him in for a kiss. “Take it off, Stark.”“Well, since you asked so politely…”*Halfway up the kitchen stairs, Steve heard the front doorbell ring, and he wasn’t sure why, but he came to a stop, one hand braced on the bannister. On his back, DJ shifted his weight, his fingers fisted on the fabric of Steve’s shirt. A few steps behind them both on the stairs, Peter paused. “Steve?”“Doorbell,” Steve said, his voice tense. He took the last few stairs in a few quick steps, coming to a stop again on the landing. “We weren’t expecting anyone, were we?”He looked back to find Peter waiting behind him, his expression worried. “No,” he said. “Not that I know of, at least? But if they got past the guards at the gate, it must be okay? And if it was something bad, why… Why would they ring the bell?”“Right,” Steve said. He rolled his shoulders, making DJ giggle. “Sorry, monkey, I’ve got to put you down now.” “No,” DJ said, and Steve laughed. “Yes,” he said. “Don’t worry, Peter’s right here, he’s going to stay with you, but I need both hands free, okay?”“Okay,” DJ agreed. He scrambled off of Steve’s back, grabbing the hand Peter held out to him.“Why don’t we go and read in the kitchen?” Peter said to DJ. “Chef likes it when we read aloud to him.” DJ looked at Steve, then back at Peter. He nodded. “Okay.” Peter looked at Steve. “We’ll see you at dinner?”“Yes,” he said, his hand resting on the door. “Thanks, Pete.”“Yeah, the kitchen’s the best room of the house anyway,” Peter said, and DJ hopped down the stairs ahead of him. Peter glanced back at Steve, a worried look on his face, and Steve gave him a smile. Peter smiled back, and Steve waited until they were both through the door at the bottom of the stairs before he continued into the main hall.Tony was standing in front of the hearth, a few pages held in one hand. Jarvis was standing by the vestibule, his back ramrod straight, his face expressionless.In between them was Officer Charlie Maguire, his cap in his hand, his head tipped back as he stared at the ceiling, his mouth hanging open. Steve must’ve made some sort of sound, because Maguire twisted around, his eyes going sharp. “Rogers,” he said.“Maguire,” Steve said, not sure if he should stay or go. He glanced at Tony, who didn’t even glance in his direction. “News from Captain O’Brien?”“For Mr. Stark, and…” Maguire fumbled in his pocket, coming up with a sheet of paper. He held it out to Steve with a smile that bordered on a smirk. “For you.”Steve crossed to them, taking the page from Maguire. His name was scrawled on the outside, in O’Brien’s familiar hand. He opened it, scanning the few lines in a matter of moments. He stopped. Went back to the beginning. Reread it again. And a third time. Turned the page over. But other than his name on one side, and a few short, succinct sentences on the other, it was blank.Maguire gave Steve a speaking look out of the corner of his eyes. “Gettin’ comfortable, are we, Rogers?” he asked, with a twist of his lips. “Didn’t expect to find you outta uniform. Thought you were on assignment, not vacation.”Steve’s shoulders tightened, his jaw locking in place. A great many words, most of them ill-advised, piled up behind his teeth, but before any of them could escape, Tony cut him short. “I will not allow my house to be occupied. No matter who is giving the orders, this is still my house,” he said, his words curt. “And I’ve no interest in seeing uniforms marching up and down my halls.” He flipped to another page, his lashes sweeping low over his eyes. In the cold silence that followed, he looked up, pinning Maguire in place with a look of open scorn. “Of course, any gentleman would have his coat and hat taken at the door.” He smiled, a slight, icy of his lips. “I note you still have yours, sir.”Maguire shifted his weight, his fingers gripping the brim of his cap tight. “I-” His face flushed, he tried to bluster forward. “I was told to bring back your reply?”“I have no interest in your orders, and as I said, I have no interest in hosting any occupying force,” Tony said, refolding the pages. He flicked them towards the front door, the gesture disdainful and dismissive. “If you insist upon waiting, you may do so outside.”In the silence that followed, Jarvis stepped forward. “This way, sir,” he said, motioning towards the front hallway. Maguire stared at Tony, his face florid, his mouth twisted, and Jarvis took him by the elbow. Steve tensed, but Jarvis turned Maguire with ease, marching him to the foyer.A moment later, they were alone in the echoing silence of the main hall.Steve looked at Tony, his pulse thudding in his ears. “What does it…”It seemed wrong to ask, so wrong that he couldn’t even finish the thought, but Tony answered him anyway. “A lot of nonsense,” he said, tapping the folded pages against his palm. “That they’ve rooted out the vile nest of anarchists, that I’m safe at last, and all is well thanks to the heroic efforts of the New York Metropolitan Police.”He crumbled the pages into a ball and tossed it into the fireplace. The stark white of the pages looked strangely obscene against the empty hearth. “As I said. A lot of nonsense.” He glanced at Steve, his face unreadable. “And yours?”“I’m being recalled,” Steve said. He heard sound of paper crumbling and looked down to find the page crushed between his fingers. He smiled, a bitter little twist of his lips. “Effective immediately.”Tony’s lips went thin. “Of course you are.” He shook his head. “Not surprising, but still an annoyance.”Steve let out a bark of laughter. “‘An annoyance,’” he said. “Yes. That’s a way to put it..” He didn’t want to meet Tony’s eyes now; he felt stripped bare in a way that he didn’t appreciate. “There were never any anarchists.”“Oh, there absolutely are anarchists, and on most days, I find myself agreeing with them a bit more than I’d like.” Tony caught the edge of Steve’s orders, giving the page a tug, and Steve let him take them. “But no. The current threat has nothing to do with them.” He smoothed out the sheet of paper, his eyes darting over the few simple lines. “And likely never did.”Slowly, deliberately, he refolded the page, smoothing the creases to a knife edge. “Of course, this changes nothing.” With an almost offhanded flick of his hand, he tossed it into the fireplace. “Officially, Happy’s in charge of security around here, but he’s not exactly good at the job. Too friendly, or maybe not friendly enough.” He paused, his hands propped on his hips. “He’s not suited to the job, I think even he would agree to that, so this seems like the perfect time to shift some people around.”He turned and headed for the stairs, leaving Steve staring at the empty hearth. By the time the words sank in, he was halfway to the second floor. “Move some people around?” he asked, not understanding that, or maybe not wanting to understand that. “What the hell does that mean?”Tony paused, turning to look back down at him. “Shift some positions,” he said, his voice brisk and businesslike. “Happy’s good at gathering information and unlike Rhodey, he honestly enjoys doing basic maintenance. I have enough cars, he can putter happily for days just checking spark plugs and oil levels. It’s certainly not hard to find things to do; he’s always been good at keeping himself out of trouble. Or at least keeping himself out of sight, and honestly, that’s just as good.”His fingers tapped on the bannister. “Head of Security is a more nebulous concept. It’ll be what you want to make of it. You can take over the house security, of course, and you’ll have the run of my properties, if you want to make changes to how things are handled at the factories, you’re probably better equipped to do it than Happy would’ve been.”Steve wasn’t sure if Tony was even taking to him anymore. “I-” His chest felt tight, even the act of breathing required a monumental effort. “What are you talking about?”Tony nodded. “Let me talk to Happy first, then we can have Pepper get you on the payroll, we can work out the details later.”Tony was still talking as he continued up the stairs, but Steve couldn’t hear him anymore, a strange sort of ringing in his ears drowning everything else out. He crossed to the fireplace, crouching down to retrieve his orders. Ash clung to the page, and to his fingers, and no matter how much he wiped at it, streaks of black marred the paper.The sound of his breathing was very loud in the sudden silence, and he looked up to find Tony standing on the second floor landing, staring down at him, a faintly puzzled look on his face. “Leave it,” he said, and Steve’s skin iced over in an instant. “It’s where it belongs.”Tony pushed away from the bannister, disappearing into his office, and rage swept over Steve like a wave.He stalked up the stairs, taking them two, three at a time, his orders clutched in his hand. He shoved the door to Tony’s office open, his palm hitting it with a thud. Tony was already seated behind his desk, a barricade that Steve didn’t know how to get past. But he crossed the office, coming up short just in front of it, slapping a hand down on the polished wood. “I already have a job.” Tony looked up from his paperwork. “Yes. And I have a better one for you.”“I don’t-” Steve’s fingers twitched, and he had to resist the urge to rip the pages out from under Tony’s pen. “I have a job, Tony. How can I work for you, I-” He gritted his teeth to keep from saying something unforgivable. “I’ve been reassigned, and I need to report back to the station. Tomorrow.”Tony leaned back in his chair, his expression incredulous. “No,” he said, and the single word was nearly a question. “You don’t. There’s absolutely no reason to pay them the least amount of attention, Steve. Just-” He flipped a hand in the air, a dismissive little twitch of a gesture. “Don’t show up. Hell, if you’re determined to adhere to social conventions, there’s an errand boy out front, likely kicking my landscaping. Send a polite letter of resignation, and I’ll give him a shiny coin to deliver it.”Steve wanted to scream, or cry, or both, and he was an adult, he was a grown man, whatever dignity he had left would get him through this. “You’re so goddamn dismissive,” he said, through gritted teeth. “So. Just to be clear.” He leaned forward. “Just to be crystal clear. I have no intention of working for you.”A flicker of something went over Tony’s face, something that Steve couldn’t identify. As quickly as it had come, it was gone, and Tony smiled up at him with blank, shuttered eyes. “Your job is lousy, Steve. You’re a broken cog in an even more broken system.”“The system seems to have worked out just fine for you,” Steve shot back.“It has, yes, doesn’t mean it’s a good one.” Tony folded his hands on his stomach. “Your job is terrible.”“I know it’s beneath you, but my job serves an important purpose.”“Fine.” His lips went tight, a thin, hard line. “Here’s a question, Steve. Would you have arrested Rhodey and Pepper for their marriage?”Steve stared at him. “There’s nothing wrong with-”“We’re not talking wrong. We’re talking illegal..” Tony’s index finger flicked against the back of his other hand. “Which, yes, there’s nothing illegal about their marriage here.” His head tipped to the side, his eyebrows arching. “What if you were somewhere else? Somewhere where that was illegal?” A mockery of a smile, hard and brittle, flicked across his face. “Where you were an officer of the law?”Steve stared him down, his jaw locked.“As I see it, you have two choices. To blindly uphold unjust laws made by men of no conscience and no compassion, or to pick and choose which laws you will enforce.” Tony rocked back in his chair. “Is that the long short of it? Is that your existence? To determine, on a knife’s edge, who deserves justice and who doesn’t? Who is the victim of men with money and power, men who hold your leash and make you do the dirty work of running a city they way they want it to be run, no matter the human cost of their laws and their decisions?”“Fuck you,” Steve said, the words thin and cold and so full of rage that he could barely force them out.Tony ignored that. “See, I trust you to make those choices, but we both know that when there’s money to be made for a decision, for a judgement call, then there is always going to be men who are willing to make the call that nets them the greatest reward.” He looked at the window, and he was beautiful in profile, he was the best thing Steve had ever seen, and Steve hated him for that. “How many of your fellow coppers are on the take, Steve?”“So, what do you suggest?” Steve asked, and he was proud of himself. His voice was steady and almost calm. “That I leave the force to them?” He laughed, and it sounded broken. “There are people who depend on me, Tony.”Tony’s head fell back. “And what possible good can you do?” he asked, and he sounded tired. “One man, against everything this city decides to throw at you, how many people do you think you can save?”“As many as I can.” Steve took a deep breath, and tried not to think about how much it hurt. “That’s what you goddamn do, Tony. You save the ones you can, the ones you can reach. Maybe it’s one or two, maybe it’s ten, but you save the ones you can, and you keep doing it, you keep trying, because the rest of us don’t have the privilege of waiting around until the system changes, until everything’s perfect.“If you wait until you can save everyone, you won’t save anyone,” he said, his voice flat. “So you save who you can, and then you do it again. The next day, the next night, the next month, the next year, you just keep going, you save what you can, when you can.”“And it changes nothing,” Tony said. “It changes everything for that one person,” Steve shot back. Tony’s mouth went tight. “Right. So this is your solution? Spending your days upholding the system and your nights subverting it and all the while, trying to keep your head above water?” He shook his head. “How long until that kills you?”“So what’s your solution?” Steve asked. “To sit here, in your house on the hill, making up a private army and waiting until you can make things perfect before you do anything? And to hell with everyone who’s dying while you’re waiting for the stars to align?”Tony pressed a hand to his eyes. “Steve-”“I don’t want a job,” Steve said, and he hated how that sounded, hated how it sounded like a plea.“Of course you don’t,” Tony said. He reached for his pen, and his paperwork, and Steve wanted to scream at him. “Here I thought you were concerned for my wellbeing. My mistake.”Steve laughed, and it came out caustic and bitter. “That’s what you-” He shook his head. “You haven’t listened to a word I’ve said since I’ve stepped foot through the front door,” he said. “Not a goddamn word.”Tony’s jaw went tight. “I have-”“Might as well call me your head of security anyway,” Steve said. “Since I doubt it would make a damn bit of difference if I was here or not.” He set the single, folded page in the middle of Tony’s blotter. “You’ve never listened to single thing I’ve ever said to you.”And it was childish, it was absolutely childish, but he turned and walked out, pulling the office door shut behind him. Something shattered in the room behind him, and it took everything he had to not go back.He had nothing left. But a job he didn’t want.And a kid he was never going to see again.*“May I come in?”Steve didn’t look up. “It’s a free country,” he said, and because that was rude, and Jarvis didn’t deserve it, he tried again. “And it’s more your house than mine, Jarvis.” He opened another drawer in the dresser, collecting the few pieces of clothing he’d stowed there. Jarvis stepped inside the bedroom, a tin box in one hand. He closed the door behind him with his usual brisk efficiency. “I came to see if you needed any help with packing.”Steve chuckled.“What, the four shirts I own? No, thank you, Jarvis, I think I’ve got this under control. I’ll be out of your way, soon enough.” Steve tossed the clothes onto the bed next to his rucksack. “There’s certainly no rush, sir. We have enough rooms, I’d planned to put this one aside for you in any case,” Jarvis said, unruffled as always. He set the tin down on the bedside table and picked up a pair of Steve’s pants, holding them up with a faint frown. “These need a good pressing.”Steve glanced at him. “I doubt I’ll be back, Jarvis.” He reached for the pants, but Jarvis had already turned away.“The thread’s coming lose on this hem, I should have caught that when they were laundered. I’ll have them fixed before you return, and perhaps this button-”Steve held out a hand, stopping him in his tracks. “I’m…” He took a deep breath. “I’m not coming back, Jarvis.”Jarvis considered him, a soft, gentle smile on his face. “Of course you are,” he said, but he let Steve reclaim his pants. “After all, DJ is staying.” He turned his attention to folding shirts. “He will be expecting to see you again, and I know you would not want to disappoint him.”Steve jammed the pants into his bag, ignoring the way that Jarvis winced. “I doubt the master of the house will welcome a visit, Jarvis.” He grabbed a shirt, making a halfhearted effort to fold it before he tossed it into his bag. His throat felt tight. “He’s only interested in a paid employee, and as it turns out? I don’t have any interest in that position.”There was a moment of silence, and then a soft sigh. Steve looked over to find Jarvis smiling at him. Steve exhaled. “Sorry. It’s got nothing to do with you.” He turned his attention back to packing. “And you’ve been nothing but nice to me.”“You may find this difficult to believe, but I have quite enjoyed your company.” Jarvis took a deep breath, his shoulders going into a tight line. “May I sit?”Steve waved at the chair. “Please stop… Asking”“Forgive me.” Jarvis took the seat, his hands folded neatly in his lap. “I find it difficult to dispense with the niceties, no matter how much sense that would make.”Steve found himself smiling back. “Then I guess we’re at an impasse, because I know just enough manners to know I’m being rude.”Jarvis chuckled. “I think you sell yourself short, sir.” His head tipped forward, just for a moment, hiding his face. When he looked back up, that serene smile was back. “But this isn’t a world you are used to, so perhaps you’ll forgive an old man for his meddling.”Steve paused, confused by the sudden serious tone to the words. “Jarvis?”“There is a tendency, amongst families of extreme wealth, to try to protect their children,” Jarvis said, and Steve got the feeling he was choosing his words very carefully. “When you are, in fact, extremely wealthy, you are, of course, going to deal with people who wish to take advantage of that. Children are especially vulnerable to false friends who seek a financial windfall.“And any parent who seeks to protect both their fortune and their family will make it clear to their child that such people exist. That the child must be careful, because everyone wants what they have, and everyone will seek to take things from them that may not be theirs to give.” Jarvis’ mouth went into a flat line. “To put it in the simplest way, the child grows up with the knowledge that they are seen as a potential mark by a wide variety of conmen and thieves.“This results in a very peculiar problem,” Jarvis said. “Where the child hears, so often, and so conclusively, that people would only choose to be near them, would only choose to associate with them, because there is a financial benefit to that association. Though few would admit it, I do not doubt that most come to believe it.”He met Steve’s eyes. “Which results in another, even more difficult problem: when these children do find someone they want to…” He paused. “Associate with, then the answer, to them, is simple. If everyone in the world is after them for their money, well, then…” He spread his hands. “Why not give it to them?”Steve sank down on the edge of the bed. “What?”Jarvis smiled, just a little. “What’s the harm, after all? They want something, and if to get it, they have to pay for it, they will. In this world-” He waved at the room at large. “Everything has a price. Everything has a cost. Why would companionship or friendship be any different?”“Because it is,” Steve said, his voice tight. “Because some things can’t be bought. You can’t just HIRE people and get-” He stopped, his jaw locking in place. “You just can’t.”Jarvis nodded. “Why not?”Steve shoved a hand through his hair. “Because that’s not how people work.”“It is, here.” Jarvis met his eyes without flinching. “Marriages work on similar terms. As do families.” He sighed. “If a company is owned by a man, but the board is made up of cousins and son-in-laws and childhood friends, all of whom will be excised without a second thought if they do not produce, if they step out of line or fail in their duty, is that so different?”He paused. “When you have the funds, a great many things are for sale.” He looked at Steve with steady eyes. “And far easier to lose, if you have made an error in judgement.”Steve looked away. “And that’s what everyone wants.”Jarvis considered that. “Yes,” he said at last. Steve looked at him, and Jarvis smiled. “Was that rude of me? My apologies, but yes, Officer Rogers. This is the world we live in, and it is a world that is a great deal easier to navigate with money in your pocket. Money is freedom.”“A strange sort of freedom, if it means ending up being a servant,” Steve bit out, and Jarvis smiled at him. Steve stopped, scraping a hand over his face. “I’m sorry. That’s… I didn’t mean it like that.”“Do you think anyone in this household is here because he is paying us?” Jarvis asked. “Do you think I am?” His index finger tapped against his other hand, and Steve blinked, recognizing the movement from another set of hands. “I am… What you might consider independently wealthy, myself. I’ve served this household for a long time. If I’d wanted to retire, if I’d wanted to leave, I could’ve done that years ago. Decades. “I don’t think I’m telling tales out of school to say that every member of this household was out of options when they reached this door. Most had no funds, nowhere else to go. This was the point of no return for almost all of us.“Were sir determined to keep someone here, then… It would be easy enough to take advantage of that. To leverage his power to make sure that it would be very difficult, if not impossible, to survive without his patronage.” Jarvis looked down at his folded hands. “Instead, he has made sure that no one here will ever have to worry about where their next meal will come from. They will never again have to take a job that is too dangerous or too painful. Every one of us has the means to leave his service today, secure in the knowledge that we have choices now that we did not have before.”He stood. “I know him quite well. His offer of a position was not intended as an insult, or a bribe. I believe, rather, that it was his way of giving you a choice. Of giving you a way forward where you would not be beholden to the things that have held you back.”“Right,” Steve said, suddenly exhausted. “The only thing I’d be beholden to is him.”Jarvis sighed. “Though I may be biased, I must say, it’s not as terrible a prospect as you might think.”Almost against his will, Steve smiled. “I’m sure it’s not.” He stood, and it hurt, everything hurt, and he wanted to crawl into the bed and pull the covers over his head. He wanted to crawl into Tony’s bed and pretend that he didn’t care. Pretend that he could collect a salary during the day and reap far different benefits at night. He shook off the thought. “I don’t want a job. I want a home.”Jarvis was silent for a moment. “I suspect you already have one, but I don’t blame you if you don’t see it the same way.” He crossed the room, collecting the tin from the bedside table. “I also suspected we wouldn’t be able to convince you to stay for dinner, so I brought you this.” He held the tin out to Steve. “It’s my mother’s recipe for gingerbread. She made it at Christmas, and, well, that was it.” He smiled. “Having reached my advanced age, I find I’m far more liberal with it.”Steve took it from him. It had a solid weight for its size, and he let it fall into his lap. “Thank you.”Jarvis nodded. “It’s not fancy, but it has a comforting, homey taste to it. I hope you enjoy it.” He turned towards the door and paused. “Also, I expect you to return that tin. As well as the sheet you’ve wrapped around that hardware of yours.”Steve glanced at his shield. “Noticed that, did you?” he asked, pushing a hand through his hair.“I noticed that, yes,” Jarvis said, his lips twitching. He reached the door and pulled it open. “I’ll keep your account open in my ledgers until they are returned. I expect you will be prompt about it.”Steve smiled at his back. “Yes, sir.”“Thank you.”