Trial and Error

“Did you consider my proposal?”

A tapping sound stopped at the question and Steve frowned. He hadn’t realized he’d been tapping his fingers on the armrest in a nervous beat, “Yes. I did.”

“And?”

Although it pained him, he smiled anyway as he felt the return of the unpleasant emotions he had been struggling since Dr. Alloway’s proposal and made a point of letting the irritation linger a moment, before taking a deep breath. Really, Steve wasn’t so much annoyed at the idea of visiting the UN headquarters as he was irritated at himself because despite all these years, he couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable that people still believed in the Accords.

Logically, he knew the Sokovia Accords made sense in theory. In theory. It was nice theory, to have check and balances but Steve was aware that it was nearly impossible to control enhanced individual to international regulation—at least the way the UN planned to—and time had proven again and again that the Accords didn’t hold much credibility  in real world, therefore, he saw no point of it.  

It didn’t matter, though, the Accords still existed. Had for years. And judging his past experiences and current political climate, it was going stay there for more years, perhaps forever. It was time. Time to get over his hang-ups.

Still, Steve couldn’t help be uneasy.

He cleared his throat, feeling as if he was facing a firing squad, “I went there the next day you suggested.” He flicked his eyes down the floor and wished he was hiding behind the Captain America’ cowl—the  rasp of the leather on his skin was oddly comfortable, somewhat affirming, even though most of the time he ended sticky with his own sweat—but he hadn’t worn it since . . .  after Siberia. Steve nearly shook his head at his dark thoughts and focused on the conversation. “Truth to be told, I went there next day after you suggested the assignment. I figured that maybe seeing the UN would serve a purpose to . . .  I don’t know, ease my fears?”

Dr. Alloway didn’t look surprised at this revelation. She merely nodded. “You didn’t think  for a long time.”

“I didn’t have to,” Steve admitted. “After you mentioned the UN or their liaisons offices, it was all I could think about.”

“Of what did you think?”

“What they wanted from us. The Avengers,” he added as an afterthought.

She tilted her head with a frown, not quite understanding. “Isn’t that rather obvious?”

“That what I thought of it too, except it took me awhile to realize that while one hundred forty-seven nations wanted to set up a system of accountability for us, the UN is another matter entirely. They’re a different entity on its own who served a middleman between us, the Avengers, and the other countries.” 

“Is that why you went?” Dr. Alloway asked. “Because you think they have another reason regarding your teammates and you?”

“Yes.”

The doctor’s expression didn’t give anything about her thoughts but her voice was, perhaps, a touch of perturbed as she said, “Okay.” She paused for a brief moment and then, “I’m going to shelve that particular line of thought for another time.”

Steve frowned, wondering what she meant by that and he opened his mouth to ask, then closed it promptly when Dr. Alloway regarded at him as if he was specimen under the microscope and it was all Steve could do to keep himself from squirming.

“So,” she began with a pleasant tone, “You went to the United Nations. How was it?”

He relaxed slightly, grateful that it was a question he could answer, even though it gave him a complicated mix of anxiety and gratitude churn in his chest. “It was . . .” He paused, searching for the right word, “. . . interesting.”  

****

Flags. Hundreds of them. It was the first thing Steve noticed when he walked down the First Avenue.  

They were lined on flagpoles, fluttering lazily in the hot wind of summer and Steve never had seen so many vibrant and every bright color imaginable in one place and nearly all of them looked oddly out place with other flags.

Watching the flags was like a déjà vu to Steve, in a lot of ways. Standing in the middle of the sidewalk, Steve could almost taste the acrid smoke in his mouth and feel the grime dig in on his face, and he could almost see gloom fill the bombed city before him with thick, heavy, dark grayness. There had been a flag there, hanging on the half-broken statue, dirtied and tattered almost beyond recognition; Steve could see the badly sewn Star of David emblazoned on the center.

He recalled feeling an odd sense of pride back then, in World War II,  when he stared at the six-pointed star. There was nothing but satisfaction in Steve, even at the face of destruction around him, even fascist men who set this society with racial hierarchy who justified this war, this cruelty, the countless deaths and then there was that Star of David flag said one single thing more than words could against those men:

No. 

That tattered flag gave Steve something he never felt before, like having that complete certainty, like knowing the sky was blue or that his mom’s hands were calloused. It was like falling, like flying. It was—this was it. This was why he fought back. This was why he became Captain America.

