Chapter 5
They land in a back alley, scaring a small group of pigeons and giving Steve the perfect place to throw up the bagels he’d had for breakfast.
He can jump off airplanes just fine, but clinging to a metal armor flying at the speed of sound?
Steve’s cheeks are warm from the burn of the wind, his body doubled over as his stomach heaves, and he feels his cheeks burn warmer when he feels Tony’s eyes trained on him. Hastily standing straight and wiping the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, he meets Tony’s smirking gaze.
“Do you always fly that fast?” he grumbles, making Tony smirk even wider.
“Darling, I can fly ten times faster.”
The nickname makes Steve grateful for the windburn, because the sound of Tony’s voice – clear and real and so similar yet different to the voice that Steve’s spent hours listening to – is very distracting and not helpful when Steve’s trying to orient himself.
It’s a struggle to wrap his head around the bizarreness of the situation, what with them standing in some random back alley in New York, the distant sounds of honking cars faintly buzzing in Steve’s ears, he can only stare as the metal faceplate flips open.
And the helmet folds itself away from Tony’s hair.
And the chest piece pulls itself apart, further and further away from the glowing light in the center, until all of Tony’s front is revealed and he steps out.
In a span of five seconds, the first thing Steve registers is short.
The armor was marginally taller than Steve, but the man inside it barely reaches Steve’s ear. Sure, Tony’s toned arms stretch his visibly overused black shirt, and Steve’s seen videos of the man in those blessed tank tops, so he’s not small. Just shorter than expected.
The second thing Steve registers is that the armor is folding up on itself, impossibly fast and coordinated, the pieces sliding beautifully over each other, collapsing and folding until it forms a far less ostentatious, but still flashy, red suitcase.
And the third thing Steve registers is that the glowing light is still on Tony’s chest. It must be a different light from the one with the armor, because it’s soft glue blow is shining through Tony’s shirt.
Steve stares.
Is Tony a cyborg? Half robot, half human? That can’t be possible, can it?
“Hey? Like what you see?” Tony’s voice cuts through his thoughts, and Steve clears his throat to bring himself back to the present.
“No,” he says as nonchalantly as he can, treading carefully to test the waters, “you look better with the suit on.”
Tony grins. “If you’re robosexual, you’ll have a blast in my lab.”
Steve snorts, knowing he’d said the right thing. “So, where are you kidnapping me to?”
“What about donuts and some coffee?” Tony suggests, hefting the suitcase in both hands and making a move to walk out of the alley, which, now that Steve has regained most of his senses, smells awful.
Still, he stops Tony, standing in front of him to block him, and easily fighting his resistance to take the suitcase from his hands. It isn’t the lightest object, but with Steve’s enhanced strength, it’s the least he can do for Tony, who has likely spent all morning flying from California to New York.
“A perfect gentleman, aren’t you?” Tony scowls, crossing his arms across his chest and blocking the circle of light there, “I don’t need your help, you know.”
For a second, Steve regrets his attempt to help, not wanting to start off at a wrong foot. “I know. But I’d like to get out of this foul place faster, and it’ll be faster if I carry it for you.” That seems to placate Tony well enough, and as they start walking again, Steve continues, “do you need something to cover that light up?”
The panic that crosses Tony’s face would have been comical if not for its depth.
“Shit. Damn it, I rushed here and forgot. I can’t go out like this, can we – ”
“Here,” Steve gently cuts off his rambling, using his free hand to quickly unbutton his shirt. He’d worn two layers today, trying to stave off the ever present chill and too lazy to change after his morning run. The plain white t-shirt under his plaid shirt is enough for him to get by, and oversized as his clothes must be for Tony, it must be preferable to walking around with that bright light.
Steve had never seen it in any of Tony’s videos, so he assumes Tony wants to keep it hidden.
And Tony does look torn. “Hell no. I am not wearing that abomination,” he grumbles.
“I’m sure you’ve worn worse. And nothing’s wrong with this shirt,” Steve crooks an eyebrow and Tony crosses his arms tighter around his chest, his scowl deepening.
“I hate that you’re right,” Tony huffs. “But I’m sort of a fashion icon and influencer, and that shirt is horrible. I’m taking it just so I can burn it later.”