*“What happened?”Happy dropped the hood of the car. “Know how we were sure someone manipulated things to get Rogers to show up on our stoop?” he asked, wiping his hands clean on a rag. “That was the prevailing theory, yes?” Rhodey asked, setting his cap on top of the car. He was getting real sick of running the gauntlet of guards between the street and the house. “Don’t tell me-”“Well, it would appear that someone pulled another set of strings to get him sent back home,” Happy said, leaning up against the car, his arms crossed over his chest. “He got his marching orders this afternoon.”Rhodey winced. “How’s Tony-”“Jarvis has given strict instructions that nobody’s allowed to go anywhere near the office.”“That well,” Rhodey said. He rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. “He’s going to be in a mood.”“Understatement of the year,” Happy said. He picked up his toolbox. “Jarvis wants you to drive Rogers back to the city?”“Of course. He’s going tonight?” Rhodey asked, dreading the answer.“He’s going now,” Happy said. He tipped his head towards the house. “Jarvis is waiting for you inside, I’m sure he’s got more for you.”“I have no doubt. Thanks, Happy.” Tucking his gloves in his coat pocket, Rhodey headed out of the garage and out to the front door of the house. The door opened before he could even climb the steps, Jarvis caught in silhouette by the lights of the foyer. Rhodey jogged up the stairs. “Happy said you had a delivery for me to make?”“Yes.” Jarvis stepped aside, waving him in. “We have one very frustrated police officer that needs to be returned to Brooklyn.”“Right.” Rhodey peeked across the foyer. Steve was sitting on the main staircase, DJ next to him, Furbro draped across the boy’s knees. DJ’s attention was on the cat, Steve’s attention was on his feet. Rhodey sighed. “How’s Tone?”“God grant me the strength not to strangle him in his sleep,” Jarvis said, the words so tart that they were nearly curdled, and Rhodey choked on a laugh. Jarvis gave him a look out of the corner of his eyes. “Too much?”“Refreshingly honest, actually,” Rhodey said, his arms crossed over his chest. He could hear Steve talking, but the words were too low for him to make out, and he was honestly glad of that. Every so often, DJ would shift in place, or scrub the back of his wrist across his nose. Rhodey looked at Jarvis. “Tony’s made a mess of it, I take it?”“I do not lay the blame entirely at his door, but, yes. He’s made quite a mess of it,” Jarvis said. He huffed out a breath. “All that work. All that careful work by every member of this household, and he offers the man a job.”Rhodey winced. “Ah.”“Though knowing our esteemed employer, it was presented less as an offer and more as a foregone conclusion.” Jarvis pinched the bridge of his nose. “A delicate negotiation even when such things aren’t complicated by other…” His mouth went tight. “Entanglements.”“That’s one way of putting it,” Rhodey said. He tapped his foot on the floor. “I take it the negotiations didn’t go the way Tony wanted them to?”“I think the fact that the other party chose ‘packing his bags and leaving within the day’ is indicative of just how badly those negotiations went,” Jarvis said. “And now we have to deal with the fallout.”Rhodey tried not to smile. “You seem salty.”“Oh, you have no idea,” Jarvis said. “So much effort, so much progress, and now I have a child who will be miserable, a master of the house who is going to take out his bad mood on everyone around him, and a household that’s going to be on edge for days if not weeks.”Rhodey looked at him, surprised by the lines of exhaustion that bracketed his mouth. “Are you all right?”Jarvis waved him off. “Fine, fine. I had just hoped…” His voice trailed away. “Was it too much to ask for him to just… Not try to hire someone? Just this once?”“Well, in Tony’s defense, it’s worked out remarkably well for him. I can’t blame him for going with a winning formula,” Rhodey said. Across the room, DJ had managed to hook his foot into the strap of Steve’s bag, pulling it across the polished floor, as if he could hold Steve here by hiding his things. Judging by the slight smile on Steve’s face, it wasn’t going to work, but Rhodey admired the kid’s moxie.“Oh, yes, you were quite sanguine when he dragged you through the front door,” Jarvis said. “I wouldn’t say ‘kicking and screaming,’ but it was as close as you could get while maintaining your dignity.”Rhodey clapped a hand over his mouth to muffle his laughter. “In my defense, random rich white men are not to be trusted where I come from.”“Generally not where I come from, either, but yes, I definitely appreciate your sense of self-preservation.” Jarvis paused. “I’m sorry to ask you to act as his driver. While I appreciate Happy’s finer points, he would…” His voice trailed away.“He’d attempt to fix this and in doing so, make it so much worse,” Rhodey said, shaking his head. “He’s persuasive. But this is not a situation that requires persuasion.” He rocked back on his heels as Steve climbed to his feet, collecting his bags and throwing his wrapped shield over his shoulder before he held his hand out to DJ. For a instant, he stilled, looking back over his shoulder at the second floor, and Rhodey sighed. “Divide and conquer?”“Agreed,” Jarvis said. “You’ve got Tony,” Rhodey said as Steve turned back to them, his face set.“Unfortunately so,” Jarvis said, smiling as Steve and DJ approached them. “Good evening. Are you sure I can’t persuade you to stay for dinner?”Steve smiled. “I’m sure.” He looked down at DJ. “DJ’s promised to write to me. If he does, will you post his letters for him?”“Of course I will,” Jarvis said. “And as the one who collects the post every day, it would also be my pleasure to make sure your letters reach him.”“Thank you, Jarvis.” Steve crouched down in front of DJ, dropping his bag down next to his feet. He reached up, his fingers gentle as he pushed DJ’s hair away from his face. “I trust you,” he said, his voice soft. “To stay here. Where it’s safe.” DJ made a face and Steve let out a soft chuckle. “Yeah, yeah, but I trust you. To stay here.”He leaned forward, his lips ghosting over DJ’s forehead. “I love you. I’ll be back to see you before you know it.”DJ’s face scrunched up. “Promise?”Steve met his eyes. “I promise,” he whispered, and then pushed himself to his feet. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. But for now, I’ve gotta go back. You know how the neighborhood gets when I’m not there to walk my beat.”Jarvis held out a hand to DJ. “Will you come help me set the table for dinner?” he asked, his voice gentle. “I would appreciate the company.”DJ took Jarvis’ hand, looking back at Steve one last time before he fixed his head forward, walking towards the dining room, his fingers locked on Jarvis’. Steve watched him go, waiting until he was out of sight before he leaned over to pick up his bags. He straightened up slowly, avoiding Rhodey’s eyes as he shifted his bags onto his shoulder.Rhodey waited until he seemed ready. “We good?” he asked.Steve made a sound that might’ve been a laugh. “No,” he said. He glanced at Rhodey, and his eyes were red. “We’re not.” He shifted his bags, rolling his shoulder, and looked back at the stairs. “Okay if I take the passenger seat up front with you?” When he looked back at Rhodey, he managed a thin smile. “I was never comfortable in the back.”“Sure.” Rhodey opened the door, not surprised when Steve took it from him instead of stepping past him. “You going to call over when you’re ready for a visit? Happy or I’ll be happy to come pick you up.”Steve shook his head as they headed down the walk and around to the garage. “I think we both know I won’t be coming back.”“Uh-huh,” Rhodey said. “You know that everyone here’s really getting attached to that kid, right?” He paused beside the garage door. “You’re tough.”Steve blinked at him. “Thanks?”“Right, you’re tough, but if you disappoint the child?” Rhodey smiled at him. “I’m pretty sure the kitchen staff’s going to hogtie you and shove you in the trunk of the first car they can steal.”Steve’s face relaxed into a smile. “By ‘kitchen staff,’ do you mean Natasha and Clint, or Jarvis and Mrs. Parker?”“Pick your poison,” Rhodey said. He stepped into the garage, leading the way to the car Happy had just finished with. His cap was still sitting on the roof, and he collected it. “Put in a call. We’ll come get you.” Without a word, Steve opened the door and slid into car, and Rhodey got behind the wheel. He glanced at Steve. “Look. You’re not the sort to leave a job half done. So I’m going to ask a question here.”Steve glanced at him. “Go ahead?”“You’re not planning on doing anything stupid out there, on your own, without back up, are you?” Rhodey asked. “Just you and that shiny shield of yours? Without anyone to help you?”Steve closed his eyes. “No.”Rhodey started the car. “Yeah, me, neither.”*“Is he gone?”There was a beat of silence, and then a soft sigh. Tony didn’t bother to look up, keeping his focus on his schematics. Jarvis crossed the office, collecting Tony’s empty coffee cup and setting down a full one. “Rhodey is driving Officer Rogers back to his flat now,” he said.“Traitor,” Tony muttered under his breath, reaching for the coffee. It was barely lukewarm, an unspoken punishment that he took without a word.“Would you have had him walk?” Jarvis asked, an acidic note to the words. He picked up Tony’s dinner plate. “Ah, I see we are drinking our dinner tonight. What a wonderful choice, sir.”Tony shrugged. “He made it clear his life was none of my concern,” he said, just as cutting. “He made his bed. Let him sleep in it.”Jarvis sighed again, and Tony gritted his teeth. “You didn’t say goodbye.” Jarvis collected a handful of empty saucers and a brandy tumbler from the sideboard. He piled them on his tray, and Tony glared at him. Jarvis ignored that with the grace of long practice. “That wasn’t particularly well done of you.”“I think we both had our fill of talking,” Tony said. “I wasn’t particularly-” He stressed the word. “Interested in continuing a useless conversation. I disapprove of him wasting his life, he disapproves of me not wasting mine. All of his vaulted concern for my well-being was apparently tied to the a set of orders from his superiors.” He picked up his coffee, glaring at the cold depths. “He got what he wanted, and he left. Discussion over.”The tray was slapped down on his desk, the dishes rattling with such force that Tony jumped in his chair. His head jerked up, and found Jarvis staring down at him, a scowl on his face. “That man,” he said, the words very carefully measured, “took an immense risk here.”Tony blinked at him. “I-”“There is nothing he could do to harm you, and a careless, cruel word from you could ruin his life, and you well know it,” Jarvis said. He reached out, taking the cup from Tony and dropping it on the tray, ignoring it when the coffee splashed over the rim. “He took a very real risk in trusting you, in trusting everyone here, and you will respect that.”In the silence that followed, Tony exhaled, and it came out as a chuckle. “How,” he said, his lips twitching into a reluctant smile, “do you reduce me to a frustrated child so easily?”Jarvis frowned at him. “Because you were already acting like one,” he said, but there was none of the sternness or disapproval that Tony had expected. “And perhaps because you are feeling like one.”Tony tossed his pencil aside, running a sharp hand through ihs hair. “Why are you on his side, anyway? Just once, why can’t you be-” He stopped, his mouth pressing in a tight line. “I’d never do that. Hurt him that way, I mean.”“I know that. And so does he, or he would not have risked everything.” Jarvis reached out, smoothing Tony’s hair back into place. Tony did his best not to lean into the contact. “This is a rat’s nest, do I have to go back to combing it for you every morning?”“Shouldn’t you be more disapproving of my deviant lifestyle?” Tony asked, and Jarvis went still. He looked over, a mocking smile on his face. “Shouldn’t you be glad that he’s gone?” His cheeks ached, and he held the smile with a force of will. “Just like I am?”There was a moment of silence, then Jarvis dropped into the chair across from him. “Sir. With all due respect. You had a chance with both Miss Pott and Miss Van Dyne, and while I cannot say you will never meet a more remarkable woman than either of them, I will say they are both brilliant, beautiful, witty and winning young ladies who were more than capable of matching you, word for word, and step for step.“The fact that you made no move to marry either of them made it vanishingly unlikely that you would marry any woman.”Tony gave a laugh, and it felt like a sob. “Cursed to be a bachelor, I suppose.”Jarvis smiled. “It’s not a curse unless you’re determined to treat it like one.” He stood again, giving Tony’s hair a look, frowning at it like it had insulted him somehow. “Now, all we have to do make you somewhat presentable before he next visits.”Tony pressed a hand to his face. “Why do I need to be presentable?” he asked, because he wasn’t quite willing to let go of his petulance just yet. “He’s the one who left. Let him try to win his way back into my good graces.”“Yes, well, he sat on the staircase for an excessive amount of time, waiting for you to come and say good-bye, which, due to your exceptionally poor upbringing, you didn’t bother to do,” Jarvis said.. “I made your excuses, but I will not be doing that again; let us see if you can’t improve your manners before he returns as well.”“I was raised exceptionally well, I’ll have you know,” Tony said.“Yes, your father would be proud of you,” Jarvis said, and Tony wanted to throw something.“To hell with my father,” he gritted out. “Are you-” He stopped, just in time, humiliation washing over him like a wave. He bent his head back over his schematics, ignoring the way the images wouldn’t quite stay in focus.Jarvis stilled in the act of collecting his tray, his brow furrowing. “Sir?”“Never mind.” Tony dug his pencil into the page, wanting to wrap his fingers around it and stab, as if the fragile lead tip could do more than break against the wood of his desk. As if wielding it like a knife could provide some measure of control or protection. “Never-”A gentle hand touched his head, and he went still. “Whatever small part I had in the man you have become,” Jarvis said, soft, so soft, “I am prouder of that, then anything else I have ever done in my life.”Tony took a breath, and another, and Jarvis was right there, right next to him, and he turned, burying his face in Jarvis’ side. He’d half expected Jarvis to step away, to put distance between them, but instead, Jarvis wrapped his arms around Tony’s head, hugging him close.“I thought you knew that,” Jarvis said, and Tony’s eyes burned, his fingers catching on Jarvis’ jacket. He clung, like a child, and he’d be ashamed of that later, later, much later. For now, he just breathed in, the familiar scent of Jarvis’ coat.“I may have made a mess of things,” he managed, the words breaking with each syllable. “Jarvis. I may have…”His voice trailed away, and Jarvis stroked his hair. “We’ll fix it.”Tony blinked hard, ignoring the way his chest ached with every breath. “I don’t see how.”“You’ll figure it out. I have faith in you.”Tony looked up, and Jarvis was smiling down at him, his eyes filled with tears. “I always had faith in you.”Tony managed a smile. “Jarvis? You might be an idiot.”“Well, then, sir, it appears I’m in very good company.” Jarvis pulled a snowy white handkerchief from his pocket, offering it to Tony. “There is now a child in this house who needs reassurance.""I'm not sure how much reassurance I can provide.""What I've found, sir, is that when you are presented by a small, scared child, you find a nearly limitless reservoir of baseless optimism, because the alternate is untenable." He smiled. "You have ten minutes to pull yourself together, and then we will both be going to be reassuring.”Tony took it. “That’s a terrible idea.”“You’ll find I’m full of them.”
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It was always going to end this way. Steve had known, from the beginning, that it was always going to end this way.After all, the old stories all had two endings: either the hero escaped the court of the Old Ones and returned to a world that was colder, and darker, but far more real, or they lost themself to the fantasy, to the lie, disappearing into the shadows far, far below the hill, a cautionary tale whispered to travelers and children. Don’t go too far, don’t go to deep, or you will be never find your way back out.This story was always going to end this way. Steve was too stubborn to let himself be charmed into staying.Or maybe, if he was being honest with himself, too stupid.“You’re back.”Steve looked up. Mrs. O’Malley was standing on the sidewalk in front of their building, her youngest cradled against her chest, a shawl wrapped around them both against the evening chill. She looked tired, her thin face drawn tight, but she smiled easily at Steve as he approached, bouncing the baby in her arms. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” she said, and Steve couldn’t help but smile back.“You’re out late,” he said, shifting his bag higher on his shoulder, the comforting weight of the shield bouncing against his side. “Everything all right?”She sighed. “This wee one’s teething,” she said, rubbing the baby’s round cheek with one finger. He turned towards the touch, his mouth working, and she made a soft, gentle sound at him, exhausted and loving by equal parts. Mrs. O’Malley looked up at Steve, a thin smile tugging at her lips. “He cries less if we move a bit, and I figured the neighbors deserved a few moments peace, the walls as thin as they are.” Steve dropped his bag next to the stoop, holding out his hands. “Want me to take a quick turn?” he asked.She handed the baby over easily enough, wrapping her shawl around her. “I know I shouldn’t,” she said, as Steve settled the baby in the crook of his elbow. She smiled at him, crossing her arms over her chest. “But he does get heavy after a bit.”The baby kicked, little fists punching at the blanket he’d been swaddled in, and Steve made a face down at him. “He’s putting on weight.”“One does one’s best,” Mrs. O’Malley said. “Speaking of eating, I’ve still got some fried potatoes and cabbage on the hob, wouldn’t be but a moment to heat it up, if you haven’t had your dinner.”Steve was already shaking his head, pacing along the length of the sidewalk. “Keep it. Your boys need it more than I do,” he said.“We’re doing just fine,” she said. “But I’ll be honest, it was kind of you to send that Mr. Hogan around.”Steve paused, his head swinging in her direction. “He’s… He’s been by, has he?” he asked, picking his words carefully.She made the sign of the cross, rough fingers flicking across her body like a bird’s wings. “A right blessing, that man was,” she said. “Patient as a Saint, too, took him near to forever to get me to talk to him.” She gave Steve a chiding look. “Man shows up with a load of food and claims you sent him, and you didn’t say a word about it? I think I can be forgiven for taking that with a grain of salt.”“Figured he could talk you around,” Steve said with a smile. “He’s good at that.”“A right charmer, for sure,” she said with a chuckle. The baby let out a whimper, and she reached for him. “Give him here.”Steve shifted the baby back to her arms. “But he took care of you,” he said, and it wasn’t a question, not really.“Came by, regular as clockwork, with more than enough to share,” she said. She brushed a kiss against the baby’s forehead, letting her lips settle there against his skin. “Don’t you worry, Officer Rogers, I made sure everyone got enough to get by.” She met his eyes, her face curious. “Was it true, what he said? That you’d been given an assignment.from the Mayor himself?”Steve smiled. “It’s over now,” he said, which seemed easier than confirming that or denying it. He picked up his bag, settling the weight against his shoulder. Something dug into his arm, and he paused. “Here.” He swung it around in front of him, pulling out the tin Jarvis had given to him. He held it out to her. “It’s gingerbread.”Her eyes went wide for a moment, a look of pure pleasure sweeping over her face, and for an instant, he could see how young she really was, beneath the weight of her life. Her smile was bright as she took the box from him. She braced her baby on one hip, weighing the tin with her others. “Are you sure?” she asked, looking up at him. “Gingerbread’ll keep, if you make sure it’s sealed tight.”Steve nodded. “I’ve had my fill,” he said. Enough to last him a lifetime. “Just…” He gave her a lopsided smile. “I need the tin back, when you’re done.”“That won’t be long, with my little demons.” She hugged the box to her chest. “You’re a good boy,” she said, and Steve couldn’t help but smile at her. “I’ll ask a blessing for you at Mass next week.”“Thank you, ma’am. It’s appreciated.” He headed up the stairs towards the door of the tenement. “It’s always appreciated.”The building was familiar and foreign at the same time. His small apartment was exactly as he’d left it. It was too cold and too small, the window and walls barely kept out the wind or the noise of the city. He flicked the overhead light on, and it did little to push back the darkness, which clung to every surface. Shadows made a film on the walls, on the ceiling, like coal dust, like soot. A narrow space with a low ceiling, a handful of shelves, a table and a chair and a bed, all of which were just too small for him now.It wasn’t much. But it was real, and that was enough.He set his bag down next to the table, settling it against the floor with care, always aware of how little separated him from those around him. He took a seat at the table, leaning over to take off his shoes. There were things he should do, and he didn’t care.The second shoe dropped to the floor, and Steve pushed himself upright. Exhausted in a way he really wasn’t willing to examine, he walked across the narrow room, dropping down into bed fully clothed. It was stupid. In the morning, he’d curse the wrinkles in his pants, but right now, he just didn’t care.Steve rolled over, facing the wall, and made a deliberate effort to close his eyes. His arms folded up tight to his chest, his chin tucked down, he made an effort to relax. It was good to be back into his own bed, familiar and somehow comforting.This was always the way the story was going to end.And if he thought otherwise, he had no one to blame but himself.*“The morning post, sir.”Tony didn’t look up from his newspaper. “Thank you, Jarvis. You may deposit it directly into the hearth.”Jarvis paused. “There is a missive from Lord Odinson, sir.”Tony paused. “All the more reason to burn it.” He gestured at the fireplace. “A short trip to a fiery end.”“Of course, sir,” Jarvis said, replacing the envelopes on his tray and lifting the coffee pot instead. Tony held out his cup, and Jarvis filled it with a practiced gesture.“Bless you.” Tony took a cautious sip, knowing better than to trust coffee straight from the pot. It burned his lips, his tongue, and all the way down his throat, and he exhaled, savoring the heat. He gave the tray a suspicious look. “You’re going to put it on my desk, aren’t you?” Jarvis gave him a warm smile. “Of course, sir.”“I am going to burn it,” Tony said, trying to ignore the small spike of petty pleasure that thought brought. “Pour very expensive brandy on the whole lot and laugh as it burns to ashes.”“A choice you are, of course, welcome to make,” Jarvis said, unruffled as ever. “However, I shall leave the final journey from your blotter to the flames to you.” He set the coffee pot down by Tony’s elbow, turning it so the handle was within easy reach. “As it is high time for you to learn to do such things for yourself.”“Thank you, Jarvis. Always looking out for me,” Tony said, trying not to smile.“I do my utmost, sir,” Jarvis said, already striding away. Tony made a face at his back. “Very mature, sir.”“I am a product of my upbringing,” Tony agreed, grinning down at his newspaper.DJ looked up as Jarvis approached, his empty plate pushed to the side, a pad of paper braced on the table in front of him instead. “Mail?” he asked, his tone full of hope, and Tony scowled behind the shield of his paper.There had damn well better be mail for the kid.“As a matter of fact, yes, there was something for you this morning,” Jarvis said, retrieving the envelope from his tray. He held it out, his gloved fingers immaculate against the rather dirty envelope. “Your letters have been safely handed over to the postman, as well.”DJ dropped his pencil, taking the letter with both hands. He grinned up at Jarvis. “Thanks,” he said, turning the envelope over and over in his hands, inspecting it from every angle.