Now, Steve could almost feel that same sense or feeling as he saw the hundred colorful flags of different nations in one place on the sidewalk and it astounded him that there were so many countries out there, with different sets of culture, different values and a thousand dialects and all were able to overcome their barriers and petty differences to work together for one common goal. This was what he hoped for, to see after the war—if he survived. Peace, unity, just togetherness.

The United Nations had succeeded where the League of Nations couldn’t.

It made everything he went through, frozen in ice for years, waking in a strange time and enduring it almost worth it. Almost.

Someone on a bicycle came from the opposite direction and barreled onto Steve’s path. He dodged just in time to avoid being clipped by the handlebar.

“Hey! Watch out!” Steve growled, suddenly angry — because he didn’t want to be reminded this is what he had fought for? Being nearly clipped by a cyclist on a sidewalk who had no respect for safety or personal space? The idiot wasn’t even wearing the helmet.

He paused, taken aback by the ferocity of his own thoughts. Steve realized he sounded like those angry veterans he’d seen at one Sam’s group meeting sessions.  

Steve forced himself to exhale, albeit shakily. Inhale. Another exhale. He relaxed slightly, some of the tension leaving his body almost against his will, and Steve resigned himself to feeling embarrassed and out sorts.

He glanced up, past the flags, expecting a heavy and intimidating fortified place—as if to ward off outsiders—but instead he found a rather friendly looking tall-glass building that reflected the blue sky and the clouds above, surrounded by smaller buildings inside the perimeter fence. It nearly reminded him of Stark’s Tower, except without flash and dazzle, and practical enough for a place that promoted global affairs and peacekeeping organization.

At least the security inside was okay, Steve mused to himself as he passed through the security checkpoints after showing his ID, barely getting a glance. Steve couldn’t help but think it could’ve been better as he recalled two incidents of terrorist attacking: one after the fall of Shield, and another, a bombing by superpowered terrorists just when the first Accords were about to be ratified.

The lobby looked surprisingly intact and proud despite the bombing when Steve flicked his gaze around the tessellated glass walls. He couldn’t see where the new structures mingled with the old. In fact, it looked all the same, awash with futuristic touches, littered with impressive artworks and towering trees. Steve would’ve preferred to wander around for a bit longer; however, a deeply accented-voice called his attention.

“Commander Rogers?”

He turned and saw a dark-haired, lean, middle-aged woman staring at him. She was taller than average, nearly beating Steve’s height, and her face was strangely fascinating: sharp jawbones and clean angles with an olive complexion. It should’ve been unappealing, but the shape of her eyebrows and cheekbones prevented it from being so. Instead, it gave her an air of unconventional beauty.

She smiled as she held out her hand, and Steve noted the smile it didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m Mara Dalca. I’m sub-director of the UN liaison of the Sokovia Accords. I’m afraid Director Weaver won’t be able to make meet with you today. Instead, I’ll be escorting you around.” She paused as if realizing there was something missing. Then she added, “If you prefer the company.”

Steve blinked, trying to place her accent. If he had to guess, it was somewhere from Baltic Sea, but anything specific, he was at a loss.

“Nice to meet you.” He shook her hand automatically but he couldn’t help but be discomfited by her presence.  Steve summoned a smile, managing to keep on his face but he had a feeling it came off as a grimace, “You know, when I called to see if I could come here, I didn’t expect anyone to show up.”

For some reason, her smile tightened, “We usually don’t,” she stated, glancing somewhere over Steve’s shoulder, “but you’re a special case.”

Steve frowned. “How so?”

Her gaze returned to him. “For one, you’re a newcomer and you’re on the list.” She pulled out a chip badge from her breast-pocket that bore a picture of Steve’s face and his name with UN logo stamped on the center. “Here. This is your badge.”

She said as if it explained everything but Steve didn’t get it, staring at badge with bewilderment. “The list?”

If she was surprised at Steve’s confusion, she didn’t show it. “You’re a member of the Accords,” Mara replied. “It means you have more than public access here—at least anything associated with the Avengers— within reason, of course.”

Dazed, Steve took the badge and a frown formed on his face as he stared at his own smiling picture in his hand. He hadn’t expected this would be this easy and Steve couldn’t help but wonder if there was a catch.  

“I assume you want to start the tour as soon as possible.” Mara gestured to the elevator. “Follow me.”

For a brief second, Steve wanted to say something but followed the woman. He noted Mara moved with the familiar grace he had seen thousand times—languid and balanced yet deceptively rigid—a soldier then, like him.

She even had a face of a soldier—mouth firm, expression calm and uncompromising—not like Peggy, who always had the barest trace of smile curling around her red lips. Steve felt a sharp pang of nostalgia in his chest and he looked away just in time to see elevator’s doors close.