“Sure, you can buy me a new one while you’re at it,” Steve chuckles as Tony sullenly takes the shirt and shrugs it on, fumbling with the buttons. It’s thick enough to cover the glow of the arc reactor, but it drowns Tony, reaching past the middle of his thighs, and Steve resists the urge to tease him. Tony must know what’s running through Steve’s head, though, because he glares at Steve as he roughly tucks the end of the shirt into his jeans.
“You’re a menace,” Tony curses, pushing past Steve to stomp onwards out of the alley, “you’re not getting any donuts.”
“Sure,” Steve amiably agrees, happily trailing behind Tony, grip steady around the suitcase’s handle. They aren’t in any street Steve knows, so he lengthens his stride to catch the small distance between them. “Where are we?”
“Near the best pizza place in New York, but since they’re not open yet, I’m getting donuts and coffee – for me, myself, and I alone,” Tony waggles an accusing finger at Steve, “then again, you need new clothes and we have enough time for shopping.”
“Uh, you really don’t have to. I have enough shirts,” Steve starts to protest.
Tony, however, seems to relish in Steve’s discomfort. “I can see your pecs, Rogers, that’s public indecency.”
For the second time in the same hour, Steve thinks he’ll regret this.
And yet, he follows Tony anyway.
When Aunt Peggy had told Tony that Howard’s stories of Captain America were too embellished and boring, Tony never truly believed her.
But, as Steve inhales the seventh pan of pizza, Tony thinks he should have given up any pretence of maintaining distance hours ago. The shopping bags filled with leather jackets, running shoes, and a stray sketchbook Steve had picked up reverently at the back of a store are strewn in the floor around them. Steve had playfully tried on a jacket and Tony –
Tony’s pretty sure he’s made a mistake, although he’ll take that thought to the grave. Steve is still wearing the black jacket now over his white shirt, and as salivating as the pizza is, the sight in front of Tony is far more delicious.
As soon as JARVIS had found SHIELD’s files that hinted at the finding of Captain America, Tony had set out to rescue the Captain from SHIELD’s nefarious clutches and vowed to maintain an undeniable distance. There’s a whole bag of issues there that he’d spent years going to therapy for, and Tony has no desire opening them back up.
But the way Steve laughs at Tony’s barbs, the way Steve doesn’t bristle at Tony’s thinly veiled jabs, and the way Steve blushes but still snarks back (‘I was in a war, Tony, soldiers get up to all things in the trenches’) at Tony’s innuendoes – it gives Tony whiplash, because eventually, Tony finds he’s actually enjoying himself.
He doesn’t even know when ‘Captain’ turned into ‘Steve’ in his thoughts.
And Steve, contrary to all expectations, starts asking Tony about science.
“I heard you have an AI?” Steve asks around his mouthful of pepperoni pizza.
“Excuse you,” Tony replies, indignant, “I created many AIs.”
“Are they all self-learning? Do you let them do unsupervised machine learning? Or are they supervised?”
Frowning, Tony reaches for his soda to help swallow the pizza crust he’d been nibbling on. “How do you even know those words?”
Steve blushes a curious shade of red. “I, uh, watch your Youtube videos.”
Tony chokes.
What? No. Not possible. “What? How? SHIELD can’t have given you a phone if they’re trying to keep you out of the loop.”
The grin that Steve sends back is blinding. “They didn’t. I went out and bought one of my own.”
Captain America is a little shit, and Tony should never have believed Howard’s stories of perfection – aside from Steve’s perfect face, perfect eyes, perfect ass –
“And you just decided to watch my ramblings?” Tony asks, cutting off his earlier strain of thought and trying to process the fact that Captain America has apparently gone through hours of his videos to understand about artificial intelligence.
“Well, I wanted to learn about the future.”
Oh, Tony realises, oh. He’s so stupid. Good god, he should have known. [email protected]. All those searches from ‘Crazy Steve’, when really, it had been the actual living, flesh and blood Steve Rogers.
Tony should tell Steve, shouldn’t he?
But that would mean revealing that Tony had toyed with Steve, pretending to be Edward, and how could Tony break that blinding smile? After all the lies Steve has gone through in the scant time he’s been in the future, Tony doesn’t want this lie to be the one that actually drives Steve mad.
So, instead, Tony settles on saying, “generally, people go to Wikipedia.”
“Boring,” Steve mumbles around his mouthful of the eighth pizza. The family running this small pizza parlour is getting a hell of a tip from Tony. He’ll even drop another scholarship for their second daughter. Steve swallows and continues, “your videos are far more entertaining.”
