Chapter 3
The fight against Loki had been a mess, to say the least. They’d won, sure, but it hadn’t been pretty. The team was good—better than good, really—but they struggled to work as one. Instead, they all fought their own battles, leaving gaps in their defense and had more than a few bruises and scrapes to show for it. But somehow, despite it all, they saved the city. And, miraculously, they were still standing as a team.
Steve, always the tactician, had been the first to suggest they keep in touch, do this "team thing" the right way. Tony, ever the showman and never one to back down from a challenge, made it official: he invited them all to live at Stark Tower. Of course, that invitation came with a caveat—first, the Tower had to be patched up after Loki's little joyride through it.
Once the repairs were finished, they all moved in. It wasn’t smooth sailing at first—not by a long shot. They were used to working alone, so suddenly sharing space 24/7 led to a lot of friction. JARVIS started handing out "time-out" orders like candy, politely suggesting people take some alone time before they snapped. But gradually, something shifted.
Steve noticed it first when Natasha, of all people, started joining him for morning coffee. One morning, Tony came into the kitchen rushing to grab coffee before an early meeting. His tie was askew, and without a word, Natasha reached out and straightened it. A small gesture, but one that seemed to reset the previously tense air between the two.
Moments like that kept happening. Clint and Bruce started talking about a shared interest in archery physics (who knew?), Thor took over what had now become Wednesday team dinners and cooked massive feasts that no one could finish, and Steve—well, Steve gravitated toward Tony. More and more, the two were inseparable. If you found Steve, you’d find Tony nearby, or vice versa.
It wasn’t something they planned. It just was. The team started joking about it—Clint dubbed them "the inseparables"—but for Steve, it felt natural. After all, he’d spent so long alone, out of time, that finding someone who understood him, who even bothered to try and who truly cared about him, was a relief. And Tony, for all his snark and bravado, had somehow become that person.
The whole team adopted a domestic vibe that Steve found both strange —considering their team consisted of two spies, a Norse god, a super soldier and two geniuses (one a rage monster and the other a billionaire)— and comforting. He hadn’t seen anything close to this kind of camaraderie, this sense of family, since the Howlies but he welcomed it with open arms. Team dinners became a Wednesday routine, as did Friday movie nights. The kitchen, once a place Tony barely acknowledged, became the heart of their makeshift home. There were no longer any mandated time-outs due to short fuses, and they all enjoyed the company of their fellow teammates. It really began to feel like home, and Steve was beyond thrilled.
He’d taken up running as of late and had met this guy Sam, who ran a veteran’s group. Talking with him really pushed Steve to follow through with his promise to Tony to see a therapist. Overall, life was looking up for the team—for Steve especially. Turns out life in the future isn’t so bad after all when you have people to enjoy it with.
Months had passed since Tony handed Steve his old sketchbooks, and now, the two of them had settled into a comfortable routine. Tony would spend hours in his workshop, tinkering with his suits or working on new tech, while Steve would sit nearby, sketchbook in hand, pencils scattered across whatever surface he was seated beside. Often it was the futon off to the side of the ‘shop but sometimes, often when Steve needed to just be near someone, he'd pull a stool up to the workbench and claim a corner of it for himself.
The sounds of the workshop—whirring machines, the clinking of tools—created a unique background noise that Steve found soothing. It was a far cry from the chaos of the battlefield, and in this space, he found a sense of peace.
Tony glanced up from his work, watching as Steve focused intently on his sketch. “What are you working on today?” Tony asked, wiping grease from his hands.
Steve looked up, a small smile on his lips. “Just sketching the city. The skyline’s changed a lot since I last saw it, but there’s something comforting about drawing it.”
Tony walked over, peering at the sketch. It was detailed, capturing the blend of old and new that made up the modern skyline. “You’ve still got it, Steve. This is incredible.”
Steve shrugged modestly. “It helps clear my mind. Gives me something to focus on other than… everything else.”
Tony nodded, understanding completely. “That’s good. You need that. And hey, anytime you want to talk, about anything, I’m here.”
Steve met Tony’s gaze, the sincerity in his words clear. “Thanks, Tony. It means a lot, having you around.”