Uncomfortable with the oppressive silence, Steve shuffled his feet for a moment and blurted, “Just out curiosity—” Steve indicated at the badge. “—what does this entail?”

The woman gave him a side-glance look, perhaps gauging his sincerity, and Steve noted her eyes were very gray but extremely dull, her lashes long and dark, and Steve thought of winter sky and Bucky’s dead eyes and felt the familiar guilt return.

“Basically everything.” Somehow, she made the words infuriatingly bland. “You can attend any international or national council or committee and sub-committee meetings that handles a specific duty of the Accords. From there you can see the ins and outs of the system.”

Steve was grateful he was intrigued enough to push the guilt away. “Really?” He asked, “Are you part of the council?”

She shook her head. “No, but I’ve attended most of it.”

“What it’s like?”

She smiled unenthusiastically. “If it’s not an emergency or urgent, then it’s one of the most excruciating and infuriating experiences I’ve gone through. That said, if you’re going to attend it, you’re going have to suck it up, Commander Rogers—because if you have a problem with funding, equipment, treaties, protocols or any numbers of other issues that impact your Avengers’ duties, you’re going to need to come to these meetings. You can even participate to be on one of the sub-committees, which would let you process  complaints, introduce your ideas, inquire into the legal proceedings, or cast your vote, although it takes a while to be appointed.” She paused to stare at Steve. Something in her assessing look made the hair on the back of Steve’s neck rise away from his skin. “But I don’t recommend it.”

Steve narrowed his eyes at her, trying to figure out if he should feel insulted or not.

Regardless, she continued, “If you don’t want to go that road, you could go for developmental assistance or humanitarian aids relief, like Dr. Banner.”

Steve raised both eyebrows, surprised. “Bruce?”

Before Mara could answer, the elevator doors slid open and unsurprisingly, there was someone standing there, waiting for them. A flushed young person—barely in his twenties—holding a clipboard tight to his chest like a shield. His wide eyes took in Steve, blinking rapidly.

Steve felt uncomfortable at the man’s dazed expression, hoping the man before him wasn’t another Captain America fan. It wasn’t that Steve disliked people being star struck and gushing over how they admired him, or worse, thanking him for his service. Quite opposite in fact. It was simply a case of feeling discomfited at the undue attention. It felt undeserved.

Sighing wearily, Mara stepped out the elevator and Steve warily followed one step behind her, “Yes, Mr. Finlay?”

“Nothing. It’s nothing,” the man stammered, continuously sneaking glances at Steve, “I was just checking if you were—were—”

“I’m fine, as you can see,” she cut in with a fond, albeit exasperated, tone. “Just tell them to butt off.”

“But, Mrs. Dalc—”

“No, Mr. Finlay.” She grabbed his shoulders with both hands and turned him around to one of the corridors. “You have job to do. Now, Scram.” 

The crawling tension responsible for Steve’s stiff posture slowly eased as he watched warily the man disappear around the corner. “Does that happen a lot?”

“Sometimes.” There was a strange tone to her voice that he couldn’t define and he turned to look at her in curiosity.

There was nothing in her expression to indicate anything she was feeling. “So, where were we?”

Steve frowned, sensing something, something important, something in his gut that told him to pay attention. But what was it? Regardless, he couldn’t address it, not when Mara was looking at him expectantly.

“Humanitarian aid relief,” Steve finally answered, almost awkwardly, “You said Bruce had gone that route.”

Thinking of Bruce Banner had brought a complicated mixed feeling in Steve. He still wasn’t sure where he and Bruce stood after all this time. He knew it was bit hypocritical considering he was a member of the Accords, but Steve never would’ve expected, not in a million years, that Bruce would sign the Accords after Infinity War was over, not when Bruce had lot history between himself, Hulk and the military government—none of it good, in fact, most of them were disastrous—and yet Bruce signed it.

It made Steve bit uncomfortable, that he was unable to give protection to Bruce, or the Hulk. Just like he couldn’t protect Wanda or Bucky.

“Dr. Banner is actually doing excellent job about it. He has helped those who are injured or sick in various countries where available medical assistance remains well below the level of need .”

Steve blinked because that sounded familiar. “Didn’t he did those things before he joined Avengers?”

“Yes. Although, it’s a bit different since he now focuses those who were impacted by Thanos’ invasion, which still affects us to this day.”

Steve grimaced, recalling some places all over the world that had been hit so often and repeatedly by Kree armies, almost leaving them inhabited. Some cities have recovered quickly and bore no obvious damages while others, like developing countries, were still in a bad state of disrepair.