And really, what can Tony say to that?
“Right. I’m the best. But, we haven’t talked about your living arrangements,” Tony deflects.
Steve simply shrugs, finally taking a napkin and wiping his mouth. “I like my apartment. I’ve messed with SHIELD’s bugs, and the florist by the corner gives me a flower when I pass by them on my run.”
“Of course they do,” Tony mutters. “Thing is, I’m not moving to Brooklyn. Are you done eating?”
“For now,” Steve nods, “and the thing is, I’m not moving to California.”
Tony smiles. “Good thing my Tower’s one week away from opening.”
Steve snorts, leaning back with an all too innocent look. He takes a sip from his soda, meeting Tony’s eyes dead on. “What? Your Tower? That big, ugly building in the city?”
“That what?” Tony squawks.
It’s only later that night, in his apartment, that Steve realises he completely forgot about Edward. Steve had adamantly insisted that it would be wasteful for him to get a hotel room, and after a scrunch of his nose at Steve’s tiny Brooklyn apartment, Tony had decided there was no way they would both fit in it unless they shared a bed.
“No,” Steve had sternly said as Tony waggled his eyebrows teasingly. He is not ready to share a bed with Tony Stark, and he refuses to entertain the thoughts wondering what it would feel like to reach out and hold him, to tuck Tony under his chin and just feel the warmth of a person against the hollowness of his chest.
All of a sudden, it hit Steve that he hasn’t truly touched a person in the month that he’s been awake in the future, and when Tony had reached out to take Steve’s phone, their fingers brushing, it took all of Steve’s army training to freeze and not hold on.
“You’ve got good taste, Cap,” Tony had smirked when he saw the StarkPhone, “although you’re due for an upgrade. National security and all that.”
Steve wonders if Tony was actually flirting with him – Steve is a disaster with women, but with men like Tony? He’s a catastrophe.
Fortunately, Steve hadn’t been given the chance to embarrass himself further, because after leaving his number in Steve’s phone, Tony had gone to a nearby hotel for the night.
And yet, the hollowness in Steve aches deeper, having been giving the sweet taste of touch and having it taken away so quickly.
Even now, Steve is itching to send a message to Tony.
It’s past one in the morning, and Tony must be asleep, so it would be useless to send a message, Steve tries to rationalise with his urges, sinking further into bed and scrolling mindlessly through the endless list of video recommendations in his phone.
He wants to click one of them, to let Tony’s voice fill the silence of the apartment that somehow feels even emptier than it had been yesterday, but the recordings now feel like a paltry substitute for the real Tony.
And it must say something, mustn’t it, that Steve only needs one day with Tony to fall even more for the man? There’s something electric and addicting to Tony’s crackling energy that forces life into the haze of Steve’s consciousness, and there’s a kindness to Tony’s eyes that remind Steve there’s still some good left in this world.
Eventually, Steve groans in frustration, closing the Youtube application and letting his thumb wander over to the mailbox icon, tapping on it to bring up his latest message with Edward. There hasn’t been any reply yet, and Steve supposes a message to the AI would be a close enough substitute to settle his wandering mind.
Rolling over to his side to make the typing easier, Steve starts drafting a short message, debating what to fill in the subject line. He could just leave it blank, but then would Edward’s systems bother to open the message?
From: [email protected]
Sent: Saturday, 11 May 2011 on 01:32
Subject: Checking Up
Dear Edward,
I hope you are feeling better and your legal issues are solved. I met your creator today. He’s amazing, and I know he’s more than brilliant enough to fix your problems.
Best,
Steve
He doesn’t know what else to write, and so he hastily sends it before he can doubt himself even more.
As the little bubble pops up to inform him that the email’s been sent, Steve feels some of the worry lift off his shoulders.
Then, because he really has poor control over his impulses, he opens the text messaging app Tony taught him about earlier as they’d fought over the last donut, and he frowns at his meagre contact list.
Natasha’s name has been changed into ‘Triple Imposter’ and Clint’s into ‘Legolas’. On the very top of the list is ‘Hot Genius’.
Laughing, Steve taps on that one. With only three contacts on his phone, it’s easy to tell who’s who, and Steve decides not to bother changing them back.
Tony will most likely mess with them again, anyway.