“You may thank me by eating a proper breakfast this morning,” Jarvis said, filling DJ’s cup from the carafe of freshly squeezed orange juice. He set it down next to DJ’s pad of paper. “How will you have your eggs today?”DJ looked at Tony. “I don’t want eggs,” Tony said with a smile. He didn’t have much of an appetite this morning. Or any morning lately. To Jarvis, he said, “Just toast for me.”“Sir will have a boiled egg today,” Jarvis said, because no one listened to him around here. “Perhaps a soft boiled egg with some toast points to dip into the yolk, if he also agrees to eat a baked apple.”“‘Perhaps?’” Tony repeated. “Why perhaps? Toast. Butter. Jam. No egg. Absolutely no apple.” DJ giggled, and Tony tried to muster a glare for him, but it was a failure. “Oh, is this funny?” DJ nodded, his eyes dancing, and Tony hid his grin behind his newspaper, rattling the pages in front of him. “Fine. Then you may eat my egg as well as yours.”“Okay,” DJ said. He looked up at Jarvis. “Two eggs, please.”Jarvis made a considering sound under his breath. “You may have as many eggs as you’d like,” he said, reaching out to smooth DJ’s hair away from his face. Tony watched them, his chest aching, the memory of that touch so strong that he could nearly feel it against his own skin. Jarvis flicked a finger against the tip of DJ’s nose, making him laugh again. “Do not accept the castoffs from any other plates. Manners above all, young sir.”DJ looked at Tony, eyes bright. “Sorry.”“Fine, I see who rates here.” Tony glanced to his right. “You can eat my egg, then.”On the seat next to him, Furbro stretched, his paws digging at the air for a moment before he curled back into a ball. “Useless,” Tony told him, and one of the cat’s ears twitched, which was, Tony supposed, as much acknowledgement as he could hope for.“Do not feed the cat at the table,” Jarvis said, giving Tony a look out of the corner of his eyes. “We’ll wait until he’s not looking,” Tony said to the cat in a stage whisper, rattling the newspaper in front of him. Furbro opened one golden eye, peering at Tony over the fluff of his tail, and Tony shrugged. “What? It has to happen eventually.” “Eventually, perhaps, but not just yet,” Jarvis told him. To DJ, he asked, “May I open that for you?”DJ shook his head, his fingers still smoothing along the edges of the envelope, as if learning the weight and texture of it. “Saving it,” he said.“Of course,” Jarvis said, as if that made sense.Tony reached for his coffee. “From Steve?” he asked, and DJ nodded. Tony made what he hoped was an approving sound behind his cup. “Good. That’s… Good.” He was proud of himself. That sounded almost sincere. Or as close to sincere as anyone could expect from me.Jarvis gave him a look, his eyebrows arching, and Tony slapped a smile on his face. “It’s good,” he said.“Indeed,” Jarvis said, his voice tart. He looked back at DJ. “Do convey my greetings to him.”DJ looked at Tony, confusion written all over his face. Tony smiled over the rim of his cup. “Jarvis says hi,” he translated.DJ looked back at Jarvis. “Hi,” he said, his face relaxing into a broad smile, and Tony choked on a laugh.“Hello,” Jarvis replied, smiling back at him. He tapped the glass gently, and DJ reached for it, taking a quick sip. Jarvis nodded in approval. “Perhaps you should send Officer Rogers one of the drawings you did yesterday.”“So sorry, I have the right of first refusal on all intellectual property created under my purview or my +roof,” Tony said. Jarvis heaved an audible sigh, and Tony bit his lip to keep from laughing. “Also DJ gave them to me, and I like all of them, so I’m keeping them.” He sipped his coffee. “We’re redoing the gallery on the third floor, far too many bitter looking ancestors up there, not nearly enough drawings of the internal workings of my pocket watch. Or cats.”“Hmm,” Jarvis said, which was somehow both noncommittal and disapproving at the same time. Tony was impressed. “Perhaps sir would like his own piece of paper so he can write his own letter to Officer Rogers.”Tony went back to his newspaper. “It’s been a month, Jarvis. I doubt he remembers me at this point, let alone is waiting with bated breath for a communique.”DJ looked up at Jarvis. Jarvis sighed again, louder this time. “It’s been eight days, sir.”Tony paused, his coffee halfway to his mouth. He frowned. That couldn’t be right. “It has been far longer than-”“It has been exactly one week and one day, sir. I am responsible for the household schedule and that does require me to be able to read a calendar,” Jarvis said, his voice brisk.Tony slouched lower in his seat. “I still say it’s been longer,” he muttered. Because it had. It absolutely had. “It’s become clear to me that I’ve been far too lenient in allowing you to skip meals,” Jarvis said, heading for the door of the dining room. “I’ll speak to chef about a full breakfast for you today.”“I’m not going to eat it,” Tony said. Jarvis paused next to his chair, his head tipped in Tony’s direction, his eyebrows arching in an expression of quiet reproach. Tony gritted his teeth, doing his best to hold his ground. “I won’t.”“Of course, sir,” Jarvis said, his voice calm. “And yet, I shall be serving you a full meal. I trust you to make the correct choice when presented with it.”“What, exactly, are you basing this on?” Tony asked.“My long, deep relationship with you,” Jarvis said. His head tipped forward, just a bit, just enough. “And my belief that you will not waste the time and effort the staff expends on your behalf.”“I really don’t care if I disappoint you,” Tony said, and even he could tell that was a lie. He narrowed his eyes at Jarvis. “I am in charge of this house.”Jarvis smiled. “Of course, sir,” he said.“I know you’re humoring me, and I’m going to accept it because I am a magnanimous Lord of the Manor,” Tony told him.“Of course, sir,” Jarvis said again. “So you will be eating your breakfast?”Tony waited, hoping he’d go away. Jarvis just stood there, his tray tucked neatly under his arm, his expression vaguely curious, as if he was checking in on last night’s score on a baseball game he really didn’t care about. Tony sighed and reached for his coffee cup. “Yes,” he said, trying to drown the word in the depths of his cup.Jarvis smiled. “Very good, sir,” he said, continuing to the door.Tony reached for the coffee pot. “I like to think I won that one,” he said to DJ, who was scribbling on his pad. Tony decided that if the kid was writing all this down, he didn’t want to know about it. He poured himself another cup of coffee. Maybe this one would make a dent in the throbbing headache he’d had since he’d woken up.Not like he’d done much sleeping these last few days.Tony stared into the dark depths of his cup, exhaustion sweeping over him. None of it made any sense, really. He’d been working almost constantly, both in his workshop and down in the sub-basements. But when he finally managed to collapse into his bed, he’d found sleep hard to come by. It wasn’t as if he missed Steve. Sure, he missed the sex, but he’d gone without sex before, and for a hell of a lot longer than a week. He certainly didn’t miss the way that Steve would flail around in his sleep, only calming down when he managed to latch onto Tony. Even if they fell asleep on their own sides of what was, by any accounts, a very generously sized bed, nine times out of ten, Tony knew he’d wake up half pinned under Steve’s weight.And he absolutely didn’t miss that. Tony took a long sip of his coffee, letting it burn all the way down the length of his throat. No. He didn’t miss that at all.Or any of the rest of it, really. The constant conversation or the disapproving looks or the snarky comments or the way that Steve had managed to integrate himself into every single element of Tonyy’s life in a surprisingly short amount of time. He didn’t miss the way that Steve checked the locks on the doors and the windows, hovering, fussing, with that worried look, as if he actually cared if something happened to-Tony took a sip of his coffee. He didn’t miss any of it. He just hated change. And he needed to get a decent night’s sleep.The sound of chair legs scraping across the polished floor snapped Tony out of his thoughts. He looked up as DJ hopped off of his chair. “And where are you going?” he asked, as DJ collected his pad of paper.DJ picked up his glass of juice, balancing it precariously on his pad of paper while he reached for his pencil. “Downstairs.”Tony tried not to smile. “We take our breakfast in the dining room, DJ.”DJ considered him, his big, dark eyes unblinking as he thought about that. Finally, he nodded. “Why?”Tony opened his mouth. Closed it. “I…” He stopped. Because that was how it was. That was the way it had always been. Since he’d been DJ’s age, and his father had sat at the head of the table. And he’d learned patience, this room had taught him patience. He’d learned self-control, listening to the clock tick, listening to his mother’s spoon slide against the side of her tea cup. He’d learned to count his own breaths, passing time with counting the carved flowers in the ceiling and the stitches in the lace tablecloth, or slowly, carefully peeling the shell away from his soft-boiled egg. He’d learned to control the nervous energy that poured through him, channeling it into the way his feet flexed against the rung of his chair, safely out of sight under the table. He’d learned to stay quiet. Breakfast, his father said, with that stern, leaden voice that he hated, was for quiet contemplation of the coming day. He didn’t tolerate talking before he’d finished his meal. And after he’d finished, he’d stand, greet them both a good day, and take his leave. Most of time, Tony hadn’t known if he was relieved or disappointed by that.Of course, with the wisdom of age, Tony now wondered how many mornings his father had been just nursing a hangover.DJ shifted his weight, and Tony focused on him. On this child, with his quick, constantly moving fingers, with his swinging feet and his disinterest in the neat stacks of china and rows of silverware set out in front of his chair. Tony took a deep breath. “I… Do not have an answer to that question,” he said at last. “Okay.” DJ nodded. He looked at the door, and then back at Tony, his gaze curious. “Can... We go now?”Tony set his cup back on its saucer. “Yes,” he said, and that was freeing, all of it was freeing, he hated this room and he hated sitting here listening to the clock tick and waiting for something to happen, something that he couldn’t even define. DJ grabbed his hand and Tony snagged the glass of juice before it ended up all over the carpet, which he also hated. “Yes, we can. Kitchen. Let’s go.”By the time they reached the kitchen, Tony had drunk DJ’s juice, DJ was clinging to his back like a monkey, and Tony a pencil behind each ear. He would’ve worried about that, but judging by the hubbub coming from the kitchen, no one was likely to notice.The kitchen was warm and bright, the shutters on the windows thrown open wide, and every burner on the stove going. Clint was crouched in front of the oven, one muscular forearm balanced on his knee as he checked the contents. Tony inhaled, savoring the scent of toasted sugar and yeast, mingling with the smell of freshly-brewed coffee and the savory tang of frying bacon. He straightened up, shutting the oven door with a flick of one foot. “Another five minutes,” he called, reaching for the frying pan. “Then it’s all yours, Mrs. Parker.”He slid two fried eggs onto a plate, holding it out without even glancing over his shoulder. Natasha took it from him on her way past, adding two pieces of toast to it and sliding it over to Bruce. “Doc.”“Thank you,” he said, fumbling to get the book in front of him out of the way. “What’s the atomic number of Helium?”Peter was perched at the island in the middle of the room, a thick slice of bread in one hand and a spoon in the other. “I don’t know.” Bruce frowned at him over the top of one of his own school books. Peter spread his hands wide, almost knocking over his milk. “It’s not on the test,” he said, taking a quick bite of his oatmeal. “Can we just focus on what’s going to be on the test?”Bruce tapped his fingers against the open page. “You, you can’t just SKIP the noble gases,” he said, sounding affronted by that thought. “They’re-” He gestured with a piece of bacon. “They’re very important, Peter.”“I know,” Peter said, rocking forward on his stool. He shifted his notebook a little closer to his bowl, scowling down at the lines of text there. “Trust me, I know, but know what else is important?” He gave Bruce a flat look. “My grade on this test.”“I still say cheating is worth the risk,” Bobbi said from the other end of the counter. She twirled her knife around her knuckles before cutting into a stack of pancakes. “I mean, if you take your time and-”“Excuse me?” May said, her voice echoing out of the pantry. She leaned out of the pantry door, a bowl of eggs balanced on the palm of one hand. She rolled an egg between the fingers of her other hand, holding it at shoulder height, an unspoken threat. “What were you saying?”Bobbi paused, one cheek bulging with a mouthful of honey soaked pancakes. She swallowed. “Studying is important,” she said.May smiled at her. “That’s what I thought you said,” her voice bright. “Chef, the pan is there to your left, if you could-”“Oui,” Clint said, checking under the tea towel. “Lemon?”“It’s Mr. Rhodes’ favorite,” May said. As she walked past, she ruffled Peter’s hair. “You’ll do fine.”“Wait, Rhodey?” Tony asked, and every head in the room swung in his direction. He scowled at them, which probably was ineffective, because he could feel DJ’s chin on top of his head. “Rhodey’s not even here, why does he get pastry?”“He’ll be here soon enough,” Jarvis said, busy slicing bread at the sideboard. He glanced up, bread knife held easily in one hand. “And to what do we owe the pleasure of your visit, sir?”“It’s my house, I can go where I please,” Tony said, trying for dignity despite the giggling child on his back. He handed the empty glass to Jarvis as he passed. “We got tired of waiting.”Jarvis arched an eyebrow at him. “Indeed,” he said, taking the glass. “And so you decided to come to your breakfast, instead of waiting for your breakfast to come to you.”“That would be the long and short of it, yes,” Tony said. He swung DJ off of his back and lowered him down to a stool next to Peter, who immediately ripped off a piece of his toast and offered it to DJ. Tony gave him a look. “Parker. We have more bread. I can see a loaf over there. He can have his own.”“I want his,” DJ said, taking it from Peter, who gave Tony a distinctly smug look.“He wants mine,” he said.“So I hear.” Tony picked up a piece of bacon from the platter, peeking over Bruce’s shoulder. “What is he studying?”Bruce tipped the book in his direction. “Periodic table,” he said.Tony smiled. “Really.”Peter made a grab for the book. “Actually, I think I should just study quietly. On my own.”“Eat your breakfast,” May said, taking the book away from them and closing it with a snap. She brushed a kiss across Peter’s head. “You’ll be fine.”“I’ll be fine,” Peter repeated, going back to his oatmeal. “You’ll be fine.” May kissed DJ on the top of his head as well, and he grinned up at her. She smiled back. “Good morning, David James.” DJ made a face. “Donald Justin?” He shook his head. May pretended to think. “Daniel Jonathan?”“No,” DJ said, giggling.“Dominic Jules? Duncan Jackson? Diego Jasper?” May asked, and Tony grinned.“DJ,” DJ said, grinning up at her. “Just DJ.”“Oh, of course, just DJ,” May said, cupping his face in her hands. She kissed his forehead, and DJ leaned into the contact, his eyes fluttering shut. “But if you’d like to go by Dover Julian, please just let me know.”“No,” DJ said, and she laughed. DJ’s legs swung, his heels bouncing against the rung of the stool. “Toast, please?”“Of course.” She ruffled his hair. “Chef, we have an order!”Clint held out a plate to Jarvis, who dropped a few slices of bread on it. “Oui,” he said, as Jarvis crossed to the coffee grinder.Tony leaned against the island, watching with idle curiosity as Jarvis poured a measure of beans into the old fashioned hand crank machine and started to turn the handle. It let out a grating whine that made DJ cover his ears. “Should it sound like that?” Tony asked.Clint straightened up, his eyes narrowing in Tony’s direction. “Oui,” he said, the singular word hard as a rock. Tony pushed himself upright, wandering over to look over Jarvis’ shoulder. “I don’t think it should sound like that.” He removed his cufflinks, tucking them into the pocket of his vest before rolling up his sleeves. “Here. Let me take a look.” “Non,” Clint said. He had a knife in his hand and a rather crazed look in his eyes. Tony grinned at him.“My house, my grinder, let me just take it apart and see-”Clint unleashed a barrage of terrible fake French that still managed to convey that he was reluctant to let Tony start disassemble anything in his kitchen and also that he was more than willing to start stabbing if Tony persisted with doing so. Tony pointed at him. “How dare you talk like that in front of an impressionable young man?” he asked. He looked over his shoulder. “DJ, cover Peter’s ears, he shouldn’t have to hear this.”“DJ is more impressionable than I am,” Peter objected, dodging out of reach of DJ’s hands.Bobbi sipped her tea. “DJ, do you know swear words?”“Yes,” DJ said with a great deal of enthusiasm.“That’s our boy,” Bobbi said. “I can swear in six languages, how about you?” DJ thought about that, then held up four fingers. Bobbi grinned at him, her legs thrown out in front of her, her cheek braced on one hand. “This kid’s the best.”“This is inappropriate,” Jarvis told her, filling a napkin lined basket with fresh, steaming popovers. “No, inappropriate would be teaching him extra swears in extra languages,” Bobbi told him. “It’s an important life lesson in New York, Jarvis, people take you seriously if you can curse ‘em out in their mother tongue.” “She’s not wrong,” Natasha said, walking past with a stack of dishes balanced on one hand. She hooked Clint’s collar with one finger and turned him around. “Look on the positive side, Chef, if he breaks it completely, you’ll get a fancy new one to play with.”Clint muttered something that Tony was pretty sure meant ‘I will murder him in his sleep’ in Clint’s made up language. He grinned. “Hey, Deej? Wanna help me take apart a coffee grinder?”DJ straightened up. “Yes.”Tony cracked his knuckles. “Then let’s get some tools.”*It was too early for dawn.Peter fumbled at the nightstand, nearly knocking over the lamp as he tried to find his glasses. The room was still dark, but light spilled in from the window, a strange, uneven light, that seemed to lick across the glass. Too early for dawn, and the light was wrong, it was too thin and too red to be the sun.Giving up on his glasses, he kicked his legs free of his blankets, stumbling to his feet. He squinted out the window, his fingers tangled in the curtain. From the window, he had a good view of the length of the grounds and gardens, all the way down to the lake. It took him a moment to realize what he was seeing.“Aunt May!” He grabbed his robe, struggling to pull it on as he shouldered his way out of his room. “Aunt May, there’s a fire, the boat house is-”He skidded into their small sitting room and came to a dead stop. Aunt May was already there, her own robe tied tight. But she wasn’t alone. Jarvis, looking more ruffled than Peter had ever seen him, was standing just inside the door of the sitting room, clad in neatly pressed pajamas and polished loafers. He gave Peter a quick smile. “We know,” he said. “Happy and Clint have taken some of the hired men down to handle it. They’ll have it out soon.”Peter took a hopping step backwards towards his room. “I can help, I can- Just let me get my shoes-”Aunt May gave him a look. “It’s under control, and you have school in the morning. Back to bed with you, Peter.”He stopped, a hand braced on the doorframe. “Aunt May-”“Peter, don’t argue with me,” she said, and just like that, he was dismissed, as she turned her attention back to Jarvis. “Arson?”“It seems too coincidental, otherwise,” Jarvis said, as calm and collected despite the hour and the situation. “Bobbi and Natasha are checking on the gates and the walls, to make sure everything’s still secure, and Dr. Banner has escorted sir downstairs, but they’re concerned about DJ.”“I can get him,” Aunt May said, jamming her feet into her slippers. “Are you-”“I do not want Sir heading back upstairs, or worse, straight out onto the lawn, where he would be a fairly visible target,” Jarvis said, and Aunt May paused, looking up at him, her slipper dangling from her fingertips. “And I need to call the other properties, to make certain that this is an isolated incident.”“You’re the only one who can control Mr. Stark,” Aunt May said, her voice brisk. “I’ll get DJ.”“I can do it,” Peter said. She looked at him, her mouth a thin line, and he rushed on before she could stop him. “His room’s on the other side of the house, he’s probably still asleep, right?” He looked at Jarvis. “You can go down and, and talk to Mr. Stark, and Aunt May, you can call Miss Potts, she and Mr. Rhodes know who to call at the factories, don’t they? And then when you’ve talked to her, you can come get DJ, but if DJ’s asleep, I can just stay with him, make sure that if he DOES wake up, he won’t be scared, but if he’s still asleep, why not let him sleep, and-”Aunt May held up a hand. “Peter.”Jarvis glanced at her. “He makes a valid point, and as long as he stays in the house-”Aunt May switched her gimlet glare in Jarvis’ direction, but Peter ducked back into his room, scanning desperately for his shoes. They weren’t where they should’ve been and he had no idea where he’d left them. “I won’t leave the house, Aunt May, I’ll just go and check on DJ and if he’s awake, I’ll bring him back up here and if he’s not I’ll wait there until you or Mr. Jarvis come and I can do this, right?” Giving up on the shoes, he darted back into the sitting room. “Aunt May. I can do this.”He saw her thin shoulders rise and fall beneath the thick, quilted material of her robe. “You can do this,” she said. “Go on, then. And if you try to step one foot outside of this house, Peter Benjamin Parker, I will have you scrubbing every inch of woodwork in this house.”Peter grinned at her. “Yes, ma’am,” he said. “Promise. I’ll go straight to DJ’s room and stay there, or come right back with him.”“See that you do,” Aunt May called after him, because he was already scrambling past Jarvis, taking the stairs two at a time. The wooden steps, worn smooth by all those who had gone before him, were cold against his bare feet. Behind him, he could hear Jarvis and Aunt May still talking, their voices echoing down the staircase, mingling with the sound of his footsteps.The servants’ staircase let out in a narrow hallway that ran in an almost invisible space between the main rooms on the second floor. It had taken him a long time to memorize all of the twisting back corridors, the hidden spaces that most visitors to the house never saw, but by now he knew it like the back of his hand. He was really looking forward to showing DJ everything he’d figured out.Peter pushed open the door at the end of the hall, stepping out onto the second floor landing. It closed behind him, the door disappearing as the panel slid seamlessly in place. Peter jogged up the hall, his bare feet silent on the carpet runner. The house was still and quiet, with only a few lamps left on to cast dim light across the landing.But it was enough for Peter to realize that DJ’s door was ajar. He caught the bannister with one hand, scanning the main hall below him for any sign of movement. If DJ had slipped out of his room, he was probably curled up in the alcove beneath the stairs as normal; Peter had found him there in the mornings before. Still, a strange sense of unease curled in the pit of his stomach, and he found himself picking up speed.Grabbing the doorknob, he pushed the door open, leaning into the room. “DJ?”There was a moment of stillness, and then something shifted in the darkness of the room, a shadow that turned towards Peter with a rustle of fabric. Backlit by the windows, it towered over Peter, a hulking form that should not have been there.