“Plus, he has our resources and contributions, which he didn’t have before.”

Well, that’s something, at least, Steve thought wryly. Truly, Steve was glad that for once something had gone right for his old friend, that this time Bruce wasn’t being chased or hiding alone despite a sense of purpose.  

“While his medical expertise is advantageous, health care is not the most successful accomplishment Dr. Banner has recently done.” Surprisingly, Mara’s face softened into something that looked like a pride and fondness, leaving Steve to wonder if they were friends rather acquaintance as he assumed.  Unsurprisingly, Steve didn’t like that thought.

She shook her head, “No, his most successful endeavor is agriculture. Last year, he organized scientists and engineers all around the world to implement digital farm labs available to others—even to the poorest person—in third-world countries that face starvation and famine. It’s slow going, considering that some supplies are harder to obtain or build, but it has reduced about 3.3  percent of starvation worldwide.”

Mara genuinely smiled, her shoulders lowering—Steve hadn’t even noticed that she was tense, to begin with—as she continued on excitedly, “With our task force collaboration, Dr. Banner also used his experiences as Hulk to execute emergency response plan to improve Avengers’ and S.H.I.E.L.D.’s or S.W.O.R.D.’s approach to alien and superpowered attacks in denser populations to reduce damages or civilian deaths.” She paused to eye him curiously. “I’m sure you’ve experienced those protocols firsthand.”

Steve scowled, remembering the five-week grueling mock drills. “You could say that,” he muttered, “but even with those tactics you set up, some death can’t be avoided. Usually, there’s collateral damage.”

She nodded as if she had expected this, “I would say you’re right but that’s a rather defeatist attitude. We know we can’t avoid all death, but we can help minimize or divert it out of the most densely populated areas. We can even contain the damages into one area.”

Steve felt the muscles of his jaw tighten. “By using dome shield, you mean?”

There was a small furrow between her eyebrows but it lasted for a second, cleared away from a quick realization, “Do you mean Stark Orb prototype?” she asked carefully. “The one that creates a ball of energy field? The one that protects you from projectiles outside the field?”

“The very same—except it doesn’t protect us. All does is trap us inside in one place with our enemies.”

It came out a bit harsher than Steve had expected to but to his surprise, Mara smiled at him. Although, there was no warmth in her eyes.

“That’s one point of view,” she said sweetly, and despite the cordial tone, she made it sound like the topic of the conversation was unwelcome. “It’s meant to be used as last resort. You have to remember that it’s a prototype—still in early stages—and should be used as such. It’s being currently modified into a better model, which I’m sure you’ll approve in the end.”

“I doubt it.”

Mara went on as if she hadn’t heard his biting retort. “Besides, with this device, the civilian causality ratio has dropped by one-point-five percent.”

He glared at her. “Is everything a number or statistic for you?”

“Isn’t that how you see the world?” she shot back and Steve opened his mouth to protest but she stopped him with a raised hand, annoyance etched onto her features. “Before you start your spiel, I must point out that your actions have demonstrated that this is the case. Don’t believe me? I have seen and read enough to know that your usual preference of battlefield is around populated areas while ignoring the international and national laws protocols and regulations as evidenced by media and dozens of eyewitness accounts.”

A cold numbness came over Steve, leaving him feeling stranded and untethered. Steve couldn’t help but think of Rick Jones. He was intimately familiar with this feeling—shame and guilt—but he wasn’t ready to back down, his own anger having not abated in the slightest. Instead, it incensed him further, balking at her words, at the heavy sensation being judged by a paper-pushing bureaucrat who couldn’t understand the dangers of being Avenger, regardless of her experience as a soldier. She wasn’t him. She never woke up seventy years later only to find everything he ever has known and loved was gone. Mara never faced hordes of Chitahuri, Ultron’s countless robots, Kree soldiers, and Thanos. Mara never felt the crushing pressure of responsibility bear down on her shoulder like he did every single day.

Mara had no right to judge him, not with that comment, especially not for that last disastrous mission which she alluded to. 

“The Golden Gate was an accident and you know it,” Steve all but growled.

Mara stood there for a moment and stared at him in surprise before she narrowed her eyes at him. “I wasn’t referring to that incident,” she stated flatly, “but thank you, you just gave me another perfect example.”

For the longest heartbeat, they glared at each other. It only seemed to continue for a minute more but Steve managed to hold her gaze, despite the silent rage flickering behind her eyes.

Finally, she said with a cool voice, “Do you still want the tour?”  

