Chapter 1
The day Steve gets back to New York, the skies are overcast and he only barely escapes getting caught in a downpour when he ducks inside the private entrance of Stark Tower. It reminds him of the stormy weather the day he left Brooklyn for Camp Lehigh, and he's not sure how to feel about that. Leaving his city to change his life, coming back to a city that's both his and not his to change it again. At least the scent of rain in the air, the sound of it beating down on window glass, hasn't changed.
Stark Tower is even fancier than he expected, the elevator lacking an operator – or, indeed, buttons that need operating – yet starting to move as soon as the doors shut. Steve, remembering things that Tony wrote to him over text message, and that Pepper mentioned in their phone conversations, looks up at the ceiling. “Er, thank you, JARVIS?” Talking to empty air feels weird, sure, but in this strange new world a computer that's a person is no more difficult to wrap his head around than mythical characters being real – especially fighting one and having another as a teammate. So why not use basic courtesy?
“You are quite welcome, Captain Rogers.”
“Oh, it's just Steve, please.”
“Would you prefer guest quarters or to speak with Ms. Potts, Captain?”
Steve isn't sure if the insistence on his title is JARVIS' preference for whatever reasons he might have (does he have preferences? Would it work like that?), a design requirement, or just being contrary (Tony made him, so being contrary for the sake of it is a trait Steve would not be at all surprised to learn JARVIS has). He doesn't press the issue, just sighs. “Guest quarters, please.” He has nearly two days' worth of the road to wash off, so that's definitely his first stop.
The elevator opens and Steve nearly collides with a petite young woman, her dark messy curls going every which way. “Hello, tall blond and handsome,” she says with a grin, the mischief in it reminding Steve of Jim Morita. He ought to call Jim, now he thinks about it, since he never made it out to California. Gabe gave him the number...
“Uh, hi,” Steve says. This must be either Jane Foster or Darcy Lewis; no way for him to know which without asking. “I'm -”
“Captain Steve Rogers, yep, did my twelfth grade final history paper on you. Freaked out Mr. Lensherr, I think he met you back when or something. I'm Darcy Lewis.”
That last name does sound vaguely familiar, though Steve can't quite manage to place it. He notices that as she speaks, Darcy's studying – not him, exactly, more like the air around him. Visual empathy, Tony and Pepper had both said. “I... hope you got a good grade,” he says, at a loss for a better comment. Darcy laughs, reaching up to pat his shoulder.
“Aced it, thanks. So I hear you were road-tripping, and I totally want to hear your impression of the present day, but you probably wanna crash and I'm late. See ya!” Darcy ducks into the elevator and is gone, Steve left to blink in astonishment at the closing doors. After a moment, he shakes his head and continues on to the guest room JARVIS indicates for him. Once he's there, he makes for the bathroom and strips down, turning the shower on with the water as hot as it can go.
The shampoo he uses smells like mint and the soap is something herbal; neither are what he's used to, but they don't have the cloying artificial scents of the toiletries SHIELD gave him either and that's certainly welcome. And anyway, the water's hot and the spray is strong, and Steve's skin is tingly with cleanliness by the time he gets out and towels himself dry. He is tired, of course, as much from lack of food as lack of sleep, so he eats his last handful of protein bars and drops onto the bed. He doesn't even bother to get under the covers, just sleeps atop the blanket.
When he wakes up the sun is setting, but he feels as much like himself as he ever has since waking up in the future. For a moment he's not sure what exactly woke him, but then he feels a twitch in the back of his mind where the bond is. He isn't surprised to open the bedroom door and find Tony standing on the other side.
Steve remembers Tony's voice on the phone at Arlington, remembers dozens of texts over the past few weeks, a jumble of chatting about random subjects and strange technological ramblings that Steve had had to remind Tony he didn't understand. But he also remembers the way they'd clashed on the Helicarrier, even before the scepter was much of a factor. It's such a strange contrast that for a moment Steve can't find any words. The last he saw of Tony was him driving away, and now...
“I came back,” he finally says, thinking of that phone call. He knows he wouldn't be here now if Tony hadn't called him then, would still be riding around trying to escape his ghosts. He can't escape his ghosts. He can only move forward with them lingering in the back of his mind, and hope that the future has something for him, that this bonding actually means somethin.
“Yeah. Yeah, you did,” Tony says, shifting from foot to foot, looking at Steve with wary dark eyes. Maybe he's as unsure of how to do this as Steve is, despite being bonded to Pepper for years.
“I have no idea what I'm doing either, if it helps,:” Steve offers tentatively.