“What-” That was as much as he got out before the form crashed towards him, hitting him hard, knocking him backwards. Peter stumbled, his shoulder smacking against the bannister, and he grabbed for it, pushing himself back to his feet as the man rushed out of DJ’s room, heavy feet making the floor underneath them both shake. Peter’s head swung back towards DJ’s room, visible now as the door swung drunkenly on its hinges. A glance, that’s all he allowed himself, but that was all he needed. The bed had been upended, the blankets and sheets trailing across the floor, the doors to the wardrobe thrown open, the closet emptied out onto the floor.Empty, save for the destruction.Rage rushed in to fill the hollow space in his chest, white hot and cleansing. “Hey!” His feet were back under him, and he didn’t remember getting up, he didn’t remember moving, but he was running now, running full out, with a speed that he hadn’t even known he was capable of. But the man was running too, his foot catching an end table as he passed, sending it crashing to the ground. The vase on it went tumbling, shattering on the floor, and Peter vaulted over it, bouncing off the wall and landing on his feet.“Hey!” It was a scream, and he didn’t have the breath to manage more than that. He passed a table, and grabbed for whatever was on it, some knick-knack that felt solid and hard in his hand and he reared back and threw it, with all the force he could muster. It missed, sailing over the man’s shoulder and bouncing across the floor harmlessly.Cursing, Peter lunged for the next table in the hallway. “You-”The man twisted around, one hand swinging out in a wide, hard arc, and Peter had an instant to see it coming. An instant, and then it was speeding straight for his face with all the force and speed of a cannonball.He didn’t see anything else.*“Tony?”Tony didn’t even look over. “Did you find him?”Rhodey took a deep breath, and Tony heard the answer in that simple hiss of air. “They’re still looking The grounds are...” His jaw worked. “There’s a lot of places to go.”Tony’s chin dipped, a ghost of a nod. “I need Pepper.”Rhodey glanced at Tony’s face, his brows drawn up tight. “She’s in the kitchen with Mrs. Parker, are-”“I need to know what I’ve got in terms of liquid assets,” Tony said, his voice flat. “And what, exactly, I can liquidate. Quickly.”Rhodey crossed his arms over his chest. “You think it’s kidnapping.”Tony stared across the room. Peter was sitting on the edge of the table, his head tipped forward as Bruce ran gentle fingers along his face and neck. He’d said almost nothing since he’d woken up. He’d explained what had happened in a few short, halting sentences, then he’d lapsed into silence, his thin shoulders slumped, his arms tucked in close to his chest. His aunt hovered nearby, her face expressionless, an ice pack at the ready.“Tony?”Tony shook his head. “What over conclusion can we draw here?” he asked, and his voice wasn’t quite steady. Exhaustion made his tongue heavy, and he hated it. Bruce tipped Peter’s head up, and Tony’s teeth locked together. The kid’s face was already swelling up, bruising spreading across his cheek and temple. He looked miserable, and having dealt with a head injury or two himself, Tony had an idea of just how much Peter’s head hurt right now.A slight tap on the door behind them, and he and Rhodey turned, just in time to see Natasha slip through the door. “How’s Peter?” she asked, her voice pitched low as she glanced across the room. May met her eyes, her face strained, and Natasha shook her head. Tony watched May’s shoulders slump and wanted to punch something, anything.“We’re waiting for the Doc to give us the diagnosis,” Rhodey said, his head tipped forward. He rubbed the back of his neck, his fingers biting into the skin there. “Hopefully, he wasn’t out long.”“Based on when May and Jarvis say he left them and when Jarvis found him, it can’t have been very long,” Tony said. “Half an hour, max, probably less than that.” He shifted his weight, his hands in fists in his pockets. “No one was exactly checking their watches.”Bruce said something to Peter, one hand clasped on the boy’s shoulder, and Tony saw Peter’s chin dip in a slight nod, but he didn’t look up. As Bruce straightened up, May set the ice pack against Peter’s cheek, cradling the wet cloth against the bruised skin. He reached up, covering her hand with his, and Tony’s chest tightened so much it hurt.“Tone?”He looked over at Rhodey. “I’m fine.”Rhodey reached out, his fingers gentle as he caught Tony’s wrist, pulling his hand away from his chest. Tony looked down, surprised to find that his fingers were locked in a deathgrip on the fabric of his shirt. He let go with a wince, and let Rhodey pull his hand down. “I’m fine,” he repeated.Rhodey smiled, a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah,” he said, as Bruce walked over. He looked away from Tony, and Tony was grateful for that. “Doc?”Bruce pulled his glasses off, polishing them on the hem of his untucked shirt. “He should be fine,” he said with a slight smile. His eyes darted amongst them, blinking rapidly. “Head injuries are tricky, but it looks worse than it is.” “It looks pretty bad,” Rhodey said.“It’s going to look even worse tomorrow,” Bruce said. He slipped his glasses back on his nose. The frames had gotten bent somewhere along the way, and they were crooked now. “But he should make a full recovery.”“Does he remember anything?” Natasha asked, and Tony was grateful to her for asking the question he couldn’t manage.Bruce shook his head. “Not much. Which isn’t unusual for that kind of a head trauma.” He crossed his arms over his chest, then dropped them back to his sides. “It might come back. It might not.”Over Bruce’s shoulder, Tony could see Peter watching them, his eyes huge under the damp strands of his hair. Tony tried to smile at him, and Peter’s head dipped back down. Tony took a deep breath. “Outside,” he said, his voice very soft. “He needs to rest.”He stayed where he was, letting the others leave the room ahead of him, and before he followed them, he looked over at May. She gave him a smile and a slight nod, and it hurt to return the gesture. Then he was out the door, pulling it shut behind him.“Still no sign?” Bruce asked Natasha.“Nothing,” she said. “There were tire tracks at the north gate, but no sign of forced entry there.”Rhodey nodded. “Did any of the hired men have a key?”“Not to that gate,” Natasha said. “And both Jarvis’ key and the one kept in the house collection are both accounted for.” Her head tipped towards Tony. “No sign of forced entry so far. Bobbi and Clint checked the main floor and are moving up from there.”Tony took a breath, and his chest ached with the force of it. “No one leaves the grounds until further notice,” he said, his voice quiet. “Make sure the foreman knows, if he can’t account for his men, he’ll be held responsible in their stead.”“He swears up and down that no one’s missing,” she said. “At this point, I’d believe him. They don’t know what happened, but they know that fire was deliberately set and they know we’re looking for something.” She reached up, brushing her hair out of her face, and there was soot on her arm, black against her pale skin. “Most of them probably think something’s been stolen.”“Let them continue thinking that,” Tony said. He turned his attention back to Rhodey. “What we talked about before. Get Pepper on it.”Rhodey nodded. “You’ve got it.”To Bruce, Tony said, “Stay with May and Peter, just-” He shook his head. “If he needs a hospital-”“He needs an aspirin and plenty of ice,” Bruce said. “But I’ll keep a close eye on him.”“Thank you.” Tony caught Natasha’s eye. “Get Happy for me. I have a job for him.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Nothing good ever came from a knock on the door in the middle of the night.Steve threw an arm over his eyes, his jaw going tight. For a moment, he considered just rolling over, dragging his blanket over his head, and going back to sleep. It had been a long day, on top of a long week, and he’d dragged himself home less than an hour ago. He was exhausted, his head ached, and he hadn’t eaten all day. All he wanted to sleep, and forget everything for a few, short hours.Another knock on his door, a little louder this time, a little more urgent, and Steve pushed himself up into a sitting position. “Goddammit, Hogan,” he muttered into the darkness. “This had better be important.”He grabbed his pants from the end of the bed, yanking them on and anchoring them in place with one hand. Not bothering with shoes or even the lamp, he stalked over to the door, just as his visitor started knocking again. “Lay off,” he said, unlocking the door. “I’m right-”Steve wrenched the door open, squinting against faint light of the hall. “Here,” he finished, the word falling almost silently out of his mouth as the figure in front of him turned to face him, and Steve’s stomach bottomed out.“I need your help,” Tony said, and Steve grabbed his arm.He had a split second to see the shock roll across Tony’s face, to see his eyes go wide, and then Steve was dragging him into the room. “Are you out of your mind?” he hissed, casting a desperate glance up and down the hallway. It was deserted, not even old man Currothers peeking out from behind his door. Steve shoved his own door shut, locking it with hands that shook. He turned back to Tony, his pulse pounding in his ears. “Are you out. Of. Your. Head?” he asked, biting his words off. Tony opened his mouth, and Steve didn’t even let him get out a single word. “What are you doing here?”Tony sucked in a breath, his white teeth clenched beneath tight lips. “I need your help,” he repeated.“So send Happy, he’s been here enough, he knows where to find me,” Steve said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve never seen a man so determined to put whatever Guardian Angel he’s got out of work.”Tony looked around, his eyes darting over the room, and Steve felt his shoulders go tight. He refused to do the same, to even acknowledge how small, how dingy, how worn everything was. How little he had to his name.Because it wasn’t much, but it was his, and it was honest. Steve took a deep breath. “What is-”Tony’s head came up. “Someone got in the house,” he said, and Steve stopped breathing. “They took DJ.”Steve stared at him. “What?”Tony’s mouth worked for a moment. “He’s gone, Steve.” Too late, Steve realized that he was shaking, his hands in fists at his sides. “I-” Tony’s voice broke, and his head went down, and then back up, his chin a hard line. “He’s gone, and it’s...”He stopped, his mouth a thin line. “I need your help.”Panic didn’t help. Steve knew that. He sucked in a breath, trying to focus, trying to keep his head clear. “When?” Steve asked.“A few hours ago.”“You’re sure?” he asked, stepping past Tony to grab his shirt from the end of the bed.“Yes,” Tony said. He paused as Steve shrugged into his shirt. “Peter ran into one of them.” Steve’s head snapped up, his heart lodging in his throat, but before he could say a word, Tony rushed on. “He took a couple of hard knocks, but he’s fine. Bruce’s keeping an eye on him.”Steve exhaled. “Thank the good Lord,” he said, and he could hear his mother’s brogue in those words. Fear and relief in equal parts, heavy on the tongue, heavier still on the heart. He wondered, idly, in some distant part of his mind, if this is what it was to be a parent. He shook off the thought. “Anyone else?”“No.” Tony stepped aside as Steve crouched down, pulling his shield out from under the bed. “They lit the boat house on fire, probably as a distraction, but no injuries, other than Peter.” Steve slid the shield into its bag, tying the cord off with more force than was strictly necessary. “Have you notified the police?”“No,” Tony said. In the dim light of the room, his face looked like it had been carved from marble, all hard lines and deep shadows, and his eyes were hooded. Steve had seen fear on so many faces, in so many eyes, and yet it was different every time. “I don’t trust them.”Steve paused, his fingers tight on the strap of the shield. “You came here.”Tony met his eyes. “You, I trust.”Steve nodded. “We’ll get him back,” he said, and Tony turned away without a word. Steve caught his arm, pulling him to a stop. “I go first.”A muscle in Tony’s jaw jumped. “If they wanted me-”Steve leaned in. “I go first,” he repeated. “Please.”He felt the muscles of Tony’s arm tighten under his fingers, then relax. “Then go,” he said, his voice shaking with tension. “We’re wasting time.”He was so close, and so familiar, and despite everything, Steve wanted him so badly that it hurt. Even he knew better, awkward and fumbling and stupid as he was, he knew better. This was neither the time, nor the place, too many things unsaid, too much hurt and fear and uncertainty.But Tony was alive, and safe, and Steve was going to keep him that way. “We’re going to get him back, Tony.” He let go of Tony’s arm, his hand falling away with great amounts of reluctance, and he grabbed the strap of his shield instead, his fingers locking in place. Without another word, he slipped out the front door, doing a quick check of the hall before he let Tony follow him. “Lock it,” Tony whispered as Steve headed towards the stairs.“Nothing in there worth protecting,” he said, and without thinking, his free hand went behind him, reaching for reassurance or connection or something he couldn’t even define.Tony’s fingers caught his, and Steve could breathe again.It was a quick trip down the stairs, both of them moving as quickly as they could while keeping the noise down. Steve saw a door open on the first floor, but didn’t bother looking back as they passed. A matter of moments, and they were out of the building, the cold light of dawn hovering just above the skyline.“This way,” Tony said, his voice tight, and Steve fell into step behind him, hovering a little too close for comfort, but unable to convince himself to back off. For his part, Tony didn’t object.There was an unfamiliar car parked at the curb half a block away from Steve’s building, an old, rather battered looking Ford. A man was leaning against the side of it, his hat pulled low over his face and the collar of his coat turned up against the cold. As they approached, he dropped his cigar stub to the ground, glancing in their direction.“No luck?” Happy asked, grinding out the cigar with the heel of his shoe.Tony shook his head, and Steve met Happy’s eyes as he opened the back door of the car. “We were, ya know, hoping that maybe he was here,” Happy said, as Tony slid into the car. “Sure, it’d be a long trip, but-” He gave Steve a lopsided smile. “He’s a clever one.”Steve exhaled. “No,” he said, and the way that Tony had looked around his flat made sense now. He waited for the door to be shut behind Tony before he moved to the other side of the car, sliding into the back seat next to Tony. He glanced over as Happy started the car. “I would’ve gotten word to you, if he’d shown up here.” Tony nodded. “I know. But-” He glanced over, a faint smile creasing his lips. “Grasping at the thinnest of straws, I suppose.” “We’ll get him back,” Steve said. Tony nodded, but his eyes were empty.The car pulled away from the curb, and Happy caught Steve’s eyes in the rearview mirror. “We going to the police?”“No,” Steve said. He looked at Tony, who hadn’t moved. “No. My captain-” He stopped, a bitter smile crossing his face. “My captain’s been spending freely over the last few weeks, both on himself, and his friends. Started attending the station’s weekly poker game again, and he’s been racking up some impressive losses without complaint.”“Illegal gambling? I’m shocked,” Tony said, his voice wry.“Don’t be,” Steve said, almost smiling at that. He shifted in his seat. “In any case, it’s pretty clear he’s come into money lately.”“Betcha that old uncle of his finally died,” Happy said.“Or someone rewarded him handsomely for putting his signature on a few orders,” Steve said. He took a deep breath. “And anyone I could trust doesn’t have the power to work outside the system.” A bitter pill to swallow, but one that he was willing to choke down, because lives depended on it.He settled the shield against his knees, his hands resting on the rim. “Tell me everything we know so far,” he said.It didn’t take long. By the time they were out of the city proper, Tony had given him the basics, with Happy anything Tony might’ve missed from the front seat. When they finally fell silent, Steve took a deep breath. “We’re assuming ransom, then.”“Kid’s a pretty good workshop assistant,” Tony said, “but he’s probably not the source most people would choose for industrial espionage.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “I’ve got Pepper pulling together my liquid assets, which are… Significantly less than what most people would assume.”Steve glanced at him, and Tony gave him a wry smile. “Most of my worth is tied up in companies, land and other physical and intellectual property assets. I can borrow against a lot of that, but it’s not a quick process.” For a moment he was silent, his head tipped towards the window. “Luckily, I still have a few favors I can call in, if it comes to that, but everything takes time.”Outside of the car, the scenery flashed past, brief glimpses of rolling hills and strands of trees, houses peeking through the fog. Tony rested his hand against the window, his fingers curled into a fist. “Time we may not have.”The rim of the shield bit into Steve’s fingers, even through the heavy fabric of its carrying bag. “But you came for me.”Tony’s chin dipped. “You, we need right now.”“And you should’ve sent Happy,” Steve said. “They might be after money, or they might just be after you.” He hated this force inactivity, hated sitting here, next to Tony but separated from him, somehow. “Taking him would be the fastest way to get to you.”“Maybe not the fastest,” Tony mused. “But the easiest.” His arm flexed, and his fist bounced against the window, once, twice. “Though I think this proves that staying in the house doesn’t make me any safer.”“Still safer there than out here.” Steve leaned forward, bracing a hand on the back of the front seats. “Pull over,” he said, and Happy glanced over his shoulder at him. “What? Why?” he asked, but he was already pulling the roadster towards the edge of the lane.As the car rolled to a stop, reached for the door handle, catching Tony’s eye. “Stay here.”Tony’s eyebrows arched. “You’re going to walk the rest of the way?”“Nope.” Steve pushed the door open and slid out of the car, not surprised when Tony immediately opened his door and followed him out. Steve paused, his hand braced on the door. “I’m going into the front seat. Stay here.”Tony stared at him over the top of the car. “Why?”“Someone wanted me out,” Steve said, doing his best to keep his voice calm. He shoved a hand through is hair. “Someone paid a lot of money to get me away from-” He stopped, not sure of the right words. “Away from the house. And whoever that is?” He closed the back door of the car. “I want them to know I’m back.”“Why?” Tony repeated, his voice rising. “So you can be a target instead?”Steve opened the passenger door. “So they know it’s time to run.” He met Tony’s eyes over the top of the car. “If you don’t want me to be a target, get in the car. As long as you’re standing here, so am I.”Tony cursed, but got back in the car. Only after his door shut did Steve follow suit. Happy looked at him out of the corner of his eyes. “Playing with fire there, aren’t we buddy?”“Every damn day,” Steve gritted out. “Drive.”*Bobbi was waiting at the kitchen door, her shoulders braced against the wall, her arms crossed over her chest. As the car slowed to a halt, she pushed herself upright, her coat swinging around her legs with the movement. There was a holster strapped to her hip, the grip catching the light that flowed through the kitchen windows.“Nothing,” she said, meeting Tony’s eyes head on.He let out a breath that he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding. “Thank you,” he said, the words coming without thought, without effort. “Is Pepper up in the office?”“She and Rhodey just left,” Bobbi said, crossing her arms over her chest. “Something about an appointment with Mr. Hargreaves down at the First National Bank. Mr. Jarvis has the details.”Tony nodded. “Thank you,” he repeated, and on some level he registered the look that passed between Bobbi and Steve, but he didn’t stop, didn’t even slow down. Bobbi pulled the kitchen door open, holding it while they stepped past her. When they were safely inside, she closed the door again, sealing them in.In the kitchen, coffee and trays of pastry were set out on the broad table top, teapot covered by a cozy, stacks of cups and plates waiting to be picked up. May was in front of the stove, her apron tied over a simple day dress, her hair tucked away under a kerchief. She was stirring a massive pot on the stovetop, the sugary sweet smell of cooking fruit filling the air.She glanced over as the kitchen door opened, her chin coming up, a faint flicker of hope crossing her face. An instant later, it was gone, but she managed a smile in any case. “Welcome back, Officer Rogers.”“Thank you, Mrs. Parker,” Steve said, swinging his bag off of his shoulder and setting it down next to the door. He stepped aside so Tony could shrug out of his coat, dropping it onto one of the hooks there. “Something smells good.”She reached for the coffee pot on the stove. “Figured breakfast time would be coming, soon enough,” she said, pouring a cup. “And there’s jam to be made before everything goes off.” She held the cup out to Steve with a slight smile. “Fresh bread in a half hour or so, and since Hawkeye’s up on the roof keeping an eye on things, the main course will be oatmeal and eggs today, I think.”“It’ll be appreciated,” Steve said, and Tony was strangely grateful that he had the words to say.May wrapped up a fresh turnover in a napkin, holding it out to Tony. He shook his head, and she scowled at him. “You need to eat.”“I’ll have coffee,” Tony said. His stomach was painfully empty, but the thought of food made his throat close up. “Just coffee.”“You won’t. You need sleep,” she said, pressing the pastry into his hand. He took it, because the alternate would be to let it fall to the floor. “If the phone rings, we’ll get you.”His teeth were gritted so hard that his jaw ached. “Thank you, but-”The door to the kitchen opened with a thud, and Peter stumbled through, both of his hands gripping the doorknob as if he was using it to keep himself upright. The side of his face was already turning an unfortunate shade of muddy gray-green, his eye swollen almost shut behind the crooked frames of his glasses. “Is it-”He saw Steve and straightened up, his knees locking as he forced himself forward. May tossed the napkin in her hand aside with a frustrated gesture. “Peter Benjamin Parker, you get yourself back up to bed right now, or I swear you’ll regret it.”“I-” Peter swallowed, his throat bobbing. “I thought that-” He looked at Steve. “I thought that you’d want to talk to me,” he said, desperation creeping into his voice. “I thought that you’d need to talk to me. While I can still-” His eyes darted to the side, his shoulders hitching up. “I think I can remember-” He stopped. “I can remember, and I’m afraid if I fall asleep, then I’ll forget, I have to tell you before-”“Peter,” Tony said, his voice cutting through the nervous babble. Peter’s head jerked in his direction. Tony took a deep breath, trying to keep his voice level. “Go to bed. If he needs to talk to you, he can do it tomorrow.”Peter blinked hard, and Tony could tell he was trying not to cry. “I won’t remember tomorrow.”“Dr. Banner said you’d be more likely to remember tomorrow,” May said, setting the lid onto the pot of jam. “Back to bed with you. “He’s lying, I know he’s lying, he’s-” Peter’s hands flexed at his sides, and his knuckles were raw and cracked. “He doesn’t want me to feel back, because he knows it’s my fault DJ’s gone, it’s-”Tony’s skin iced over. “Is that what you think?” The words were a whisper, thin and cold and hard, and Peter flinched, his entire body jerking back, away from Tony, and it was like a physical blow.Tony set the turnover down on the table. “Is that what you think?” he repeated.“Tony-” Steve started, and Tony ignored him.“This-” Tony gestured at the kitchen, at the house, at the grounds beyond that. “This is not your responsibility, Peter. None of it. It is mine. This is my house, these are my people, this is my responsibility, and no one else’s. It is my fault DJ wasn’t protected. It is my fault YOU weren’t protected.“My fault. No one else’s.”Peter stared at him with haunted eyes, and there were tears pouring down his cheeks. Tony took a breath, and another, trying to steady his racing pulse. “What do you think, that I would prefer you have been, what, killed, trying to keep him safe?” Peter’s mouth worked, and Tony leaned in. “Is that what you think?”