The question caught Steve off guard, his eyes widening, trying to figure of her motivations. Unsure what else to do, Steve nodded.

“Good.” The woman gave him a somewhat unimpressed look before, “Shall we?” Mara walked—well no, marched—down to the corridor, her sensible heels clicking at the polished floors of the corridors and Steve hesitantly fell to her side for the lack of a better idea.

Steve was aware his cheeks were burning with embarrassment, now that the irritation had left him and he realized he had lost control of his temper and acted like an ass. Just because the woman was out of line, it didn’t mean Steve had the right to stoop down to her level. He was supposed to be above that. Steve was a Commander—head of security of the United Sates—for god’s sake and he needed to start taking responsibility for his temper.

While Steve searched for a topic that wouldn’t set off an emotional minefield between them, Mara halted, looking something ahead of her. Steve lifted his head to look at the source of her attention and found walls that were made entirely of glass few feet from him. Inside, Steve could see it was some kind of open office, filled with a volume of people inside, some moving with extreme urgency with tablets on their hands and others sat at their own computer consoles. At the end of the room, there was a series of dozen plasma screen that took the entire space of a wall.

To Steve, it looked like a cross of Control Room of a NASA and Stark’s Tower workplace with all interactive hologram technology included and it was enormous.

“What is this?” Steve whispered, awed.

“You could say it’s our base of operation.” Mara informed him and for some strange reason, Steve noted that she pronounced the ‘l’ in 'operation' very clearly. “This is the place where the magic happens.”

Steve craned his head to look at her. “Like what?”

A handful of seconds ticked past, then Mara lifted her finger to point at someone inside the room. “You see this man?”

Steve followed the line of her finger and saw a short, bald-headed, scrawny man inside the room. The man was busy frowning down at the tablet while he chattered someone the other end of his headset. “The one with a white shirt?”

“Yes. This is Tommy Rivera, Disaster Relief Coordinator, who is in charge organizing a relief aid that focuses on superhuman related damages—whether be inhuman, aliens, mutants or enhanced individuals. His team used to work in different departments and non-profit organizations like WHO, OCHA, UNHCR, CARE, Mercy Corps and I could go on but the point is, they’re very competent and their expertise at the face of crisis zones is very helpful indeed.” Her eyes bored into Steve. His expression must’ve required clarification because she said, “What they do is find temporary housings for the newly homeless, coordinate the governments for cooperation, mobilize food, provide clean water, medical supplies, transportation and so on.”

Steve blinked, about to process this information but before he could do that, Mara moved her pointed finger to another man, this time a sharply-dressed man who was talking to a woman in her fifties. “You won’t find Tommy without Ahmed Kader, Head of Recovery Reconstruction. His job consists of obtaining governmental cooperation from other countries or states to figure out who should pay the damages, gauging the level of destruction, and bringing his group of structural engineers.  They specialize in disasters like Japan’s earthquake and Johannesburg and can re-build a demolished a ruined city into bigger and better structures to withstand many possible future disasters.

“The woman chatting with him is Mei Ruan, Head of Emergency Response. She’s OCHA’s liaison, which is here, on the thirteenth floor. ”  Her hand fell back to her side as she frowned before musing aloud, “I think she got the hardest job of anyone in that room. Her job is mostly time sensitive and urgent. Sometimes, during a superhuman attack, she and her teams have to steer the government and local city council to issue a state of emergency or state of alert, either over the entire country or within a specific region, which is a near impossibility when most of the countries prefer to manage their own superhuman crises or a legitimate government may not exist. Then she deploys her international teams at short notice anywhere in the world with the affected or to-be-affected country’s consent to the emergency site to help the evacuation process, work with the local authorities, assist the urban search and rescue, or take care its victims or other emergency occurring in the territory.” She flicked one single eyebrow. “That’s just the basics.”

Steve wanted to whistle, astonished by such incredible feat but he knew Mara was far from finished.

“Over there at the end of the room Michael Winn, Inhuman Relations Specialist and an Inhuman himself.”

“What?” Steve couldn’t help but jerk in surprise. “Inhuman?” And then he winced at his reaction. He knew it was the wrong thing to say and the implication wasn’t lost on Mara because her lips pursed into a tight line.

“Yes, here.” Her voice was flat. “We also have over seventy enhanced individuals working in UN departments all around the world who aren’t Avengers or superheroes, including Hulk, a former Avenger himself for example, if that has slipped your mind. We also have extraterrestrials here—Asgardians and Krylorian—on the sixth and ninth floor. Shall we go downstairs to meet them?” she suggested in her usual sweet voice, one that promised a painful death if he accepted it.