The screen changes and a keyboard appears. What does Steve write, though? Something simple, not too presumptuous or revealing, he supposes.
I had a wonderful time
I can’t wait for tomorrow
No, that would be too much, too soon, Steve thinks, groaning. It had been so easy to strike up conversation with Tony throughout the entire day. Why is it so hard to think of what to say, now?
Hope that you got to your room safe
Thank you for today.
That’s neutral enough, right? It doesn’t imply anything or expect anything more.
He hits send.
“Sir, you have a new message from an unknown number. Its electronic trace leads back to where you have recently marked Captain Rogers’ apartme – ”
“What does it say?” Tony cuts over JARVIS, and the email page on his tablet morphs into the messaging app.
There, right on top of Pepper’s 99+ angry messages and Peter’s voice note, is a short ‘thank you for today’ that sends his heart flip-flopping like a goddamn teenager even as the guilt weighs down his stomach.
He’d just read Steve’s latest email to ‘Edward’, and Tony really doesn’t know what to do with the guilty pleasure that had rushed through him at knowing how impressed Steve was with him. Ridiculous, is what it is.
He’s not a teenager, he doesn’t get crushes.
He just falls deep and fast.
And that’s why he finds his hands flying unconsciously across the keyboard, writing and sending a message before he can think too much of it.
My pleasure. Btw burned your shirt already
He hasn’t actually done that. He’d taken the shirt to a dry cleaner with very stern delivery instructions.
Only after the two ticks appear to signal the delivery of the message does Tony wonder what Steve is doing up at this hour. Is he spending hours on end watching Tony’s videos? Does he have trouble sleeping?
Of course he does, Tony files the information away – Tony still has trouble sleeping with memories of Afghanistan, and for Steve, the Second World War had just ended a month ago.
It takes all of Tony’s restraint to not ask JARVIS to check on Steve, although he does ask JARVIS to passively monitor Steve’s search history for any signs of a downward spiral. For national safety, Tony tries to justify it to himself, it isn’t because he cares for Steve – he certainly does not care too deeply for the man.
The …typing that appears on top of the chat screen short circuits his thoughts, and for five minutes Tony waits increasingly nervous and expectant at what Steve’s reply might be, and then –
Shame, I’d have loved to watch you take it off.
Tony finds a bubble of shocked laughter force its way past his lips, and a few seconds later, another two messages come in quick succession:
Sorry, my phone AI activated autoreply and sent that.
I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable.
Good god, Tony cackles.
The official name F.R.I.D.A.Y. had was Female Remote Intelligence Digital Assistant Youth, but nearly everyone in Stark R&D knew that her name really stood for Female Rebel Intelligence Digital Assistant Youth. Somehow, during the coding of her personality configuration based on JARVIS, Tony had forgotten to trim out the self-learning humour algorithm, and while some customers bemoaned her strong personality, many more had become attached to her quirks.
Tony grins to himself, shaking his head and sending two messages back to Steve:
Her name’s FRIDAY, and why are you making your phone flirt with me for you?
And don’t worry, my pants are the only thing becoming uncomfortable
The reply that Steve promptly sends is short, but Tony can hear the supressed laugh in the words, knowing exactly the shape of the small quirk that must be on Steve’s lips:
Go to sleep, Tony.
It is approaching two in the morning, and if they’re going to do anything fun tomorrow before Tony has to leave for Malibu, then he better catch some rest. Still, he can’t stand not having the last word, so he types one last message, half joking and half because Tony thinks Steve should listen to himself:
Only if you sleep with me
Locking his tablet, Tony sighs and stands from the sofa, walking towards his bed and falling heavily into it, staring up at the ceiling.
He is so, so much trouble.
It isn’t the best practice to ask out a man who’s very recently come out of a war and is missing seventy years’ worth of time, who is dealing with grief and loss while adjusting to new cultural norms and therefore must be in no mind to enter a relationship.
Maybe Tony should tone down his flirting – it’s his default mode, and Steve gives as good as he gets, but maybe it would help if Tony showed some restraint? And yet, Tony knows how bitter it is to have people change their behaviour because they think he’s fragile or feel sorry for his soiree in a cave.
In a few months or a year, perhaps, Tony will ask. For now, he’ll show Steve that the future is worth living in, that there’s more to life than fighting endless wars.
His thoughts finally resolved, Tony closes his eyes at last.
And when he does fall asleep, he sleeps with a smile.