“No, I-” Peter’s mouth worked. “He’s going to be your son, though, and-”“And I don’t trade you for him. I don’t trade him for you,” Tony said, his voice rising. “That’s not how this house works. There aren’t people who are worth more. That is not-” He stopped, struggling for words, for thoughts. “You are a child, Peter, you are our child, and your job is to be a child. Our job, MY job is to keep you safe, and I failed at that, Peter, I failed to keep either of you safe, and that’s on me, just me.He caught Peter’s chin with the side of his fingers, tipping his head up. “You tried to save him, and that should never, ever have fallen to you, but you did it anyway, Peter. It was incredibly brave and if you ever, EVER do anything that stupid again, I’m going to send you away to university and pay for you to take nothing but accounting courses, and then when you graduate, you’ll have to spend the rest of your life being the head accountant for every single one of my companies.”Peter blinked at him, eyes red rimmed. “Every one?” he asked, and the words broke on a watery, wobbly giggle.“Every one,” Tony said, pushing his hair away from his face. “Just you. And rooms full of boring numbers. For the rest of your natural life.”“That’s the worst punishment you can come up with?” May asked, her voice exhausted.“Yes, that is the worst thing I can come up with,” Tony said, at the same time Peter said, “I don’t want to account.”“Right,” May said, turning off her jam. “Peter. Bed. Now. I will not say it again.”Peter nodded, and he was still crying, but it was slower now, without the hard, labored breaths under it. “Yes, ma’am.” He glanced at Tony. “I should’ve gotten to him sooner, Mr. Stark.”“You should never, ever have been forced to make that choice, Peter,” Tony said, and he was so exhausted he could barely keep himself upright. He braced a hand on the table. “Go to bed, Peter. We’ll get him back.”It felt like a lie in his mouth, it felt heavy and wrong on his tongue, it tasted of metal and blood, but Peter nodded. Because Peter still trusted him.And Tony hated that.“Bed. Now,” May said, her voice sharp, and Peter nodded.“Yes, ma’am,” he said, scrubbing the back of his wrist across his nose. “Yes. I’ll-” He nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”“I’ll be up to check on you in a moment,” May said, “and I expect I’ll find you in bed, with the covers tucked up under you chin.” Her eyebrows arched. “Do I make myself clear?”Peter managed a wobbly smile. “Yes, ma’am.”“Good. March,” she said, and he marched. She watched him go, her arms crossed over her chest. Tony was aware, on some level, of Peter leaving, but May was still there, her attention on him now, her face unreadable as she stared him down. Tony held up a hand “I know, I know, I overstepped, it’s not my place to discipline him, that’s- He’s your nephew, and I apologize for-”May’s arms went around his waist, and Tony froze in place. Her grip was surprisingly strong, despite her thin frame. He took a breath, and it hurt, it hurt in a way he couldn’t define. His breath hissed between his teeth. “I believe I’ve mentioned that I don’t really want-” He stopped, trying not to lean into her. “This sort of thing.”“Yes,” May said, her arms tightening. “You’ve mentioned that.” The hug went on forever, for so long that when she finally let go, Tony could swear he could feel the imprint of it against his skin, a bruise that he wasn’t sure he’d be able to shake. May took a step back, and she wasn’t crying, but her eyes were bright with unshed tears. “He admires you a great deal, you know.”Tony stared down at her. “Break him of that,” he said, and the words cracked like ice between his teeth.May reached up, her fingers stroking against his cheek. “No, Mr. Stark. I don’t think I will.” She took a step back, wiping her hands on her apron with brisk, efficient movements. “And I will thank you not to tell me how to raise my nephew.”Tony smiled, just a little, but it was apparently enough, because she smiled back. “I’ll be back to make breakfast,” she said. She looked over Tony’s shoulder, and he stiffened, reminded of Steve’s presence. “If you can wait?”“Go take care of him,” Steve said, and he was close behind Tony now, too close. Tony went to take a step forward and realized his legs were trembling. He stared down at the floor, struggling to get his breathing back under control.Something was wrong with his vision. He blinked hard, but his eyes refused to focus.“Tony?”Everything hurt, his chest and his throat and his head, and he squeezed his eyes shut, not wanting to see the white nothing press in on his vision, didn’t want to see anything, and he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t breathe.“Tony.”“And what do you want?” Tony wanted anger, he wanted rage, he grasped desperately for that. Anger like a heavy coat that he could wrap around himself, rage that could shelter him, that could be a shield. But his voice sounded broken, empty.Tony struggled for breath, trying to ignore the hand on his shoulder, on his arm. “I need you to sit down, Tony.”He laughed, a horrible, fractured sound. “Nothing,” he said, mostly to himself. He shook away the touch, his arm coming up with more force than he’d intended. The hand fell away, and as soon as it was gone, he regretted it, he regretted everything. “Or, at least, nothing I have to offer.”He knew this kitchen like the back of his hand, even if his own body felt foreign to him now. Ignoring the words that echoed in his ears, in his head, he headed for the house, forcing himself forward, step by torturous step.The stairs were narrow and winding, and they swayed in front of him, twisting in ways that didn’t make sense. He blinked hard, trying to make his eyes focus, trying to force things back to normal. Normal. He didn’t know what it meant anymore. He didn’t know how to make things make sense, and it was..His legs went out from under him, and the stairs rushed up to meet him, a collection of poorly stacked blocks that were falling out from under him.He never hit.The world shifted around him, and he could hear Steve’s voice, the words a blur of sound, and he blinked hard. Steve’s face came into focus in front of him, and Tony tried to smile. “I think I need… To eat something,” he said.Steve’s face relaxed. “I think you need to lie down,” he said, and before Tony could object, he slipped an arm under Tony’s legs, lifting him up. “It’s okay. It’s going to be all right.”This was pathetic. Tony let his head fall against Steve’s shoulder, hating himself for it, but too tired to lift it again. “I can’t…” His voice trailed away, and he let his eyes fall shut. “What do you want?”If Steve had any response to that, he didn’t hear it.*Steve couldn’t stop checking Tony’s pulse.His breathing was steadier now, slow and shallow, but Steve could feel it through his shirt on the side of his neck. He rubbed a thumb against the back of Tony’s hand where it lay on his chest, tracing the familiar lines his fingers. Steve knew he should get up, he should leave Tony to rest.Instead, he rested his cheek against Tony’s hair, letting his eyes fall shut, focusing on the soft sound of his breathing.The knock on the door, soft and efficient, brought his head up.Steve slipped out from under the weight of Tony’s body, settling him as gently as possible back against the pillows. Tony mumbled something under his breath, but he didn’t wake, his fingers catching on the pillowcase and pulling it close. Steve took a deep breath, and another, straightening his shirt with hands that shook. “Come-The door opened before he could finish speaking, and Steve jerked forward, his heart in his throat. Jarvis leaned into the room, his brow creased. “Ah, good,” he said, his voice soft, stepping inside and pulling the door shut behind him. Steve’s bag was hanging from his other hand, and he held it up. “I found this in the kitchen, and was hoping you’d managed to get him to rest.”He paused, his head tipped to the side, a faint smile on his face as he set Steve’s bag down next to the door. “I promise, I’m not here to wake him.”Steve blinked at him. “What?” Jarvis’s chin dipped, and Steve realized he’d moved without intending to, his body now presenting a physical barrier between Tony and the door. He exhaled, breath hissing between his teeth. “Sorry. I-” He made an effort to relax, ignoring the desperate voice in the back of his head telling him to get out. To extract himself from this very compromising position, and get out.Tony shifted, his face twisting in sleep, and without thinking, Steve reached over, stroking a hand over his hair. Tony relaxed, his lips parting in a soft, almost inaudible sigh.Steve looked up, meeting Jarvis’s eyes. “I can wake him if something’s-”Jarvis was already shaking his head. “Please don’t,” he said, crossing over to the bed. If he saw how Steve tensed, he didn’t show it. “He hasn’t been sleeping well, as of late.” He paused next to the bed, one eyebrow arching. “Which does not excuse those shoes on the bed linens.”Almost against his will, Steve felt himself smile. “I suppose there are rules against that sort of thing,” he said, as Jarvis reached for one of Tony’s feet.“There are indeed,” Jarvis said, removing one of Tony’s shoes and setting it aside.Steve watched him, relaxing by stages. “You’re good at that,” he said, as Jarvis slipped Tony’s second shoe off, settling his foot back on the bed. “Well, I’ve had quite a bit of practice,” Jarvis said with an easy smile. “As a child, he would often spend his days going full tilt until he worked himself into a state of collapse. At which point, one either put him to bed or learned to step over the sleeping child in the middle of the floor.” He glanced up at Steve, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Putting him to bed was less trouble.”Steve chuckled. “I imagine so,” he said, as Jarvis moved away from the bed, Tony’s shoes dangling from his fingers. He set the shoes down by the wardrobe, and continued on to the linen closet. Steve lowered himself, sitting down on the edge of the bed, his fingers lingering on Tony’s hair.“And if I did choose to put him to bed, moving quickly was of the utmost importance,” Jarvis said, his voice echoing out of the closet. He re-emerged, a quilt draped over his arm. “As he had an unfortunate habit of kicking like a mule in his sleep.” He paused, his eyes meeting Steve’s. “Something to keep in mind.”Steve felt his face heat, but there was no judgement on Jarvis’ face, just a slight, puckish smile. “He… May have outgrown that,” he said.“I’m pleased to hear it,” Jarvis said. He gave the quilt a quick shake. “Excuse me, please.” Steve stood up, and Jarvis spread the quilt over Tony’s slumbering form. “There,” he said, and he smiled down at Tony, his expression soft with affection. His fingers smoothed Tony’s hair away from his forehead, lingering there for a long moment before he straightened up. He smiled at Steve. “Thank you.”Steve shook his head. “Nothing to thank me for,” he said, taking a seat on the edge of the bed again. He studied Tony’s sleeping face, loving him so much it hurt. “I should never have left.” He shoved a hand through his hair, frustration tearing through him. “Or maybe I never should’ve come back.”He looked up at Jarvis. “What am I doing here?” he asked. A stupid question that had no answer, and he regretted it almost before it was out. “Sorry. That’s… Sorry.”Jarvis paused, his face unreadable. “Sir’s father was… Not an easy man to please,” he said at last. “He was mercurial. Sharp tongued. Self-involved and self-sufficient. Capable of both grand gestures and casual, off-hand cruelty. He was a difficult employer.” He met Steve’s eyes. “And I had no interest in earning his affection.“He had little use for other people, and he had little tact when dismissing those who annoyed him. He drank heavily and often, and that did not make him easier to deal with.” Jarvis met Steve’s eyes. “He hit Anthony once.”Steve froze, his chest going tight. “Very few people hit their children once.”Jarvis nodded. “This is true. Perhaps I should say, he hit Anthony in front of me once.” He took a deep breath, his eyes hooded. “I picked him up, and I carried him back to his room. I washed his face, helped him into his pajamas, and put him to bed with a cup of cocoa.“And after he was asleep, I returned to his father’s study and told him that if he ever hit that child again, I would see to it that he regretted it.”Steve hadn’t been expecting the cold, hard edge to Jarvis’ voice. “An overstep of course, for an employee, and to be honest, I don’t know what I meant when I said it.” He paused. “But I know I meant it, if that makes any sense at all.”Steve nodded. “I think it does.”“Nothing excuses what he did,” Jarvis said. “Nothing makes it right. No one is required to forgive him. But I do believe that he regretted what he did, as much as he was capable of regretting anything. And knowing I was watching him? I truly believe it helped him not to repeat that mistake.”He picked up Steve’s bag, and carried it over, offering the strap to Steve. “Sometimes even the best men need to be reminded to do the right thing.”Steve took it. “I’m not sure I’m up for that job.”Jarvis smiled. “You’d be surprised of what you’re capable of, when you have something you’re determined to protect.” His head tipped towards Tony. “Or someone.”He turned towards the door. “I’ll bring up breakfast soon. Do try to get some rest while you can. If we have any contact from the kidnappers, we will let you know.”Steve watched him go, and when the door shut behind him, he relaxed back against the headboard, his hand stretching out to cover Tony’s. He had a lot to think about.*Tony’s eyes snapped open. “Steve.”“He’s not here.”Tony rolled over, his legs tangling in the fabric of the blankets as he struggled into a upright position. Bruce was in one of the chairs next to the windows, a book open on his lap. He pulled off his glasses, squinting in Tony’s direction. “Steve went to take a look at DJ’s room,” he said with a faint, apologetic smile. “How’re you feeling?”Tony shoved a hand through his hair, trying to draw a deep breath. His chest ached, but he could breathe freely. “Fine,” he said, his hand dropping into his lap. “I was-” He shook his head. “Never mind.”“You should eat something,” Bruce said, gesturing at the bedside table. “Jarvis brought up some pastries, if you-”“No. Thank you.” Tony pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. “I’ll have something in just a moment.” He flipped the blanket aside. “No word from the kidnappers?”Bruce’s smile faded. “Nothing. Sorry.”Tony nodded. “What time is-” He caught sight of the clock and bit out a curse. “You shouldn’t have let me sleep.”Bruce closed his book. “You needed it,” he said. “I’m usually not in favor of sleeping pills, Tony, but working yourself into complete collapse isn’t, it isn’t a good idea. It’s certainly not healthy.”“Your professional opinion has been noted,” Tony said, trying to take the sting out of that with a lopsided smile. “And ignored.”“I expected nothing else, to be honest,” Bruce said, clambering to his feet. He tucked his book under his arm. “We were still waiting on a response from Thor.”Tony nodded. “You’re going back downstairs, then?”Bruce looked at the door, and then back at Tony, his expression concerned. “If you’re all right?”Tony waved him off. “I’m fine. Thank you.” It was a lie, and it was obvious that Bruce knew it, but he nodded anyway.“I’ll tell Mrs. Parker to expect you for lunch,” Bruce said.“Or you could not do that,” Tony said, trying to work a kink out of his shoulder. “You know. You could just trust me to handle myself, and-”“Tony?” Bruce tapped his book against his leg. “No.”“Worth a try, I suppose,” Tony said with a wry smile. “Fine. I’ll have Jarvis bring me a sandwich up to my office later.”“I’m sure you will, but if you don’t-”“Yes, yes, I’ve been properly cowed,” Tony said, waving him off. “Let me know if we hear from Thor.”Bruce nodded. “Send word if anything changes?”“Of course.” Tony waited until he left the room before he stood, straightening his shirt. He was a mass of wrinkles at this point, and there was little he could do about it, but he also didn’t want to waste the time it would take him to change.Then again, if Steve had been the one to put him to bed, he’d seen Tony looking far worse.A minute later, he was pushing the door to DJ’s room open, relieved to find Steve standing in front of the windows, his attention focused on the latch that held them shut. They’d left the room the way they’d found it, with DJ’s clothes and belongings scattered across the floor. The doors to the wardrobe hung open, toys and books in a heap beside it.Someone, perhaps Steve, had set the bed to rights, tipping the frame back into place and settling the mattress on top of it. Furbro was sleeping against the pillows, the tip of his tail flicking against the linens. Tony paused to give the cat a scratch, and he arched up against Tony’s hand with a pleased noise.Steve looked over, his shoulders tensing. “You should still be in bed,” he said, and Tony gave him a look.“I’m fine,” he said. He rubbed the cat’s chin. “Sorry. For the trouble.” He scowled at Furbro, who seemed unconcerned. “I was…” His mouth worked. “Tired.”“Jarvis said that you haven’t been sleeping well,” Steve said, and when Tony looked up at him, he smiled. “To be honest, neither have I.”The more they talked about this, the less Tony wanted to talk about this. He looked at the window. “Shouldn’t we have heard from them by now?”Steve didn’t ask who ‘they’ were. “No, not necessarily. It’s pretty common for kidnappers to wait to make contact. Drives up the stress, and lets people talk. The more family involved, the greater the chance they’ll find someone willing to pay what they want.” Tony looked at him, confused, and Steve’s lips twitched into a faint shadow of a smile. “A father might not be willing or able to pay the ransom, but if grandma or a great-uncle is pulled in, that changes things.”“Fuck,” Tony said, and he scraped a hand over his face, needing the physical pain to distract him from something worse. “Right.” He turned, and his foot collided with something, tripping him up. He looked down to find DJ’s butterfly net pushed half under the bed. He leaned over, collecting it. The net was tangled, but intact, and he smoothed it out. “Did you find anything that could help us?”Steve gestured at the window frame. “The lock on the window’s broken, the trellis outside’s got a few broken rungs. Easy enough to assume our kidnapper came up that way, and forced his way in.”He glanced back at the window. “Except I doubt that the trellis would bear the weight of a fully grown man. Someone’s DJ’s size? Sure, if he was careful. Maybe even a teenager like Peter. But anyone bigger than that would’ve done a lot more damage. And as for the lock? The break is clean, and subtle. A fully grown man who didn’t care about how the damage looked would have an easy time simple shoving the window open with a pry bar. The wood’s old enough, even if the lock didn’t just come loose, it wouldn’t take much to break the window frame.“But this?” Steve flicked the lock with one finger, letting it swing against the glass. “This looks like the work of a small, clever boy with plenty of time and a few tools he’s managed to pocket.”Tony set the net next to the bed. “I mean, he might’ve pocketed something,” he allowed. “Or I might’ve given him his own set. To keep the pocketing from happening.”“Probably won’t work.” Steve smiled, and Tony found himself smiling back. “I’d say he broke this lock within days of moving in here,” he said. “He’s used to slipping out. He’s had enough practice at Hammer’s place.”Tony looked out the window. The trellis stretched to the ground, a seemingly impossible distance below them. “I know he’s a climber, but he wouldn’t…” His voice trailed away. He looked at Steve. “Would he?”“I’d lay money that he’s been making the trip regularly, if not every night,” Steve said. He turned to the room. “Because he wasn’t here when our intruder arrived.”Tony refused to hope. “Then where was he?”“Probably the same place he’s been every night since he broke that lock; having his run of the grounds. Maybe he saw the fire, or maybe he was out there before the fire started. Either way, he wasn’t here when our intruder walked in.” Steve sank down to the edge of the bed. “Here’s what I think happened,” he said, his arms braced on his knees. “One of the hired guards was approached with an offer. Probably through a third party, probably someone he already knew, someone he trusted. Perhaps someone he’d done some odd jobs for before. Maybe legal, probably not. “They offered him a large sum to set the fire at the boat house, as a distraction, and using the surrounding chaos as cover, to make sure that the gate was open. Likely he was offered a partial payment up front, with the rest to be handed over when he accomplished his tasks. Maybe he was going to get paid that night, maybe he was supposed to meet up with the fixer later for his payout. There are risks to both. You don’t want to be caught by the police that sort of money if you’re searched, but if you agree to a payment later, there’s a chance it’ll never happen.“Whatever the deal they brokered, he likely didn’t get it all up front. He had to do the work first, and he did. He set the fire, and went to the gate.” Steve looked at Tony, those brilliant blue eyes sharp. “Here’s where the real guesswork begins.”Tony nodded. “I won’t hold you to it.”Steve’s fingers flexed against his leg. “I’m guessing he got to the gate, and found it already open.” He looked at the window. “Fire’s still merrily burning, things are still in an uproar, he likely hasn’t been missed from his post. But now he suspects that he’s being double crossed. He’s lit the fire, and if he’s caught, it’ll be on him, because he doesn’t know who hired him, not really.“And either they’ve got someone else to open the gate, or they never needed anyone to open the gate. All he knows is that he’s at the literal scene of the crime, and if anyone sees him coming or going from that spot, he’ll be caught red handed. So now he’s got two choices. Cut his losses and go help put out the fire he started and hope that doesn’t come back on him, or to see if whoever he was supposed to let into the grounds is still here.”“One of those is a much smarter choice than the other,” Tony said.“I agree, but a man who feels he’s been stiffed of half or more of what he’s been promised may not make good choices,” Steve said. “I think he came here, hoping to find the men who hired him or what they were looking for.”“Instead he found Peter,” Tony said, his voice tight.“Instead he found Peter,” Steve agreed. “And I think Peter is all he found. He doesn’t have DJ, and I doubt he can tell us who does. He’s probably still on the grounds, and if we wait him out, or shake everyone down, we can find him.“But he’s a dead end. Everything he knows, we know.” He looked around DJ’s room. “The person who did this? They were looking for a child, Tony. Look at it. They emptied the closet, the wardrobe. They overturned the bed. They even broke the shelves in the bathroom linen closet.“The bookshelves, the bureau? The bedside tables? They’re all untouched. Someone who was looking for something would’ve been far more thorough. But the only parts of the room that have been searched are places a child could be hiding.”Tony bent over, picking up a book. The pages were crumbled, and he straightened them, one by one, flattening them against the covers. “Right,” he said, his voice tight. “We know that. So what-”Steve took a deep breath. “Tony, who knows DJ was still here?”Tony blinked. “What?”“Who knows DJ is still here?” Steve repeated. “There were stories in the papers, of course, when he came here. It was a publicity stunt, after all. But you haven’t put out anything saying you’re keeping him.”“Of course not.” Tony glanced around the room. “There’s no reason to…” His voice trailed away as he tried to think. He shoved a hand through is hair, and his fingers were shaking. “The guards know he’s still here. And every delivery man who’s come to the kitchen in the last month or so has seen him.” “Sure, but right now, we’ve got men in your position who aren’t paying ransoms on their own children or grandchildren,” Steve said. “So the idea that someone would go to all that trouble, all that effort, for a child who isn’t even yours by blood, with the assumption that you’d pay? Or even that they could use him to lure you out?”He stood. “Who knows you’re keeping him? And who would be in a place to profit from that knowledge?”Tony dropped the book to the bed. “Hammer.”Steve nodded. “Hammer. He’d have to do the paperwork, so he knows, he knows enough, and he’s always looking for money. We don’t want the hired muscle. We want Hammer.”Tony wanted to punch something. “Right. Let’s go.”