Embarrassment and irritation twisted up inside him and Steve swallowed a biting retort on the tip of his tongue. “I meant no offense,” he said carefully. “I was just surprised.”

It was enough to mollify her and she straightened up. “I apologize,” she groused out, “I was rude.”

“My tone certainly didn’t help matters,” he admitted with chagrin.

She nodded, chewing on the inside of her cheek. “Still, that’s no excuse for me to berate you.”

Steve swallowed, unsure what else he should say. He eyed at the inhuman person behind the console and figured that perhaps this was the safest topic to broach. “So, Michael Winn. What he does do?”

It was apparent it was the right question to ask because Mara relaxed slightly. “Ever since the fourth outbreak of Terrigenesis, Mr. Winn has worked to find the newly Inhuman people who are struggling to harness their powers. He helps them to get through their transitions. He has training programs to guide them to control their power and integrate them back into society, slowly, of course.”

“What happens if he’s not lucky with some of them?” Actually, that wasn’t what Steve wanted to say. He wanted to point her out that he remembered the tracking devices on the untrained superpowered people, but he didn’t. Besides, Stark had assured them that practice wasn’t used anymore since the second ratification of the Accords, so the point was moot.

“Well, usually he sends them to the Avenger Institutes since they have better training regimen and has a better ratio of success.”

“But isn’t that for the kids?”

Clearly amused, she shook her head, “Actually, you’re thinking Avenger Academy, which is for children and teenagers. It’s quite different.” She gave a slight shrug, “You’re not the only person who gets one mixed with the other.”

Steve blinked, feeling bit lost. He wasn’t aware there was another Avenger establishment—one for untrained adults. In hindsight, it should’ve been rather obvious, and as an Avenger, shouldn’t he have known that? Worse, as a Commander, wasn’t his responsibility to pay attention to Avengers’ matters?

But it wasn’t too late, Steve desperately thought as he glanced at Mara.

“What happens if someone isn’t inhuman? What happens if it’s something like me or Vision?”

“Then that task falls on Eva Janssen.” Mara indicated with a nod of her head at the white-blonde haired woman behind the console. “She specializes nearly everything, ranging from enhanced individuals to aliens. Basically, the same as Mr. Winn if she encounters enhanced individual struggling with powers.”

“How about people who have a handle on their powers? People who are out there, trying to save someone from others.”

“You mean masked heroes?”

The question made Steve a little uncomfortable but eventually, he nodded.

“Mrs. Janssen would give them the option to sign the Accords, which allows them to continue as they did before, but we would keep tabs on them. Sometimes they have to undergo practice drills with the Avengers’ or UN’s special task force’s guidance to minimize civilian causalities or property damages, and, if needed, they can ask for their local authorities’ backup. Sometimes we ask them to aid us in some cases.”

Steve hung on her every word but wasn’t entirely news for him. Stark had explained this couple times but there were questions Steve never dared to ask aloud, mostly because it was rather uncomfortable to be in same room with a man Steve had lied for years. Out guilt, Steve didn’t press.

But with Mara, he could. “And if they don’t sign it?”

Mara met his eyes again “Then we initiate plan b. Compromise between both parties.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “If they won’t sign in, then masked heroes would need a handler, preferably one who is a member of Accords—but it can be S.H.I.E.L.D. or S.W.O.R.D. or even a law firm specializing in enhanced individuals—who can vouch for them. The handler has to give us a reason why they are allowed to fight crime, investigate, and remain a secret identity without our supervision. The handler must leave an open line of communication between us and the non-signatory, no exceptions. For instance, if something goes sideways, and a civilian got hurt under the non-signatory’s eyes, then the handler must negotiate the terms between police and other authorities and help us to assess the damages.” She tilted her head thoughtfully. “In such case, we must send our investigators to see if the handler or the non-signatory had been compromised or corrupted by unknown forces or inexpert on certain matters that could be avoided.” 

It all sounded very reasonable but Steve was still waiting for the shoe to drop. “Daredevil is one of them, right? As the non-signatory?”

“Yes, his handlers are Hogarth, Chao and Benowitz, although Daredevil is rather a special case. All of his handlers have signed the Accords, but are not superheroes themselves, and are entirely unpowered.”

“Huh,” Steve said out loud in mild surprise. He didn’t know someone who was ordinary—who didn’t have any kind of technological-abilities or powers—could sign the Accords. Natasha and Clint had been two of them—non-enhanced individuals—but Steve couldn’t categorize them as ordinary people since they were anything but.