Tony smiled, giving Steve a playful nudge. “You’re stuck with me now, might as well get used to it.”
Steve chuckled, the tension in his shoulders easing. “I think I can handle that.”
Steve walked into Tony's workshop, the familiar hum of machinery and soft glow of holograms filling the space. He spotted Tony hunched over the workbench, his focus entirely on the pieces of Steve’s shield laid out before him. It had taken a beating during their last mission, one of the straps having broken off mid-fight, and Tony had insisted on repairing it himself.
"How’s it looking?" Steve asked, keeping his tone casual as he stepped closer.
Tony glanced up, a spark of humor lighting his eyes. "Well, it’s not exactly a Humpty Dumpty situation, but it’ll take more than superglue to get this thing back in shape. I’m thinking it calls for an update."
Steve chuckled, the sound easing the tension that had been gnawing at him since the fight. He moved closer to the workbench, studying Tony’s handiwork. "You really think you can improve it?"
Tony raised an eyebrow, feigning offense. "Think? Cap, this is me we’re talking about. Not only am I going to fix it, but it’ll be better than you can imagine. Trust me."
Steve couldn't help but smile. Tony’s confidence had a way of pulling him out of his own head, even on the roughest days. "I do trust you," he said softly, his voice sincere.
Tony paused, his tools momentarily still in his hand. Something flickered across his face, a mixture of surprise and something warmer, more unspoken. He cleared his throat, quickly returning his attention to the shield. "Good. Because if anyone can turn a vibranium Frisbee into a work of art, it’s me."
Steve watched as Tony worked, the flicker of sparks from his tools illuminating Tony's features in sharp relief. There was something comforting about watching him, the way his hands moved with precision and purpose. It reminded Steve of how he used to clean and repair his own gear during the war—meticulous, thoughtful, every action taken with care. But there was more here. This was Tony, doing something for him. It wasn’t just a mission. It was personal.
"You didn’t have to do this," Steve said after a moment, his voice quieter now.
Tony didn’t look up, but there was a shift in his tone when he answered. "Yeah, I did."
The weight of those words settled between them, but neither pushed it further. Instead, they let the silence stretch, comfortable in the shared space.
"You really are something, Tony," Steve murmured, his admiration clear.
Tony shot him a sideways glance, the corner of his mouth twitching into a grin. "You’re just now figuring that out?"
Steve laughed, the sound genuine. "No. I’ve known for a while."
Their eyes met, and for a brief moment, the air between them felt charged with something unspoken—something just beyond the reach of words. But Tony, ever the master of deflection, broke the tension with a smirk.
"Well, don’t get all sappy on me, Cap. I’m just a guy with a toolbox and an oversized ego."
Steve shook his head, still smiling. "You’re more than that, Tony. A lot more."
Tony’s smirk faltered, just for a second, before he turned back to the shield. "Yeah, well... your shield’s ready for round two. Just try not to break it again, alright?"
Steve took the shield from the workbench, feeling the weight of Tony’s work in his hands. "I’ll do my best. Thanks, Tony."
"Anytime," Tony replied, his voice soft.
The grand hall buzzed with the sounds of clinking glasses, hushed conversations, and the subtle strains of a string quartet. Steve shifted uncomfortably in his tuxedo, the stiff fabric feeling foreign and awkward against his skin. He hadn’t been to many events like this since he’d woken up in the future, and he certainly hadn’t expected to attend one as Tony Stark’s guest.
"You look like you’re about to bolt for the door," Tony’s voice came from beside him, a teasing edge to it. Steve glanced over to find Tony, immaculate as always in his tailored suit, sipping from a glass of champagne.
Steve forced a smile, though his unease was still evident. "I’m not exactly used to these kinds of things. Back in my day, the closest we got to a gala was a celebration in a dingy bar."
Tony’s eyes gleamed with amusement as he nudged Steve lightly with his elbow. "Don’t worry, Steve. It’s mostly just rich people pretending they care about world peace while they write checks to make themselves feel better. You’ll fit right in."
Steve chuckled despite himself, the tension easing slightly in his chest. "Glad to know I’ve got your vote of confidence."