“No.” Steve didn’t move. “We’re not going anywhere, Tony. You are going to stay here. Wait for any word. Happy and I will go and have a chat with Hammer.”Tony let out a bark of laughter. “No.”Steve caught his arms, his grip light, just enough to force Tony to keep facing him. “We are going to find him, Tony. We are going to find him, and bring him back. And you need to be here. You need to be waiting for him. Or I can’t bring him back.”Tony tried to pull away, but Steve followed him, his face tight. “You came looking for me. You asked me for help. You need to actually let me help.”“So you can come with me, that is how you can help,” Tony gritted out. Steve leaned in, his forehead almost brushing Tony’s. “This is a choice we have to make,” he said, his voice quiet. “If I’m your employee, then yes. You can ignore everything I say. You can just-” He shook his head. “Do whatever you want, and I can’t stop you.“But if I’m your-” Steve stopped, his mouth working. “Your… Your partner, for the lack of a better term, then you need to listen to me. You need to take what I say into account, Tony, or we’re never going to get anyway.”“That’s not fair,” Tony bit out, frustration spiking through him. Steve gave a bark of laughter. “Fair? None of this is fair,” Steve said. “I’m done waiting for fair, I just want…” He stopped, his mouth a thin line. “Do you trust me? To do what’s best for him, and for you?”Tony realized he’d grabbed the front of Steve’s shirt at some point, even though he didn’t know when, and he couldn’t manage to let go. He wanted to cling, to hold on with all his strength. “This is my fault,” he said, his voice shaking. “If anything happens to him, to you-”Steve kissed him, and Tony wanted to be mad about that, he wanted to resent it, but all he could do was lean into the contact, desperate for it. For him. When they finally broke apart, they were both breathing hard. Tony caught Steve’s eyes. “If you’re not back in two hours, I’m coming after you,” he bit out.Steve nodded, and he was so right, so perfect, that Tony had to let go of him now, or he’d never manage it. He relaxed his hand, one finger at a time. “Find the kid.”Steve kissed him again, hard and fast. “Stay here. Stay safe.”And then, he was gone. Tony sank down to the edge of DJ’s bed, trying to steady his hands, his heart. He reached out, burying his fingers in Furbro’s fur. “You’d better bring him home,” he said, to the empty room. “Damn you, Rogers. You’d better bring him back home.”*“He ain’t here.”Steve paused, his head tipping back. One of the third floor windows was open, and a handful of boys were clustered by the windowsill, peering down at them. “That so?” Steve called. He nodded towards the front door. “Want to let us in?”“We’ll get in trouble,” one of the little ones said, and Billy’s head appeared over all the others.“No body asked you,” he said, scruffing the younger boy and pulling him away from the window. “Matt, go let ‘em in.” He braced a hand on the window frame, leaning out over the street. “Before they break down the door.”Steve let himself smile, just a little. “Would I do something like that?” he asked, his voice mild.“Yeah, probably.” Billy disappeared back inside, leaving a few of the other boys to take their turns at the window. Behind Steve, Happy raised a hand to wave, and all of them ducked back inside.“Guess I scared ‘em,” Happy said, as a variety of thumps and bangs came from the other side of the door. A moment of rattling locks and then the door was nudged open.“Hey, Rogers,” the boy said, giving Steve a gap-toothed grin. “DJ sent us chocolate, didja know that?”“I didn’t,” Steve said, stepping into Hammer’s Home for Wayward Boys. There was a general sense of dinginess that hung over the entryway and the main stairwell, no matter how many times Hammer had the boys scrub them. “Everyone get their fair share?”“Yeah, lucky we got it before Hammer knew it was here,” he said, scratching his head and leaving his hair a tangled mess. “Tell him it was great?”“I will,” Steve said, as Billy came loping down the stairs. “He’s not here.”“He’s not here,” Billy said, snagging Matt by the back of his shirt and swinging him around to aim a joking kick at the seat of the boy’s pants. “Get back upstairs, no lunch until the beds are made and the floors are scrubbed; just cause Hammer’s not here to yell at us now doesn’t mean he won’t have a lot to say about it when he gets back.”“So? Doesn’t mean I gotta do it,” Matt said, darting out of reach when Billy shook a fist at him. Laughing, he scrambled up the stairs. “I’m not doing your share!”“No one asked you to!” Billy yelled after him. Only after he’d disappeared up past the second floor landing did he turn his attention back to Steve. “I assume you’re here to talk to the boss,” he said, giving the word a sardonic twist. “He left last night, after lights out. Johnny saw him get into a car out front.”He took a seat at the bottom of the stairs, his elbows braced on his knees. “He does that sometimes, but he’s always back by now.” He squinted up at Steve, his eyebrows arched. “You showing up seems bad, but not as bad as someone from the Board of Orphanages.” His toe bounced against the worn wood of the stairs. “He dead?”“Not that we know of,” Steve said.“I take it you wouldn’t be crying if he was,” Happy said, his hands tucked in his pocket.Billy gave him an exasperated look. “I’ve been in and out of these homes since I was barely able to talk,” he said, without inflection. “And the moment I age out, I’ll be tossed to the curb without so much as a tip of your cap. Don’t expect pity if you’ve got none to give.”Happy nodded. “Point taken.”“Don’t get me wrong,” Billy said, his knee still bouncing in place. “I’ve lived in worse places. Hammer might be a drunk, and he might be willing to do whatever it takes to get him higher on the social ladder, but he’s decent enough. He makes sure we’re fed and keeps clothes on our backs.” He shrugged. “I don’t wish him dead, but I won’t be crying at his funeral, either.”“Fair enough,” Happy said. “Any idea where he’s taken himself off to?”Billy looked at Steve. Steve looked at him, at Happy, and back. “I’ll vouch for him.”Billy swiped his wrist across his nose. “If you say so,” he said, in a voice that made it clear that he didn’t agree with that decision. “Answer’s no. Like I said. He has his plots and schemes, but he’s also smart enough to know that if he ain’t here if someone from the Board comes knocking on the door, there’ll be hell to pay.“He’s always got a get rich quick scheme or two in his pocket, but he knows not to look a gift horse in the mouth. This place isn’t much, but it’s his foot in the door. If he gets fired…” Billy’s voice trailed away, and he shrugged. “He’ll be starting over from scratch. For him to be gone this long?” He shook his head. “It’s not normal, let’s just put it that way.”“What’s his most recent get rich scheme?” Happy asked.Billy burst out laughing. “You think he tells us?” he said, a wide grin splitting his face. “You’re a funny guy.”“So I’ve been told,” Happy said, and Steve’s head swung from Happy to Billy and back.“Wait,” he said, his eyes narrowing. “At the theater. Seamus said you said that Hammer’d been talking to someone. Someone who’d made him an offer.” He paused. “I thought he was talking about Hogan here. He wasn’t, was he.”Billy frowned, his face crumpling up. “Seamus? That little weasel can’t-” He stopped, his eyes going wide. “Oh, right. Right.” He straightened up. “I remember. Big fella, booming voice, the same kind of false cheer that the social workers have when they come poking around. After he left, Hammer was in a real good mood, the kind of good mood that only comes with a payout.”Steve braced his hand on the newel post of the bannister. “How long ago?”“Right before we went to the movies, a day or two, maybe?”“Would you recognize this man if you saw him again?” Happy asked.Billy was already shaking his head. “He had his hat pulled down real low over his face, and a muffler pulled up over his nose. Pretty sure he didn’t want to be seen.”Steve exchanged a glance with Happy. “You have a description for us/” he asked“Big guy. Tall. Heavy shoulders. Rich, but didn’t want anyone to know that.”“Right, and you know that how?” Happy asked.Billy leaned back, his elbows braced on the stairs behind him. “The coat and hat were shabby and cheap,” he said. “Shoes weren’t. Take it from a former shoeshine boy, you can tell the ones with money by looking at their feet. Rich man, he’ll wear a coat that’s falling apart at the seams, a hat that’s been run over by a horse cart. But wearing ill-fitting or cheap shoes? Makes your feet hurt. They’re cold, they leak, and no one will put up with wet socks if they don’t have to.“A rich man that wants to look poor will change everything except his shoes and assume no one’ll notice.” Billy grinned. “Shoes like that? He had money, which is likely why Hammer was talking to him, after all.”Steve’s stomach was churning, an ugly suspicion percolating. “And you didn’t see his face?”“Nope. Hammer got him into his office too fast. He didn’t take off his hat until the door was almost shut. The only thing I saw? He was bald.”Steve heard Happy swear, but he barely registered it, already moving down the hallway, straight for Hammer’s office. He gave the doorknob a hard pull, testing the lock, before raising his elbow and slamming it into the glass that covered the top of the door. It shattered, shards raining down to the wooden floor like raindrops.“He’s lost it,” Billy said, somewhere behind him, and he didn’t even sound surprised.“Tell me I’ve lost it,” Steve said to Happy, knocking shards of glass out of the way so he could reach in to unlock the door. “Tell me Stane has some reason to come down here, other than what I’m thinking.”“Wish I could, I really wish I could,” Happy said, as Steve shoved the door open.There was a phone on the wall, and Steve pointed at it “Call them, now,” he said, heading for the filing cabinets where Hammer kept the files on the boys. He heard Happy’s feet crunch through the glass shards that covered the floor, and turned his attention to the cabinet.The drawers were locked, too, and Steve braced a hand on the top, giving it a hard yank. The lock snapped and the drawer came loose of the cabinet, files slamming against each other as the drawer hit the floor. A quick glance was all it took to determine that DJ’s file was missing. He looked up to where Happy was standing, hand braced on the wall.He met Steve’s eyes. “It’s not going through,” he said. “Busy, maybe.”“Or maybe someone’s cut the line,” Steve gritted out, pushing himself to his feet. “Go start the car.”Billy jumped out of the way as Happy ran past, the boy’s head swinging around to follow him as he disappeared up the hall. “What’s-” He looked at Steve, his face pale. “What’s going on?”“Hammer might be dead,” Steve said, fishing in his pocket. He came up with a handful of bills, holding them out to Billy. “Stay here. Keep trying to get through to Stark Manor. If you do get through, tell them that Stane might be our kidnapper.” He pressed the cash into the boy’s hand. “Repeat that back.”“Stane might be our kidnapper,” Billy parroted, his fingers closing on the money. “I tell them that Officer Rogers told me that?”“Yes. Keep the front door locked. If anyone comes in that isn’t Hammer, if someone tries to force the door, or if you smell smoke, take the other boys and go out the back. Straight down the alley north to St. Mary’s. Father Kimball’ll do a lot of yelling, but he’ll let you in. Stay there until I send someone for you.”“What’s going on?” Billy asked, scooping up the phone.“DJ’s missing, we think he’s been kidnapped,” Steve said. “And if that’s the case, someone might try to cover their tracks, and remove any records Hammer might’ve left.”Billy’s eyes were huge, but his voice was steady. “Call Stark Manor. Tell them Stane might be the kidnapper.”“More important, you think there’s even a chance that you’re in danger, drop the phone and run for it,” Steve said. “Understand?”“Trust me, I know how to run,” Billy said, as Shamus appeared in the open office door.“Hammer’s going to give you a whipping and a half when he sees this,” he said, his eyes darting around the floor “Billy, what-”Steve stepped around him, running for the front door. He found Happy waiting for him on the street outside, the engine revving in the car. They peeled away from the curb before Steve could even get his car door shut. “It’s not good that you’re not fighting me on this,” Steve said, wrestling the door shut.“I’d like to, but-” Happy’s head jerked to the side, doing a quick check before he took a turn at almost full speed. “Jarvis keeps his opinions to himself, but he’s been grumbling about Stane for a while now, and the man’s a real good judge of character.”“It would also explain how the kidnappers got into the house,” Steve said. “I’m assuming Stane has a key.”“Not that I know of, but he’s been a fixture in that house longer than any of us, and I got no idea the last time the locks were changed,” Happy said. His hands flexed on the steering wheel, his knuckles going white. “And he sure as hell has something to lose if the boss’s will changes.”Steve nodded. “Does he know about the basement?” Happy looked at him, his face white, and Steve swore. “How fast can we make it back to the house?”Happy’s jaw went tight. “We’re about to see.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“Staying by the phone?”Tony glanced up, struggling to make his eyes focus. “Seems prudent,” he said, trying for a smile as Obie slipped into his office, closing his door behind him. “Did Pepper-”Obie held up a hand. “I’ve been briefed,” he said. He had his jacket over his arm, and he tossed it onto the back of one of the armchairs facing Tony’s desk. He scraped a hand over his face, letting out a sigh as it dropped back to his side. “Well briefed.”“You look about as tired as I feel,” Tony said, reaching for his coffee cup. It was mostly empty, and he twisted in his chair, stretching for the coffee pot that Jarvis had left within reach. “Coffee? I can ring Jarvis, have him bring up another cup.”“Please, don’t bother.” Obie braced his hands on the back of the chair, his fingers flexing for a moment before he straightened up. “I know it’s too early for this kind of thing, but I need something a bit stronger.”Tony gestured at the sideboard. “I’ve got a fresh bottle of your favorite, help yourself.”Obie patted his pants pockets, his eyebrows drawn up tight as he searched for something. “I shouldn’t, this early,” he said, pulling an aspirin tin from his vest pocket with a sigh of relief. “But desperate times call for desperate measures.”“Mmm,” Tony hummed into his coffee. He stared down at the paperwork that Pepper had left behind. He flicked through the bank statements, scowling down at the balances. His stomach was churning, and he rubbed a hand over his eyes. “God, this would be so much easier if these damn numbers would just behave.”“A sentiment shared by all sane men,” Obie said, chuckling. He lifted the stopper on the whiskey decanter, swirling the liquor in the depths of the bottle before reaching for a tumbler and pouring it with a heavy hand. He picked up the glass, and without setting down the bottle, he took a quick swallow, then turned his attention to his aspirin tablets.Tony watched him, one eyebrow arching. “Maybe some food to go with that,” he suggested, as Obie tossed back the rest of the whiskey in one gulp.Obie coughed, his head falling forward. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes bright. “Don’t you judge me, boy,” he said with a smile, refilling his glass. The aspirin tin clicked against the decanter, and he tossed it aside.“Less judging, more speaking from experience,” Tony said, scribbling a note along the bottom of a statement. “I have far more experience with drinking on an empty stomach than you, and I’m too old to be dealing with this sort of nonsense.” He pointed at Tony with the hand holding the glass, his index finger stabbing in Tony’s direction. “I got through your entire childhood without you getting kidnapped, and thought I was past that nonsense.”“Anyone who tried would’ve given me back,” Tony said with a wry smile. “Probably before they’d gotten to the edge of the property, and I’ve only improved with age.” He reached for his coffee, and Obie held out a hand.“Give it here,” he said, holding up the whiskey bottle. “Since when are you a bad influence?” Tony asked, his voice flat, but he handed over the coffee cup.Obie took it, turning back to the sideboard to set it down. “I consider this less being a bad influence, and more of admitting even the Irish may be right on occasion.” He poured in a hefty splash of whiskey and turned back to Tony, swirling the cup in one hand. “Besides, you’re so tense it looks like you might shatter if I breathe on you.”“I might.” The tip of Tony’s pen left flecks of ink on the page as he tapped it in place, a nervous twitch of movement he wished he could control. Instead, he tossed the pen aside and reached for his cup as Obie sank down into a chair opposite him. It was the chair he’d come to think of as Steve’s, as foolish as that was, and Tony scowled down at the statements. “Want me to take a look?” Obie offered, sipping his whiskey, and Tony gave his head a shake. “At this point, any more input will likely just confuse me,” he said, taking a drink of his coffee. The heavy bite of whiskey hit hard, and he coughed, his head snapping back.Obie smiled. “Since when can you not hold your alcohol?” he asked.Tony waved him off. “Wasn’t expecting such a heavy pour,” he said, taking another sip. It had a bitter, sharp edge, and he made a face. “Remind me to try this straight, it tastes terrible.”Obie frowned, taking a sip from his glass. “Tastes just fine to me,” he said. He arched an eyebrow. “Want a fresh cup?”“No, it’s fine,” Tony said, taking another quick sip. This time, he was prepared for the burn, and the heat settled low in his stomach, a comforting, familiar warmth. “Tell me what’s happening at the factory.”Obie sighed. “It’s been a while since you’ve put in an appearance,” he said, and there was a gently chiding note to his voice.“I’m aware,” Tony said. He stared at the phone on his desk, willing it to ring. “So give me the basics, Obie. We’ve started fabrication on the new design?”“Last week,” Obie said, sipping his whiskey. “So far, it’s going well, but we’re going to have to talk to our steel supplier, what we’re getting isn’t worth the price we’re paying.”Tony nodded, letting Obie’s voice wash over him as he struggled to focus on the rows of numbers on the statement in front of him. They made less sense each second that passed, but he was nothing if not stubborn. Obie’s voice rose and fell in the background, complaints and commands, and on some level, it was just as comforting as the whiskey.He reached for his pen, and his fingers slid across the polished wood of his desk, the pen skittering out of reach. Tony frowned, making another grab for it, and his fingers refused to cooperate, spasming as he tried to get a grip on the thin cylinder.He gave his head a shake, and the world slid away from him for a moment, his vision whiting out. He took a breath, and another, fumbling for his coffee cup. From a distance, he heard it clatter against the desktop, liquid splashing over his fingers.“Clumsy.”Tony tried to look up, and his head didn’t move. He tried to say something, and that didn’t work either, his tongue swollen and stubborn in his mouth.A finger caught his chin, forcing his head up, and Tony stared blankly forward. Obie’s face floated in the center of his vision, a strange, almost curious look on his face. “That was quicker than I expected.” His hand turned, his fingers sinking into Tony’s jaw. “It seems I’m not the only one drinking on an empty stomach this morning.”Confused, Tony tried to pull away, and Obie’s fingers squeezed, holding him in place. “Don’t bother,” he said, and it was icy and empty. “I put enough tranquilizer in your drink to drop an elephant in less than thirty minutes. I’m almost surprised you’re still awake.”His nails bit into Tony’s skin, pain cutting through the haze that Tony clouded Tony’s mind. He stared at Obie, confusion giving way to nausea as Obie considered him with the sort of expression one would use when reviewing a failed experiment. “I really wish you didn’t force me to do this,” Obie said. “We had been getting along just fine, weren’t we, Tony? You were so clever, and so uninterested. You gave me everything I needed, all the clever little improvements, all the brilliant breakthroughs, and as long as there was still money flowing, you never did look too closely at just how much that flow contained.“Your father was less trusting, but less brilliant.” Obie patted Tony on the cheek, hard enough to sting. “Much less trouble, though. All he wanted was power. Status. Money. I could give him all of that, and he never paid much attention to anything else. But you?”Obie sank back into his chair, and Tony struggled to breathe. “You had to make things difficult.”He folded his hands on his stomach. “I spent my entire life running yours. I wasted years, decades, keeping you on a short leash and humoring you. I built this company for your father, and ran it for you, and you think I'm going to let you ruin everything for a random filthy street urchin you took a liking to?”Obie reached for his jacket. “I had assumed you’d tire of that child, the way you’ve tired of every other toy you’ve been given. I had thought I could simply wait you out. I’ve waited you out for every other fixation you’ve found, your entire, worthless life.”He turned back to Tony, a gun held easily one hand. “So now we have a choice. We can stand up, and you can come with me. We’re going to go and sign a few papers, just some simple little contracts, moving some assets into my name. And when that’s over, you’ll be of no further use for me.“Or, if you insist on being difficult, I’ll take my time on our way out of this house. I have plenty of bullets, Tony. I’m just curious where I should start. The pathetic Parker child? He idolizes you, it’ll be a pleasure to tell him that it’s your fault he’s about to die. His aunt? Or that disrespectful old relic you insist upon keeping upon your payroll?”He leaned forward. “Do you understand, Tony?”Tony tried to swallow, but his throat felt like sand. “Won’t. Get out,” he managed, the words forced past a mouth that refused to help him.“Yes, I will,” Obie said. He checked his wristwatch. “Because just a few minutes ago, one of the guards Stark Industries sent over accused one of the others of setting the fire. And since the man he’s accusing is guilty, I have no doubt that the resulting fight will pull in any and all staff still left on the grounds.”Obie stood. “No one is coming to save you, Anthony. You’ve sent half your people away, and the ones that are left? Aren’t going to save you.” He raised the gun, pointing it at Tony’s face. “Up. We’re going to go for a little ride.” Tony considered him, his head spinning, his stomach churning. The phone was in front of him, too far out of reach. The door t the main hallway was behind Obie, and the door to the servant’s stairs was behind him. Even with the desk as an obstacle, he knew he couldn’t move fast enough to get there before Obie caught up to him. Or simply shot him in the back.And a gunshot would bring anyone who was left running. Straight into the line of fire.Slowly, carefully, Tony forced himself to his feet, his hands braced on top of his desk as he forced his knees to lock into place. He hadn’t drank much. Enough. But maybe not enough. For now, Obie wanted him alive. Wanted him alive until he’d gotten the signatures he needed. The longer Tony could stall, the better off he’d be.He had to stall.“Let’s go,” Obie said, gesturing with the gun, and Tony looked up, just in time to see the door behind Obie open, swinging open on silent hinges. As Tony watched, horrified, Jarvis stepped through the open doorway, a pot of coffee held in one hand, the tray held in the other. He shook his head, and Jarvis ignored him.“No,” Tony managed, and Obie raised the gun, a sharp, violent motion.“Excuse me, sir, but you were not properly announced,” Jarvis said, and Obie spun on his heel, the gun coming up, leveling straight at Jarvis’ face.Tony lunged forward, his feet slipping on the carpet, momentum carrying him forward. His shoulder hit the surface of his desk at the exact moment that Jarvis’ hand flicked up, tossing the coffee directly in Obie’s face. Obie screamed, rocking backwards, the gun pulling up towards the ceiling as it went off.Jarvis darted to the side, and before Tony could manage to push himself upright again, something moved to his side. Something small. And slight. And fast.May Parker took three dancing steps forward, her sensible shoes set against the carpet, one of Peter’s baseball bats held firmly in her hands. She reared back and swung, with a form that Babe Ruth himself would’ve admired. The tip of the bat arced over her shoulder, past her face, hanging in midair for what felt like an infinite amount of time.The bat impacted in the side of Obie’s head with a sickening thud, and he impact spun him around, tumbling him to the ground.