Steve blinked as something occurred him. Had the members of the Panels signed the Accords too? “Do the Accords affect them as they do to us?”

Her expression was clouded with confusion. “I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

“Say, if we don’t abide the Accords, we get punished, right?”

Mara stared at him blankly. “Are you asking if they are subjected to the same conditions if they deviate from Accords’ regulations?”

“I guess.”

“At some level, they do,” she replied, her face pensive. “Their handling duties are revoked, effective immediately and they’re restricted to any superheroes events, legalities or anything related. If we find any evidence of misconduct, like the handler has counseled or helped the non-signatory to commit a crime, then they are charged by UN Security and will be prosecuted by international courts.”

He felt his eyebrows work into something that wasn’t quite frown. At some level, it disturbed him and he wasn’t sure why it did. Maybe because the whole thing sounded too cold and authoritarian.  

“Any more questions?” Mara prompted when he didn’t say anything else.

“Uh, yeah, can you tell me more about them?” Steve thumbed at the room.

This earned him a curious face, both eyebrows raising. “Okay,” she agreed, surveying the room before her eyes settled on someone. “In the far-left corner is Abdu Okoye, specializing in research, intel and investigation. His department supervises more than dozen people in the field from every other department in this room. His departments' function is to identify and follow any enhanced individual or technologically-advanced threats to international peace and security. It’s a very crucial job, from which he has to provide all the available information to the Panels and the Security Council to see if any intervention is needed.”

“Like Avengers?” Steve asked, eyes narrowing again.

“Not exactly,” She answered after a moment. “The Avengers and its affiliates are used as last resort when there are no other options available to us.” She gave him a tight smile, her eyes speaking volumes—Steve wasn’t sure why it did in first place.

In hindsight, Steve should have taken her expression as a warning. 

“No. Instead, we send the Enhanced Individuals Crisis Task Force—EICT for short—to evaluate the threat.” Steve noticed Mara’s eyes swept back and forth in the room, perhaps looking for someone while saying, “And I believe you know the leader of the EICT—ah—” She pointed somewhere on the left in the room. “There she is.”

Steve glanced in the direction she pointed and froze when he saw someone he didn’t expect to see here—of all places.

“S-Sharon?” Steve stammered, absolutely poleaxed. “Sharon Carter works here?”

Standing across him was, without doubt, Sharon Carter with a frown on her face as she looked down at the folder in her hands, but it wasn’t the Sharon he had come to know in last seven years. The change was shocking, almost acute. For one, Sharon was strangely wearing a white buttoned up suit-dress instead of her trademark leather jacket, cargo pants, and combat boots. It wasn’t something Steve had expected to find in Sharon’s closet— maybe a pantsuit if a situation required but not like that— and not as quite diverse—even her hair was longer, straighter and toned slightly darker blonde so that it looked almost brown.

“Yes, has been working with us nearly for a year,” Mara confirmed, sounding far away to Steve’s ears “You used to work with her, didn’t you? In the Secret Avengers?”

Worked with her. . .  Steve thought bitterly. As if their relationship could be described like that—former co-workers and nothing else. As if everything they had gone through didn’t matter, just fleeting things.

“We were . . .” Together. Steve wanted to say, but that word wasn’t enough to encapsulate everything they were to each other. Instead, he amended, “Yeah, we used to work together.”

Beyond the glass, he could see a strange little smile quirk the corner of Sharon’s mouth, perhaps finding something amusing on the files she read, which made Steve’s heart race. He wished his mouth wasn’t dry or his shoulders tense or that it was less hard to think around her because this was the first time they’d been this close to each other in ages.

Part of him was ecstatic at the sight of her. Steve still loved her although the feeling was mired in disbelief, rage and guilt.

He could almost hear her wavering voice as if she was next to him, the last words she had said before she left with a duffel bag in her hand:

“I can’t do this anymore. Us, I mean. Not like this. It’s not worth it.” With a shaky breath, she pressed the final nail in the coffin, “Not for me.” 

Steve fought to keep his expression impassive as he watched Sharon, even though he wanted to barge into that room and ask why? Why here? or why did you leave me? Even though he knew the answer to that question. Even though he wanted to hug her, scream at her as much he wanted to leave.

“Commander Rogers?”

He blinked and tore his eyes from Sharon to look at the woman standing next to him.

There was an unrecognizable emotion in Mara’s eyes as she asked, “Would you like go inside and meet them?”