"Always," Tony said, and though his tone was light, there was something genuine beneath it. He looked at Steve, his gaze lingering a little longer than usual. "Besides, you clean up pretty well. Don’t let the monkey suit fool you."
Steve glanced down at his tux, then back up at Tony with a crooked smile. "You don’t look too bad yourself."
"That’s because I’m a professional at this," Tony quipped, taking another sip of champagne. "It’s like a second job at this point—smile, shake hands, smile some more. And if you’re lucky, you get to escape before anyone notices."
Steve tilted his head, watching Tony closely. "You don’t like these things either, do you?"
Tony raised an eyebrow. "What gave it away? The fact that I’m on my second glass of overpriced bubbly, or the way I keep scoping out the exits?"
Steve’s lips twitched into a small smile, his blue eyes softening. "Why come, then? You could’ve sent someone else, right?"
Tony looked away for a moment, the humor slipping from his face. "Sometimes… it’s just expected. People see the name ‘Stark’ and assume I’ll be here. It’s not exactly optional." He shrugged, but there was a flicker of something more vulnerable beneath the surface. "And… I guess it’s good PR. Keep the brand shiny."
Steve considered that for a moment, then glanced around the room. "Well, I’m glad you didn’t send someone else tonight."
Tony turned to him, a hint of surprise in his expression. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," Steve nodded, his voice steady. "You’re the only reason I’m still standing here. Otherwise, I’d have made for the door an hour ago."
Tony laughed, the sound warm and genuine, cutting through the polished pretense of the event. "Well, I’m glad I could keep you from a premature escape. You stick with me, and we’ll survive this thing together."
Steve smiled, feeling more at ease now. He hadn’t expected to enjoy himself tonight, but standing here with Tony—bantering, sharing quiet moments of understanding—made the whole affair feel more bearable. Maybe even enjoyable.
"Think you can dance in that tux?" Tony asked, his eyes gleaming mischievously.
Steve raised an eyebrow. "You asking me to dance, Shellhead?"
"Depends. Think you can keep up?" Tony grinned, his playful challenge hanging in the air.
Steve’s smile widened. "I fought in World War II. I think I can handle a waltz."
Tony laughed again, his eyes sparkling as he set his glass down. "Alright, Cap. Let’s see what you’ve got."
And with that, Tony led Steve toward the dance floor, the night stretching before them, full of possibility.
After another long week of SHIELD business, training and helping Sam at the veteran’s group Steve was looking forward to tonight’s movie night. Tony had been busier than him all week (per usual) so they’d hardly gotten to see each other besides team dinner. Nonetheless, Tony said he’d join in for movie night and take a break from whatever it was he was tinkering on. Tony showed up shortly after Steve got settled, but it was clear he was exhausted.
They sat together on the couch, Steve noting the dark circles under Tony’s eyes and the way he hardly touched his popcorn and Skittles which were typically gone in the first 20 minutes. Halfway through the movie, Tony’s head dropped onto Steve’s shoulder, the exhaustion finally catching up to him. Steve stilled, glancing down to see Tony already fast asleep.
Natasha, sitting across from them, raised an eyebrow. “Looks like he’s been running on fumes.”
Steve nodded, his expression softening as he gently adjusted Tony, so he wouldn’t slip off his shoulder. “Yeah. He’s been overworking himself again.”
Natasha watched them for a moment, her gaze thoughtful. “You two have gotten close.”
Steve shrugged, though there was no denying the warmth spreading through him at how comfortable Tony seemed to be with him. “He’s… a good guy. Better than he lets on.”
She smiled faintly. “You’re good for him, you know. Keeps him grounded.”
Steve didn’t reply, but the weight of Tony’s head on his shoulder made him feel… something. Protective, maybe. And closer to Tony than he’d ever felt before.
Steve stepped quietly onto the roof, his eyes drawn to Tony perched on the edge with a glass of whiskey in hand. The soft glow of the city cast long shadows across Tony’s face, accentuating the exhaustion etched into his features. Steve didn’t need to ask—he knew Tony had been up here for hours. He’d seen him on the roof before, always looking out like he was searching for something.
"Couldn't sleep?" Steve's voice was quiet, but it still cut through the stillness.