“Gun,” Jarvis said, scrambling across the floor, the coffee pot still held in a death grip. “Mrs. Parker, the-”May’s foot came down hard, stomping on Obie’s wrist. He screamed, and the gun thumped against the carpet. “Mr. Jarvis, if you would?”Jarvis snagged the gun, darting back out of reach, the weapon held in his left hand, the coffee pot in his right. “Sir, are you all right?”Tony’s sucked in a breath, and another. “You, you are both fired,” he said, his voice echoing in his ears. The world tipped sideways, and he made a grab for the desk, trying to steady himself. The wood of the desk dissolved under his fingers, and he heard something shatter, glass or bone.Or his heart.“Sir?”Tony hit the ground, the impact shuddering through him. Hip, shoulder, elbow, heel. He felt boneless, like a puppet with all its strings cut. He flailed out with one hand, ignoring the spike of pain as the side of his forearm slammed against the leg of his chair. He hissed out a curse, wishing his head would stop spinning.“Sir!”The carpet felt rough beneath his fingertips, beneath his cheek, and he didn’ tknow when he’d fallen, how he’d fallen, but when he breathed in, it tasted like dust and whiskey. Whiskey. No. Not whiskey. Something else. Something Obie- Something Stane had given him. His stomach turned over.“Anthony.”Tony’s eyes opened, and it took a couple of tries, but he managed to make them focus on the face floating in front of him. Jarvis looked worried, and Tony tried to smile. “Jarvis?”Jarvis exhaled, his face relaxing. “Sir?”“Fired,” Tony managed, and it worked, it worked because Jarvis started to laugh, wobbly and uneven, but it was enough. Tony grabbed the wastepaper basket, just in time for his stomach to empty itself in a rush.“Mr. Jarvis?” May asked.“We’re fine, Mrs. Parker,” Jarvis said, as Tony gasped for breath. He realized Jarvis’ hand was on his back, rubbing slowly back and forth. “Keep an eye on our uninvited guest, please.” To Tony, he said, “Better?”“No,” Tony said, but either getting rid of what he could, or the adrenaline must’ve helped, because he when Jarvis caught his arm, he was able to stumble to his feet. “Yes.” He swiped the back of his arm across his mouth. “Yes.”“Good enough,” Jarvis said, helping him around the desk towards the armchairs. Stane was clawing at his face, curses hissing from between his fingers as he writhed on the floor. Jarvis lowered Tony to the chair, and Tony clutched the back of it, refusing to sit down. “Stay there, Mr. Stane. I wouldn’t mind shooting you, but I’d hate to ruin this carpet with a bloodstain.”“I wouldn’t mind,” Tony managed. He glanced up, meeting Stane’s eyes without flinching. “And it’s my carpet, I’ll stain it however I please.”Stane laughed, his lips pulling back from his teeth. “You’ve always been weak, Tony. You’ve never had the balls to do what needed to be done, that’s why you let me take over. Because you were, and have always been, weak.” There was blood on his lips, on his teeth. “Always.”Tony smiled. “Doesn’t take much courage to pull a trigger. I think you just proved that.”“Don’t be ridiculous,” May said. “You’re not going to kill him, and neither is Mr. Jarvis, gun or no.”Stane shifted on the floor, and she brought the bat around, bracing the heavy end of it against his throat. He rocked back, his head bouncing off of the side of the desk as May set her hand on the other end of the bat, leaning her weight into it until the bat began to force Stane’s throat closed. His eyes wide, panic crawling across his face, he clawed at the bat, but she didn’t budge.“There isn’t a jury in this city that would convict me,” she said, her voice soft, almost gentle. Stane let out a horrible, gurgling noise, his fingers locked on the wood of the bat, trying to force it away from his neck. She smiled down at him. “Little old lady like me. So helpless. So frightened. Of course I would panic. Who would blame me?”She leaned in, her face a hard mask as she held Stane’s eyes. “I can, and I will, kill you. Nod if you understand.”His face a dangerous shade of red, he managed to make his head move, and May held the pressure for another second before she stepped back, leaving him gasping desperately for air. May swung the bat back and forth, time ticking away with each arc. “Where is DJ?” she asked.Stane glared up at her, one hand holding his throat. “Dead,” he said, his voice vicious, and Tony’s stomach turned over again, a dry heave shaking his frame. Stane looked at Tony, venom twisting his face. “Hammer’s easily bought and paid for.” He let out a bark of laughter. “Down in the slums, life’s cheap, you know. I gave him a few hundred dollars and a gun and he handled that particular problem.”Tony held his gaze, his mind rolling through the options. “You paid Hammer to grab him.”Stane’s teeth flashed. “And kill him. I know where your little pet cop has gone. If there’s any justice to the world, Hammer’ll take care of him, too.”Tony lunged, all the rage and guilt and fear that was burning through him disappearing in a a single, clear-headed moment of movement. His hand caught Stane’s face, slamming Stane’s head back into the solid wood of the desk. He felt the impact through his hand, through his arm, shuddering all the way through his body, and his fingers relaxed, letting Stane drop.Stane pitched to the side, his body falling bonelessly to the floor.Tony rocked backwards, breath hissing through his tight throat. He groped for the chair behind him, and Jarvis got there first, his arm going around Tony’s waist, holding him in place with a firm grip. “Steady, sir,” he said, his voice calm. “Steady.”May poked Stane with her foot, then gave him a sharp, hard kick. He didn’t move. “He’s still breathing,” she said, and she sounded almost disappointed by that. “What do we do with him?” Jarvis asked.Tony took a breath, and another, trying to gather his scattered thoughts. “Put him in the sub-basement for now,” he said. “He’s lying, but we don’t know about what, we may-” He shook his head, cursing. “He’s a liar. He’s lied about everything, he’s lying about this now. We need-”“Sit down,” Jarvis said, nudging Tony towards a chair. “Mrs. Parker, there’s water on the sideboard, if you could get him a glass, I’ll go fetch some help, we should be able to ring-”May turned away, crossing to the window and throwing it open. She leaned out, drew in a deep breath, and let out a scream that made Tony jump. She turned back to them, the bat balanced on the curve of her shoulder, her white hair a wild cloud around her calm face. “There. That should bring someone running, quick enough.”Tony chuckled, and then laughed, his head falling back. “You’re both fired,” he said.“Yes, sir,” Jarvis said, as May passed him the water. He held it to Tony’s lips. “Take a sip of this, if you could just-” Tony took it and dumped it over his head, and Jarvis blinked. “Or… That.”Tony gave his head a toss, but the shock of the cold water was already clearing his head. “That,” he agreed. He looked up at Jarvis. “How did you know he was…” His voice trailed away.Jarvis smiled. “Muddy footprints in the front hall,” he said, taking the glass back from Tony. “But the door had been unlocked.” He turned, taking the water pitcher from May. “No one in this household would’ve left a mess, or left the door unsecured. Which meant someone was here that didn’t belong.”Tony took the cup of water from him and drained it as footsteps came thudding up the hallway. “As it turns out, you were right.” He struggled to his feet, holding fear at bay with a force of will. “I need a car and a driver. Now.”*“How much farther?”“About half a mile less than the last time you asked me,” Happy said, hunched over the wheel, his hands locked in place with a death grip. “And asking more isn’t making those miles pass faster.”“Know what would?” Steve bounced the knuckles of a fisted hand against the window, almost grateful for the sharp, hard sting as they impacted. “Your foot. On the gas.”“This may shock you, but this car’s got a limit, and we’re at it,” Happy said. He caught Steve’s eye, his jaw tight. “And you know what’s not gonna get us there any faster? If you put your fist through that glass.”“Gotta punch something,” Steve gritted out. Every muscle in his body felt like it had been drawn taut, ready for a fight that refused to materialize. He sucked in a breath, and another, air hissing between his teeth. “And my choices are limited right now.”“You take a swing at me, pal, and we’re gonna have problems,” Happy said, his voice rising to be heard over the roar of the engine. Outside of the car, the scenery flashed by, blurring into nothingness. Steve’s fist thumped against the window. “We need to go faster.”“What we need and what we can do are two very different things,” Happy said. “Besides, at these speeds, if a stray dog decides to make a break across the road, we’re going to have a bad time of it, so-”He took a corner, a little too fast, a little too wide, and another car came blasting past them in the other direction, the horn blaring as Happy jerked the wheel, swinging back into their own lane. Their back wheels spun against the road, the car fishtailing towards the ditch.It was over as quickly as it had happened, the sound of the horn hanging in the air as the car shot past them. An instant, and it was gone, going just as fast as they were, but towards the city instead of away from it. Steve twisted in his seat, his hand braced against the dashboard, his heart pounding in his ears. “Was that-”“One of ours? Yeah, but I didn’t see who was driving it, or who was in it,” Happy said, already spinning the wheel. “Hold on, I’ve got to bring this around-”Steve barely heard him. He swung around, his hand snagging the strap of his shield, and everything clicking into place as he gave the car door a hard shove. He heard Happy yelling, but he barely noticed. He certainly didn’t care. The door popped open and he was free, the shield taking the brunt of the impact as he hit the ground and rolled. The momentum carried him straight to his feet and in a heartbeat, he was up and running, as fast as his legs could carry him.Ahead of him, the other car skidded on the road, sliding sideways, tires churning up clouds of dust as it came to a shuddering stop. Steve’s teeth locked in place, refusing to hope, refusing to think. He rolled his shoulder, swinging the shield into place on his arm, his fingers locked on the grip.The passenger door opened, and Tony stumbled out, his face white, his eyes huge, and relief hit Steve like a physical impact. He didn’t slow down, didn’t drop the shield, just plowed forward, and Tony met him halfway.Steve caught him, arms around Tony’s waist, the shield coming up to protect Tony’s back, his head, sheltering him the only way the Steve could manage, even as he lifted Tony physically off the ground. For an instant, Tony’s skipped across the surface of the road, his body tight against Steve’s, his arms around Steve’s neck.“We were coming to find you-” he started, and Steve didn’t care.“Are you all right?” he asked, his hands on Tony’s face, smoothing through his hair, cradling Tony’s head in his hands. “Tell me you’re all right, are you-”Tony was laughing, his eyes damp, his breathing uneven. “I’m fine,” he said, grinning at Steve. “Steve. I’m fine. I’m-” His hands covered Steve’s, his grip solid and strong. “Are you-”Steve kissed him, and Tony’s arms dropped, looping around Steve’s waist, his fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt. For a long, infinitely long moment, Steve just sank into the kiss, savoring the pressure of Tony’s grip, the weight of Tony’s body against his. The loud, sharp blast of a car horn cut made them both jump, and Tony pulled away, his lips parted, his shoulders heaving with the force of his breathing.“Are you both out of your ever-loving MINDS?” Bobbi yelled, bringing their heads around. She stared at them across the length of the road, her hand gripping the door of the car.“Sorry, I-” Steve started, and she pulled a gun from the holster under her arm. “GET IN THE CAR, YOU IDIOTS,” she roared.“I think she’s mad,” Tony said, and he was laughing, halting little bursts of something close to giggles. “I think she’s justified,” Steve said as the other car came to a screeching halt behind them. He gave it a wary look. “We have options.”Happy popped out of the car, his face florid. “WHO JUMPS OUT OF A MOVING CAR? I COULDA RUN YOU OVER, YOU-”“Right. Options. We can make a break for the field,” Tony said, his head swinging to the side. The wind caught his hair, his expression pensive. “And there’s a cliff somewhere beyond that-”Steve caught his elbow, loving him so much it hurt. “Time to face the music,” he said, steering Tony towards Bobbi and the car. His fingers tightened. “Tony, we need to find Stane. He…” His jaw tightened. “He might be involved with DJ’s disappearance.”Tony’s chin dipped in a nod. “Well, the bad news is that he’s definitely involved. The good news?” he said, with a wry smile. “Finding him won’t be hard.” Steve glanced at him, and Tony met his eyes, his face tight. “He’s locked up in the sub basement.”Steve exhaled. “I’m sorry,” he said, and Tony nodded again.“Me, too,” he said as they reached the car. Bobbi had the door open, and she tapped the butt of the revolver against the top of the car like a ticking clock. Tony grinned at her. “Steve’s fine,” he announced.Bobbi looked at Steve. “I’m fine,” Steve said.“Did I ask?” she said, her voice tinged with acid. She jerked her chin at the car. “Get in. Both of you. Goddamn idiots.” She looked across the road, and yelled to Happy, “How did I go from being the Mad Dog of Fisk’s mob to being the voice of reason? How does that HAPPEN?”“Hey, right now, you take the jobs you can get,” Happy said, opening the driver’s side door on the car. “Do your best to hold onto both of ‘em this time.”Bobbi slammed the door. “If either of them gets out before we’re back at the house, I’m shooting them in the leg and letting Bruce deal with it.”“I can’t even blame you,” Happy said.*“He’s admitted setting the fire,” Clint said. “Claims he doesn’t know about any of the rest of it, just that he was given a lot of money to make sure the boat house burned.”“And the man who fingered him?” Steve asked.“The same,” Natasha said, falling into step next to them as they walked up the driveway. “He says he saw the fire being set, but with what Stane told Tony, I think we can assume he’s lying.”“Which doesn’t mean he knows anything about the kidnapping,” Steve said. “Our best bet is finding Hammer.”“I don’t suppose we have any leads on that,” Happy said.“No. What we have is a large reward,” Tony said, his voice tight. He braced his hands on his hips, his head hanging forward. “For any information that leads us to finding him.”“Right. Do we have plans for either of our captives?” Clint asked, his arms crossed over his chest. Natasha gave him a look, and he shrugged. “Look, I’m fine with hiding a body, but I’d like some time to figure out where we’re dumping it.”“Where are they now?” Steve asked.“Stane’s down in the subbasement, with Bruce keeping an eye on him, and our firebug’s tied up in one of the work sheds,” Clint said. “Bobbi seems to think she can get him to talk.”“Which is cute,” Natasha said. “If I couldn’t, then she won’t.”“This might require us to contact the police,” Steve pointed out. “We can’t keep them there indefinitely.”Tony nodded. “Our arsonist doesn’t have any secrets to spill. Let him rot in the nearest jail cell we can find.” His head ached, and he rubbed his temples, trying to think clearly. “Stane’s another matter. He knows too much.” He stopped, a bitter laugh slipping through his lips. “I told him too much.”“We make him disappear?” Natasha asked, and Tony nodded.“It could work. I’m the closest thing he has to a family, and as long as his business dealings are handled, no one’s likely to go looking for him.” He looked at Clint. “Wire Washington. Nat, send word to Jan. She can get through to Thor faster than we can.”The two exchanged a look, but didn’t say a word, turning and heading up the path to the house. Tony watched them go, his face set. “We’re not going to kill him.”Steve exhaled. “Did I ask?”“I sensed a certain-” Tony gestured at him. “Disapproval from this area.”That won him a smile, even a small one. “Right. So what is the plan?”Tony studied him, wondering how much he could tempt fate. “I never thought I was a particularly good judge of character,” he said at last. “And I guess that was confirmed today.” He looked over at the house, his head tipping back. “There are certain… Projects that my father started. Connections he made. I have my own, or course, but I inherited a lot from him.“An idea that we could make the world better. Safer.”“Military,” Steve said.“Yes, and no.” Tony didn’t look at him. He couldn’t. Steve had a way of muddling his brain. “A group that’s… Deeply embedded in both the military and the Federal government, but not exactly part of either. It might never be.”He looked back. “We have other avenues of assistance.”Steve, to his credit, didn’t ask. “Avenues that can make Stane disappear.”“As if he’d never existed,” Tony agreed, his jaw tight. “Pepper’s going to have my head, we’re going to have to start forging his signature on a lot of documents, and soon.” Steve nodded, and Tony tried to smile. “You’re awfully accepting of this.”“He tried to kill you. Until we find DJ, we keep him alive. Then? I don’t give a damn,” Steve said. “What does this shadow agency want from you?”“A path to the future,” Tony said. He smiled. “Want to come along?”“Last time I got an offer like this, I ended up in a basement in Brooklyn,” Steve mumbled. “And you’re the only one I’d be listening to about this, so-”A sudden, loud shout brought both of their heads around. Tony watched, shocked, as a small, dark haired boy came running up the driveway, two of the hired guards in pursuit. The boy’s head was turned back towards the guards, but he was sprinting straight towards the house, and Tony’s entire chest seized.“DJ!” he yelled, taking off running down the front path. “DJ, where have you-” He stumbled to his knees, reaching out, catching the boy by the shoulders, and the kid turned, eyes wide, hands up to fend him off.Tony blinked at him, his stomach sinking. Not DJ. “Who-”“Sean,” Steve said, from right behind Tony. “What are you doing here? How did you even get all the way out here?”The boy took a step back, and Tony let him go. “The money you gave Billy. He gave it to Mr. Bundles, the laundry man? He paid him to bring me out here.” He gave Tony a nervous look, his feet shuffling against the grass as he tried to put a little more distance between them. “But they wouldn’t let me in the front gate, I had to climb the wall.”Tony shoved a hand through his hair, pushing himself to his feet. “Clever,” he said. He waved off the men hovering nearby. “It’s all right, we know who he is.”Steve crouched down, facing the boy. “Why?”“Mr. Hammer’s back,” Sean said. “And he said you’d want to know.”Steve looked up at Tony. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, we want to know.” “Take him to the kitchen, Mrs. Parker’ll have something for him to eat,” Tony said, his pulse thudding in his ears. “I’ll get the car.” *Billy was waiting on the stoop in front of the orphanage, his cap pulled low over his eyes. “Where’s Sean?” he called as Steve stepped out of the car. “Waiting this out back at Stark’s place,” Steve said. “Eating everything in sight.”Billy grinned. “Sounds about right.”Steve looked behind him, making sure Tony was with him before he continued, “Where’s Hammer?” he asked as Natasha and Happy slid out of the front seat..“He went straight into his office, barely a word to anyone, didn’t even seem to notice the mess you made of his door,” Billy said. He rubbed the back of his neck. “And considering he’s spent hours screaming about a cracked window or some scraped paint, that was… Worrying. I did what you said, and sent the rest of the boys down to the church yard. The Father wasn’t particularly pleased to see them, but he didn’t put up much of a fight.” He gave Steve a look. “Wouldn’t want to be in your shoes when it comes time to collect the lot of them, though.”“Happy?” Tony said. “Go make a significant donation to the good Father’s collection plate to thank him for his assistance.” He met Happy’s eyes. “And stall for time.”Happy tugged on the brim of his cap. “Been a good year or more since I’ve been to confession,” he said with a grin. “I imagine this’ll take a while.”“Don’t traumatize him,” Tony said. To Billy, he added, “Where’s Hammer now?”Billy gestured at the orphanage. “His office. As far as I can tell, he ain’t moved.”“Want me to handle it?” Natasha asked, straightening up to her full height. Billy stared at her, his eyes the size of dinner plates.“If he runs, I want you out here,” Tony said, heading up the stairs to the main door. “Watch the door.”Natasha looked at Steve, who shook his head. “I’ve got his back.” He pointed at Billy. “Watch this one for me.”Nat gave the boy a curious look. “Are you going to give me trouble?”“No, ma’am,” he said. Then, “You’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.”Natasha’s lips twitched. “Right. We’re going to be just fine.”Steve jogged up the stairs after Tony, pulling his shield off of his shoulder as they reached the front door. “I go first,” he said. “If he starts shooting at us-”Tony paused, his hand on the doorknob. “Do you think he will?”“No,” Steve said. “He’s not prone to violence. He’s a fast talker and a schemer, but he’s not a fighter.” He stepped in front of Tony, and Tony let him. “But a desperate man does desperate things.” He opened the door, letting the shield lead the way.But the entryway was deserted. The door to Hammer’s office was hanging open, crooked on its hinges, the broken glass still scattered across the worn wood of the floor. Steve picked his way through the carnage, trusting Tony to follow his lead. At the edge of the door, he glanced back, and Tony gave him a nod.Steve stepped into the doorway, shield up and at the ready.Hammer was sitting at his desk, his spectacles crooked on his nose, a large, mostly empty bottle of brandy clutched in one hand, a glass in the other. He barely flinched as Steve stepped into his office, his red rimmed eyes flicking up towards him, then back down to his drink. “You here to arrest me?” he asked, his voice vibrating on the words. “Or kill me?”“For now? Neither,” Steve said. “Where’s DJ?”Hammer brought the glass to his lips, his hand shaking. “I don’t know,” he said.“Bullshit,” Tony said, stepping into the room. His hands were tucked in his pockets, the relaxed pose belayed by the tension in his shoulders. “Stane said you had him.”Not the truth, not really, but enough to bring Hammer’s head up. “I-” He swallowed. “I did, I was-” He stopped, the bottle bouncing against the desktop as he dropped it. “He promised me money, enough money that I’d never have to see this place again, that I could finally be something, be someone, get out, easy street, all the way.”He blinked at Steve, his eyes glassy. “Just grab the kid, that’s what I thought, just- Just hold him for a few days, til Stark paid up, it wasn’t fair, you know, it wasn’t FAIR that he got out, and here I am, stuck here, in this-” His hand jerked up, liquor splashing out of the glass as he gestured at the room, at the building beyond it. “Just grab the kid. And I’d have all the money I’d ever need.”Hammer stopped. “I didn’t know- He didn’t say ANYTHING about KILLING him.”Steve’s whole body tensed. “Stane?”“I was in the back seat, with the- With DJ, and he kicks like a mule, I could barely hold onto him, he always made things difficult, the always-”“You’re digging a hole here,” Tony said, his voice silken, and Hammer flinched.“And Stane said we’d drop him in the river. To just-” Hammer’s face twisted. “Shut him up, and we’d put him in the river, and that’s not- That’s not what I thought-”He looked up, something like benign confusion floating over his pasty, bruised face. “He’s just a little boy,” he said, his voice breaking. “He’s just a kid. I wasn’t going to-” He stopped. Took a drink. “I couldn’t KILL him. But Stane was screaming, louder and louder, and I just…”His voice trailed away, and Steve took a step forward, putting a hand on the edge of Hammer’s desk. “Justin,” he said, his voice quiet, and Hammer looked up. “You wouldn’t kill him.”