“It does, actually. And here I thought you were the Star-Spangled Man with a Plan.”
There's something vaguely mocking in the use of that phrase. Steve could get angry about it or he could laugh, and getting angry sure as hell won't help them make this work. So he laughs. It seems to take Tony by surprise, but after a moment a slow, thoughtful smile spreads across his face. “You actually have a sense of humor, don't you? And here I thought you were just a stick in the mud.”
Steve shakes his head. “I had it on good authority that I was a punk.” He doesn't quite trust himself to mention Bucky by name just yet, but he still finds himself wanting to share a little of his memories. They're all he has left, after all. Tony tilts his head like he's trying to picture it and Steve adds, “This was from the guy who used to have to rescue me from at least two alley brawls a week.”
“You're kidding. To hear my father tell it, you were practically a saint, hardly a street fighter.”
“Yeah, well, all this was pre-serum, but even after that... You do know I was special-ops, right?” Steve says, and when Tony nods, he continues, “Howard was a good enough guy, at least when I knew him. We all liked him, he was fun company and he went out of his way to make sure we had everything we needed, but I don't know that I'd say we were close. So he didn't know me as well as he might have thought he did.”
“He was obsessed with finding you.”
“If that's the case, I don't know why he would have fixated on me like that,” Steve says honestly. He knows Howard looked for him – Fury mentioned it – but he had always assumed that was only in the early days after he crashed. That would have made sense, but the way Tony talks about it sounds like Howard was focused on finding him long years after the war ended, when he had a business and a family to worry about. Is this part of why Tony took as quick a dislike to Steve as Steve did to him when he misread Tony as a bully?
“Oh, you could definitely call it fixated. Looking for you, collecting memorabilia – I've got a box somewhere in the Malibu house – but then, anything for dear old Dad except be at home. Not your fault, anyway, nothing you need to worry about.”
“You blame me, though.” Steve can tell, without even knowing why he's so certain.
“Not so much now, but – ” Tony shakes his head, looking exasperated. “Why are we talking about this?”
Steve takes a deep breath. “Because this is why you had an instant issue with me, while I had a problem with you because I misread you as a bully. And – look. We're bonded, right?” He thinks of Ari, the girl from the diner, and how she'd talked about a soulbond as an ongoing project. “I don't want this stuff hidden. I'd rather know where the tripwires are.”
“Told you, cut the wire,” Tony quips, and Steve can't help the brief wry smile.
“Cut a tripwire, things blow up. We both know that much, Tony. I'm not saying we have to have a long talk about this stuff. I just think we need to know these things are there. You and Pepper have had a dozen years and change to learn each other. I'm here playin' catch-up.”
“It took me years to open up to Pepper, bond or not.”
“I'm not ready to share everything either, Tony,” Steve says bluntly. “I just want to know what things will put us at each other's throats so that we can avoid them until we're in a better place to work them out without tearing each other to shreds.” Probably they will actually have to talk it out one day, but that doesn't need to be soon.
“Makes sense to me,” a new voice cuts in before Tony can respond. Even in stocking feet, Pepper is taller than Tony, as Steve sees when she walks down the hall to join them. It's an oddly endearing image. He hasn't even bonded to Pepper yet, but he can sense her through his link to Tony. He finds that he wants to draw her, to figure out the mix of shades to make her strawberry blonde hair, to learn the pattern of her freckles. His fingers itch to record the way Tony reorients himself with Pepper in the room, how they both seem so aware of each other. Steve can see the hints of their pattern already, wonders how he can possibly fit into it.
Pepper smiles at him, her gaze thoughtful, assessing – but somehow warm for all that. “It's nice to finally see you, Steve.”
“You too,” Steve says, thinking that he likes her voice much better in person. He thinks of Gabe's advice to jump on this second chance, of the things Bucky said time and time again when they were kids. Thinks of what Bucky would say now, if he could.
This time, holding out a hand, Steve knows what to expect when Pepper's slim fingers tangle with his. He's ready for the tumble ofmemory, surprised to feel that Pepper has the same nervous hope for all of this as he does. He comes back to himself blinking, staring into eyes a lighter blue than his own. He can feel Tony watching them, knows Pepper can sense it too. He can feel them both, points of light somewhere deep inside, points of warmth when all the rest of him feels a little too cold, as though the ice clings to his skin and lingers in his blood. It's enough to tell him there's reason to hope.
“We could start with dinner?” Steve suggests, and really, it's as good a way as any to start things off, isn't it?