Without turning around, Tony gave a low, dry chuckle. "Sleep’s overrated. I’ll catch up on it when I’m dead."
Steve moved closer, leaning against the railing beside Tony. He glanced out at the skyline, the lights below shimmering like stars. "Nightmares?"
Tony’s chuckle deepened, a hollow sound. "You too?"
"Yeah," Steve admitted, his gaze never leaving the horizon. "But at least I don’t drink alone."
Tony glanced down at Steve’s empty hand, his lips twitching slightly. Wordlessly, he offered the bottle. Steve hesitated for only a moment before accepting it, taking a small sip that burned pleasantly down his throat.
"You’re always up here," Steve noted after a moment, turning his head slightly to study Tony’s profile. "I’ve seen you… looking out like you’re trying to find something."
For a long time, Tony didn’t answer. The silence stretched between them, but it wasn’t uncomfortable—it was weighted, full of things neither man was ready to say. Finally, Tony spoke, his voice softer than before. "Maybe I am."
Steve took another sip, letting the warmth of the whiskey settle in his chest. Hours passed in the quiet, the noise of the city below becoming a dull hum as they shared the bottle. It was a familiar rhythm by now—both of them lost in their own thoughts, yet tethered by the unspoken understanding between them.
After a long silence, Steve exhaled deeply, his voice taking on a reflective tone. "You know, I never imagined my life turning out like this. I always thought Bucky and I would go back to Brooklyn after the war… maybe open a small shop. Settle down."
Tony turned his head toward Steve, surprised at the mention of Bucky’s name. He knew about him, of course—anyone who’d read about Captain America did. But Steve rarely talked about him, and Tony sensed it was a wound still too raw, too deep.
"That sounds nice," Tony said softly, his voice devoid of his usual sarcasm. "You had plans for the future?"
Steve gave a faint smile, but there was sadness behind it. "Yeah. All my plans were just me and Bucky; us against whatever the world threw at us. We used to talk about it all the time. What we’d do after… if we made it out."
Tony felt something stir inside him—an unfamiliar pang of curiosity. It was the first time Steve had really spoken about Bucky, and the weight of those words lingered between them. He didn’t push, but he could feel the pull of Steve’s grief, his uncertainty about what to do now, without the person who was supposed to be by his side.
"I don’t know what to do now, without him," Steve admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "Everything I thought my life would be… everything I planned… was with Bucky. And now it’s just me."
Tony's chest tightened, sympathy blooming for the man beside him. He looked at Steve, really looked at him, seeing the weight of the past and the uncertainty of the future reflected in his blue eyes. Tony reached out, his hand resting gently on Steve’s forearm.
"You’re not alone, Steve," Tony said quietly, the sincerity of his words striking deeper than he intended. "You still have a future ahead of you. It might not look the way you thought it would, but… it’s there. You’re not stuck in the past."
Steve turned his head to meet Tony’s gaze, the vulnerability in his eyes something Tony had never seen before. "It’s hard to see that sometimes. But you… you make it easier. Being around you, it’s like I’m not alone in this new world."
Tony’s breath caught in his throat, the weight of Steve’s words hanging between them. He hadn’t realized just how much Steve relied on him, how much their companionship meant. He squeezed Steve’s arm gently. "You’re not alone. Not anymore."
They sat in silence again, but this time, the quiet felt different—charged with an unspoken understanding that neither had to face this strange, unfamiliar world alone. Tony’s mind, though, drifted to the man Steve had lost. Bucky. He’d never paid much attention to him before, but hearing Steve talk about him, Tony couldn’t help but wonder—what if Bucky was still out there?
He glanced at Steve, who was staring out at the city, a faint glimmer of hope in his eyes despite the sadness that lingered. Tony wasn’t sure where the thought had come from, but it nestled itself in his mind: Maybe it’s not too late to find him.
The night stretched on, but neither of them made a move to leave. Steve stayed beside Tony, sharing the silence, and though they were each lost in their own thoughts, there was a warmth to the moment. A bond that had solidified between them, one that neither could deny.
"Thank you, Tony," Steve said softly, his voice thick with emotion. "For everything."
Tony smiled, his heart full but with a new sense of purpose blooming beneath it. "Anytime, Steve. Anytime."