“No. No, I-” He looked back down at the desktop, and reached for the bottle. Tony got there first, his fingers closing on the neck of the bottle, drawing it back, out of reach. Hammer’s hand fell down, curled lightly into a fist. “When the car slowed down, I just… Opened the door.”He tossed back the rest of his drink. “He jumped. That’s the last I saw of him. By the time Stane stopped the car and we doubled back, he was long gone. I told him that he’d gotten past me, that he’d opened the door and escaped, he’s… Clever that way.”When he looked up at Steve this time, his gaze was steady. “That’s the last I saw of him. Stane lost his mind, said he could identify us both, I told him, no one would listen to a kid, but he didn’t want to hear it. Gave me a gun, and told me to handle it. Once and for all.”He took the bottle from Tony, and this time, Tony let him. “Or he’d be back to handle me.”“He’s not coming,” Steve said. Hammer exhaled, his whole body seeming to collapse in on itself, fragile and hollow. He nodded once, and then again. “You’re sure.”“Very sure,” Tony said, his voice cold. “Where did you drop DJ?”“A couple miles from here, near the docks,” Hammer said. He gave them an intersection, his voice shaking. “Near there. I looked, I swear I did, but he’s…”“Very fast,” Tony said, and he sounded proudHammer looked at Steve. “I would never have done it, if I’d known,” he said, his voice pleading. “I thought we’d just… Make some easy money and then he’d go right back where he’d been, none the worse for wear. He was right there, it was so easy...”Steve ignored that. “Where’s the gun Stane gave you?” he asked. Hammer opened a drawer on his desk, and Steve’s hand tightened on the shield. “Slowly.”Slowly, Hammer pulled out the pistol, holding it with two fingers, and setting it carefully on the desktop. Steve picked it up, checking it. Fully loaded. He looked back at Hammer. “If DJ comes back here, you-”Hammer started to laugh, soft at first, then high and sharp, taking on an unhinged edge. “Come back HERE?” he managed, laughter breaking through the words. “He’s not coming back here. He didn’t want to be here when he was here, he’s not going to, he’s not-”He reached for the bottle, drinking straight from it this time. “He spent his entire life trying to escape from here, though where he thought he was going to go, I never did know.”Steve’s head snapped around, and Tony stared at him, his eyes wide. “Right,” Steve said, as Tony turned on his heel, sprinting out of the office. Steve spared Hammer and glance. “Stay here,” he snapped.Hammer blinked at him. “Where am I going to go?” he asked, his voice perplexed, and Steve didn’t bother to answer. “Tony!” he yelled, running after Tony. “We don’t know-”“Your place,” Tony said, wrenching the front door open, taking the stone stairs two or three at a time. “Where else would he go?”“We don’t know,” Steve said, his heart in his throat, not wanting to hope, not daring to hope. Natasha, still at the curb, straightened up. Billy, who was sitting on the hood of the car, slid off. “Billy, run and tell Happy we’re going to my place.”“Your place?” Billy said as Tony ducked past Natasha, wrenching the driver’s side door of the car open. She grabbed the door, blocking him.“I’m driving,” Tony said, and she shook her head.“Rogers?” she snapped, sliding into the driver’s seat despite Tony’s objections.Steve grabbed Tony’s arm. “Faster for us to get out if she drives,” he said. To Billy, he said, “Run.” Billy took off, and Steve got the back door of the car open. “Nat?” The engine roared. “Is he in?” she snapped.Tony’s ass bounced on the seat, Steve sliding in next to him. “He’s in,” Tony snapped. “Drive.”Nat drove.It was the quickest car ride Steve had ever had, one hand braced on the roof of the car, the other locked in Tony’s death grip. It would’ve hurt, hell, it might’ve hurt, but he didn’t care. All he cared about was the small, fragile possibility that Tony needed him as much as he needed Tony.That by the time the car screeched to a stop in front of his building, both other their hands ached. And neither of them wanted to let go.The trip from the curb to his door was a blur, in the edges of his vision, he caught a glimpse of familiar faces, voices trailing behind them as they took the stairs at a run, Tony sprinting along ahead of him. Steve’s door always stuck, the hinges tight with rust and the wood swelling every time it rained. Tony hit it with a thump, and Steve reached past him, his hand closing on Tony’s. Together, they wrenched the door open.For a long moment, there was nothing, just the same empty, dimly lit flat that Steve had faced every day of his adult life. Steve stood there, his heart in his throat, not wanting to hope.Then the pile of clothes on his armchair moved, a familiar head popping up. DJ squinted at them from under the leg of a pair of pants. “Where,” he said, his voice accusing, “have you BEEN?”Someone was laughing, high and loud, and it took a minute for Steve to realize that it was him. He collapsed back against the doorframe, clutching his face with one hand as Tony stumbled in, falling down to one knee as DJ launched himself off of the chair and into his arms.“Sorry,” Tony said, burying his face in DJ’s hair. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”DJ looped his arms around Tony’s neck. “Okay,” he said, and then, “It’s okay.”Tony leaned back, smoothing DJ’s hair, one shaking hand cradling his head. “It’s not, but thank you anyway.” He tried to smile. “Are you hurt?”DJ shook his head. “Hungry.”“Right. We can’t have that, Mrs. Parker would be appalled.” Tony stood up, drawing DJ up in his arms, settling the boy against his chest. DJ, for his part, slumped against Tony’s chest, one hand locking on the wrinkled fabric of Tony’s shirt. If Tony noticed when the shirt pulled against his neck, he didn’t say a word. He just turned his head, brushing a kiss against DJ’s head, his eyes fluttering shut.Steve watched them, his chest aching. “Let’s get you home,” he said, straightening up. His legs trembled under him, and he locked his knees to hold himself upright. “Both of you.”“All of us.”Steve glanced back at him, and Tony was staring at him, his face set. “Come home with us,” he said. And then, in the silence that followed, he took a deep breath, and another. “Steve. Come home.”DJ lifted his head. “Please,” he prompted, and Tony choked on a laugh.“Please,” he said, and DJ gave an approving nod before twisting around to look at Steve.“Please?” DJ asked, his free hand reaching to Steve.It wasn’t much, and yet, it was everything. Steve took it with a smile.“Let’s go.”*-Three Months Later- Winter in New York was cold and hard and lonely, and Tony hated it.The car rolled to a stop, and he glanced up from the papers in his hands, catching Happy’s eyes in the rearview mirror. “Your stop, sir,” Happy said with a lopsided smile, and Tony glanced out the window. The house rose over them, dark and ominous, every window shuttered or empty.“Take me to a hotel,” Tony muttered, and Happy laughed. Resigned, Tony reached for the door handle. “Your insolence has been noted, Hogan.”“Welcome home, boss,” Happy said, so clearly unconcerned that Tony would’ve kicked the side of the car if it wasn’t his car, and also, if Happy wouldn’t have been perfectly happy buffing it out.“You’re fired,” Tony said, stomping up the path towards the front door. His feet slipped on the snow covered stone, and he fought to keep himself upright, grumbling the entire way. “Has anyone bothered to shovel in the last week?”“You fired everyone else,” Happy called after him, which was rank insubordination, and Tony absolutely wasn’t going to stand for it.As soon as he got a hot drink and something to eat, he was going to fire everyone again.The thought sustained him, and he was humming to himself as he wrestled the front door open. Snow swirled around the damp cuffs of his pants, dusting the polished marble. The wind kicked up, and he slammed the door behind him, trying to trap whatever warmth the house had left.Tony didn’t bother with the lights, making his way to the grand hall by memory. His footsteps echoed across the cavernous space as he sidestepped piles of boxes and past a rolled up rug. It was a mess he didn’t want to deal with right now.The massive fireplace was swept clean, but there was a fresh pile of logs stacked on the hearth. Grateful for that small mercy, Tony grabbed a few, tossing them into place before reaching for the kindling. Starting a fire was tedious, cold fingers fumbling on the matches and the newspaper, but he was nothing if not stubborn. And cold.It took a few tries, but finally the flames were licking across the surface of the wood, and Tony settled down on the carpet before he reached for another log.“That’s quite the blaze you’ve got going there.” Tony glanced back over his shoulder. Steve was standing in the door from the kitchen stairs, carrying a fresh basket of split logs in one hand, the shoulders of his sheepskin dusted with snow. His heavy boots rang on the marble floor as he walked to the fireplace. “Ah.” Tony leaned back on his hands, a slight smile on his face. "And why is this delivery so late?"Steve tossed the logs into the pile. “Someone’s gotta cut all this , you know, for you to waste it like this.”Tony waved an idle hand through the air. “It’s mine to waste,” he said, in his most insufferable voice. “And for your insolence, there will be no tip. Take your payment and get out.”Steve choked on a laugh, but when he looked at Tony, there was a dark gleam in his eye. “And what if I’m looking for a different sort of payment?” he asked. The last log hit the pile with a thump, and Tony arched an eyebrow at him.“You will take what you’re given, and be properly grateful for it,” he said.“See, I think what you’re missing,” Steve said, setting the basket down and reaching for the buttons on his jacket, “is that we’re all alone in this big, empty house, and I’m not interested in following your orders.” His teeth flashed in a dangerous grin, and the shudder that ran through Tony had nothing to do with the cold. “I think I’d like to see how good you are at obeying.”Tony tried to summon some faux indignation, but it was a losing battle. “How dare you,” he said, grinning up at Steve. “A man like you should know your place.”Steve loomed over him. “And what if I think my place is above you?” he breathed, catching Tony’s shoulder and going down on one knee, pushing Tony onto his back. Tony went with a grin, sprawling out on the carpet so Steve could straddle his hps.“What do you think you’re doing?” Tony said, reaching up to give Steve’s shoulder the gentlest of shoves, pleased when Steve caught his wrists, stretching Tony’s arms up over his head, pinning them to the ground. Tony arched up, pleasure humming through him as Steve leaned over him, his face flushed.“Enjoying myself,” he said, his lips hovering just over Tony’s. Tony laughed, and Steve brushed a kiss against his jaw, his neck. He let go of one of Tony’s wrists, and Tony didn’t even bother putting his arm back down. Steve slid his hand along Tony’s chest, down towards the waistband of his trousers. Tony reached up, dragging Steve down. “It’s almost like you missed me,” he whispered, just barely able to see Steve grin.“Almost like,” Steve said, and he kissed Tony.Tony let his eyes flutter shut, savoring the pressure of Steve’s mouth, his body, his fingers. For a long, sweet moment, he just let himself sink into a mindless haze of hormone and need, listening to the soft, needy sounds that Steve made against his skin, and the sound of feet skipping across the floor.Tony’s lips stilled on Steve’s, and he turned his head to the side. DJ was standing over them, an oversized red hat pulled low over his forehead, his jacket trailing behind him from one hand. Tony cleared his throat. “Hi,” he said.DJ grinned at him. “Hi.”“I see you’re home,” Tony said, ignoring the way that Steve was laughing, the sound muffled against Tony’s shoulder. He cleared his throat. “Welcome home.”DJ nodded. “Welcome home.” Then, the niceties taken care of, he bounced off, and Tony let his head fall back on the floor with a thunk.“Jarvis, I thought we discussed this,” he said, as Steve’s weight shifted off of him. He let out a hiss of displeasure, and Steve dipped back down, brushing a gentle kiss against Tony’s lips before pulling away completely. Tony stayed just where he was, flopped against the carpet, staring blankly at the ceiling. “I thought we were in agreement.”Jarvis passed within his field of vision, giving Tony a speaking look from beneath the arch of his eyebrows. “I agreed to assist in preventing the youngest member of our household from barging into your room at all hours of the day or night. I did not agree to assist you in-” He paused, his eyes rolling towards the ceiling as he unwound the muffler from his neck. “Defiling every room in this house.”“Excuse me, we’ve barely defiled half the rooms of this house,” Tony said, refusing to sit up. “Please act with some decorum, sir,” Jarvis said, making no effort to hide his smile.“Tony threw his hands in the air. I will not,” he said. “And you can’t make me.”“Very mature,” Jarvis said, as Steve caught Tony’s arm, tugging him into a sitting position.“Sorry, Jarvis,” he said, as Tony flopped back against his chest. Laughing, Steve looped his arms around Tony’s waist. Tony grumbled under his breath, but settled back into the comfort of Steve’s embrace. “I didn’t think you’d be back for a while.”“Gimbels was a bit overwhelming,” Jarvis said. “And we agreed that perhaps an early dinner was in order.” He pulled his watch from his vest pocket, flicking it open with a brisk movement of his wrist. “Perhaps at six pm, if Mrs. Parker and Chef can manage it.”He slipped the watch back in his pocket. “Our purchases will begin arriving tomorrow, so tonight we will be focused on getting the main hall decorated, the rest can wait for the time being.”Tony glanced at the stacks of boxes piled near the fireplace. He refused to acknowledge just how many were scattered around the room. “And how is it that we have suddenly manifested quite this… Volume of decorations?” he asked.“We’ve had quite a few years to acquire them, if you think about it,” Jarvis said. “A few purchase here and there, added to storage.” He dusted off the top of a box with the side of his hand. “It’s not as if you’ve ever been up in the attic.”“I just think that perhaps the collection was suddenly expanded.” Tony gave Jarvis a look. “By a significant amount.”Jarvis pretended to think about that. “Logically, this is the largest party we’ve thrown in quite some time,” he said. “And to the most discerning guests. I should hate for the house to leave a bad impression.”“They’re children, Jarvis, I’ve been blackmailed into letting a hundred filthy urchins ruin my house,” Toy said. “And likely my life.”“As I said, very discerning guests,” Jarvis agreed. “I shall let you know when dinner is expected, in the meantime, perhaps you can make yourself useful and being opening some boxes, sir, Happy and Bobbi will be back soon with the tree, and a bit of prep work would be appreciated.”“I just got back from Europe,” Tony pointed out.“And just in time to decorate the main hall, it’s wonderful how things work out, isn’t it?” Jarvis said, already striding towards the kitchen stairs with a distinct spring to his step.“For an old man, he’s doing a good job of running me ragged,” Tony complained, his head falling back against Steve’s shoulder.“It’s less of a job and more of a calling.” Steve pressed a kiss to his temple. “How was Europe?”Tony exhaled. “Holding steady, for now.” He shook his head. “For now. I’m glad to be home.” He held his hands out towards the fire. “I might thaw out by the New Year, and we’ll have time to worry about what’s coming.”“You’re freezing,” Steve said, his hands wrapping around Tony’s. “Where’s your jacket?”“In my luggage,” Tony said, stretching his legs out in front of him, putting his cold, damp feet a little too close to the fire. Steve made a disapproving noise under his breath, and Tony grinned, his eyes falling shut. Steve smelled of wood smoke and dust, soap and peppermint. “You’ve been into the candy canes.”“And you’re trying to change the subject,” Steve said, shifting away from Tony, just far enough to shrug out of his jacket. “You’re going to catch your death in weather like this, then where will we be?”“I walked from the car to the front door,” Tony pointed out, amused. Steve wrapped his jacket around Tony’s shoulders. “And you should’ve had your coat on in the car,” he said, coaxing Tony back into his arms.“Stop fussing,” Tony said, even as he relaxed into the double embrace of Steve’s arms and the coat. “I’m fine.” Steve’s hand found his again, and Tony raised it to his lips, pressing a kiss to Steve’s knuckles. “I missed you.”There was a beat of silence, and Steve’s rough jaw brushed against Tony’s temple “I missed you, too,” he whispered back. Tony shifted in his arms, reveling in the contact and the friction, and the way that Steve’s arms tightened, trying to keep him still. Steve’s lips brushed against his ear. “Behave.”Tony grinned. “One of these days,” he said, playing with Steve’s fingers, “I’m going to just light a fire and you can nap on the fur rug in front of it.” He stared into the flames, a wicked smile playing around the corners of his lips. “Stretched out, all that beautiful skin, bronzed by the fire.”Steve’s arms tightened, and Tony chuckled under his breath. “I’ll buy ropes of pearls, dozens upon dozens of them, perfectly matched, gold and silver chain as thin as a hair, jewels, and just drape you with them.”Steve was laughing against his back, he felt it as much as heard it. “And I’ll either break something, or trip on it and break my neck,” he said. “One quick pull and there’ll be pearls rolling everywhere.”“A proper string of pearls is knotted between each one,” Tony pointed out, “but knowing you, you’d find a way.” The wool that lined Steve’s jacket was soft and warm, and it held his scent. “Fine. Silk then, bolts of it, or lace in patterns so intricate you could stare at it for hours and not see everything in it. In colors you’ve never dreamed of.”“I’m getting the feeling this is more for your benefit than mine,” Steve said, his voice full of affection, his thumb still rubbing slow, steady patterns across the back of Tony’s hand. “Almost like these gifts aren’t for me at all.”Tony laughed. “And what would you have for Christmas, then?” he asked, his head tipping back to meet Steve’s eyes. “I could barely get you to take this jacket, and as soon as you could, you foisted it right back on me.”Steve’s eyes were bright and warm in the firelight. “Can I have anything?” he asked, with a soft smile.Tony reached up, cupping the side of his face. “Name it.”Steve’s face split in a grin. “There’s this clinic in Harlem-” he started, and Tony burst out laughing.“No!” he managed, struggling to pull away, but Steve’s arms tightened, holding him in place. He kicked feebly at the air, choking on a laugh. “No, I am not- No!”“You said anything,” Steve sing-songed, tipping Tony back to lie with his head in Steve’s lap. Steve grinned down at him, his hair falling over his forehead, his face flushed. “You said-”“I have purchased three orphanages, two soup kitchens and a vocational school,” Tony said, loving him so much it hurt. “I refuse to go into the medical profession, Rogers.”Steve leaned over, brushing an upside-down kiss on his lips, the gesture both odd and familiar. “I already sent everything over to Pepper,” he said, and Tony groaned.“Last Christmas I spent alone and drunk and this may not be an improvement,” he stated as the pitter- patter of quick feet brought his head around. DJ carefully lowered a tray to the ground, then took a seat on the carpet next to Steve, folding his legs under him. “Speaking of people who are here to bankrupt me,” Tony said, grinning at him. “Did you bring me coffee?”DJ picked up a cup, holding it out to Tony. “Chocolate,” he said.Tony took the cup. “Acceptable,” he said, as DJ gave Steve a cup as well. “Did you make it?”“Helped,” DJ said, wrapping his hands around his own cup.“Thank you for helping,” Steve told him, pushing DJ’s hair back. “Did you have fun shopping with Jarvis and Mrs. Parker?” DJ nodded with a great deal of enthusiasm. “Did you and Peter pick out presents for everyone? All the boys from Hammer’s place?”Another nod. “For you,” DJ said with a grin. “And Peter. And Jarvis.”“How about me?” Tony asked, sipping his cocoa. “No,” DJ said, and Tony burst out laughing.“Well, that’s just rude, brat,” he said, grinning at DJ. “Making yours,” DJ said, grinning back. He had a cocoa mustache, and Tony reached out, swiping at it to make DJ giggle.“Wonderful, looking forward to unwrapping the box of half broken metal scraps that you’ve glued together,” Tony said, and strangely enough, that wasn’t even sarcasm. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d anticipated a gift this much. “Before that, though, I’m going to need you to decorate the house.”“Okay,” DJ said, sipping his cocoa.“The whole house,” Tony said. “By yourself.”DJ’s head tipped back as he considered the full dimensions of the main hall. “Okay,” he repeated. He rocked forward. “Can we make popcorn?”“Yes, but we will make popcorn only so we can string popcorn garlands,” Tony said. “You can’t eat any of the-” Steve covered his mouth with a hand. “Yes, we can make popcorn,” he said to DJ. Tony mumbled against his fingers, and Steve gave him a look. “And yes, we are going to eat that popcorn.” Tony threw his hands in the air, making DJ giggle.“We can string some,” he offered Tony, leaning up against Steve’s side. Tony pushed Steve’s hand away. “All,” he said with a grin.“Some,” DJ said, his voice firm. He leaned over Tony, his expression expectant.“What?” Tony asked him. DJ bounced in place, and Tony bit back a grin. “What, I don’t know-”“I love you,” Steve said to DJ. He looked down at Tony. “I love you.”Tony reached up, flicking the tip of Steve’s nose. “I love you,” he said, and DJ bounced again. Tony gave him a look. “What?”“Love you,” DJ said.“Well, then, I suppose I love you, too,” Tony said. The kitchen door opened. “Dinner will be served in fifteen minutes,” Jarvis announced. “For anyone-” He cleared his throat. “And everyone who needs to freshen up.”“I love you, Jarvis,” Tony called.“Very good, sir, you still have to decorate,” Jarvis said, and Tony burst into laughter. “And do wash your hands and face before dinner.”“I’m going to take that as an ‘I love you,’” Tony said, pushing himself upright, groaning as his back protested the movement. “And my spine hates me.” Steve braced him with a hand on his back.“Perhaps we are at an age where lying at the floor is more of a detriment than a pleasure, no matter what company we might have.” Brisk footsteps, and then Jarvis stepped in front of Tony, offering him a hand. “Up we go, sir. I’ll run you a bath tonight.”Tony took it and let Jarvis pull him to his feet. “As an ‘I love you’ goes, I’ll take it,” he said.Jarvis smiled at him, and straightened Steve’s jacket on his shoulders. “I love you. Now go wash for dinner.”“Deej, you want to come?” Tony asked, and DJ held up his hands, wiggling his fingers. “Ah, I see that Mrs. Parker already scrubbed you down.’“And he was rewarded with kisses for doing such a good job of it,” Jarvis said.“Kisses are the best rewards,” Tony agreed. “Stay here with Steve, then?” DJ nodded. “Right. All my best boys in one place, now, stay out of trouble.” He leaned over, kissing Steve on top of his head. Steve grinned down at DJ. “What shall we do while we wait for dinner?”“Decorate!” Tony yelled, heading for the stairs.“Story,” DJ said, cuddling up against Steve’s side. “Please.”“A story. Well. Let’s see. An old one, from the old country. My ma told me, and her Ma told her, to stick to the paths,” Steve said, a hint of a brogue coloring the words. “Hold fast your name. Eat only the food you carry with you, and never take from a hand you do not know. Never step into a ring of mushrooms. Carry a bit of cold iron with you at all times, held close to your heart.”Tony paused, looking back down at the hall, where the two of them were sitting, silhouetted against the flames. DJ was leaning against Steve’s side, and as Tony watched, Steve smoothed a hand over DJ’s hair, soft and gentle. “And she always told me, never go down beneath the hill. Never walk paths not meant for your feet. Never let your name be whispered, by voices who tempt you to follow them down. Down. Down."Steve's hand rested on DJ's hair, lingering there. "But sometimes. If you go places everyone tells you not to go. If you speak names that aren't yours to speak. If you linger by a fire you did not set."You may not be who you were, when you first crossed the threshold. You may not find your way back. But maybe, just maybe, you might find something you never knew you were missing."Smiling, Tony turned back towards the stairs. It was good to be home.