Suddenly, Steve finally figured the emotion flickering in her eyes: a good deal of pity mixed in with the uncertainty. With a growing embarrassment, it dawned on Steve that Mara was giving him a way out. Steve wanted to shake her, to make him stop staring like that, but he was also grateful even though it made his skin prickle in shame.

Steve licked his lips, then cleared his throat. “No,” Steve managed, “I’m okay. I think I’ve seen enough here.”

She glanced between Sharon and Steve, back and forth, something shifting in her expression, and it looked oddly like a guilt or pleasure. Steve couldn’t tell. “Very well. Come, there’s more to see around.”

Neither of them seemed to be moving, though, but eventually, Mara did, taking few reluctant steps backward and then turning to head for another corridor, pausing a bit when she looked back to see if he had followed her to find he hadn’t.

At Mara’s questioning expression, Steve turned his head and took one last, long look at Sharon—who was still unaware of Steve’s gaze on her—a felt that familiar feeling again, feeling helpless and guilty and lost, like there were vast canyon stretching between them, leaving him an impossible distance to cross.

He had thought he was past dealing this, that he had moved on, that he had accepted this chapter of his life was over for good.

Apparently not.

With a bitter smile, Steve turned and followed to Mara’s wake.  

******

“You’re right,” Dr. Alloway spoke up after Steve finished regaling his experience at the UN, dragging the words in an infuriating tone Steve had begun to hate ever since he met her, a blend of surprise and intrigue. 

“About what?”

“It is interesting.” 

Steve wanted to sigh in exasperation or roll his eyes or both but he did neither of those things. Instead, he glared at her. 

Unfazed, Dr. Alloway smiled at him. “I’m actually serious.”

“Right,” Steve muttered, almost under his breath.

“What I find it interesting is that you were constantly surprised by the tour.” She paused to brush a stray hair from her face and the action was normal to Steve and yet it disconcerted him. “Care to tell me why is that?”

Steve considered going with his first instincts, which was to change the subject to something more pleasant than diving shark-infested waters. After one look at the doctor’s calm expression, Steve changed his mind.

He decided to be honest. Because, really, what was the point of being in therapy?

“Back then. . .” Steve started hesitantly. “When I was a kid, I sat on the sidewalk outside the barbershop because they had radio loud enough for us to hear baseball game. No matter how hot or cold it was, I was there, listening. One day, the barber opted to listen to the news instead baseball and it was talking the League of Nations.”

“Ah,” the doctor said, intrigued. She looked, somehow, impossibly as if she knew exactly where Steve is going with this.

Steve continued, frowning at the memory, “The host was cheering that the League had refused to let the ‘loser’ countries join them because they were defeated in the Great War, or they didn’t fit the League’s idea of what a country should be, like Russia. I was confused why the radio host was applauding for the League’s mandate, forcing the ex-colonies who wanted the independence back into colonialism.

“I didn’t understand then. I was a kid, you know.” Steve shrugged, “But even as a kid, I knew it was wrong.” He licked his dry lips before smiling fondly. “Then I grew bit older and Mom saved enough money to buy a radio for a present on my birthday.” He could almost feel the thin-arms wrapping around his shoulders and smell her soap-scented skin.

“How old were you?” 

“I just turned thirteen.” He answered, feeling his lips twist into a smile before falling away, “Funny thing is, the moment I turned it on, it was talking about Manchurian Crisis.”

Dr. Alloway’s both eyebrows arched in surprise and for some reason, her expression gave Steve the courage to continue.

“It took me awhile to realize the League was delaying their decision on the conflict between Japan and Chinese and from the expression on my mom’s face, I think she knew. That we were heading for another war.” His lips thinned. “Me? I understood completely how useless the League of Nations was on 7^th March, when Hilter marched his troops on the France-occupied territory.”

And for a moment, Steve was there again, in that small kitchen, staring at the newspaper with growing dread, the headlines burning to his mind: GERMAN TROOP MARCHES RHINELAND. PARIS DEMAND LEAGUE TO SEND TROOPS TO RHINE.

He blinked, coming back to himself to the present and flicked his eyes to the doctor. He found her watching him, waiting. “When I went to the UN. . . I expected them to be more like the League of Nations. Useless.” He scrubbed the back of his neck, sighing. “I felt my fear was pretty much confirmed when I saw Ross as he handed us the Accords.”

“Ross?” Dr. Alloway asked, confused momentarily. “You mean Thaddeus Ross? Former Secretary of State?”

“Yes.”

The doctor squinted her eyes at him, “Wasn’t Mr. Ross impeached from his position and then imprisoned for gross overreach of authority as a General and Secretary of State?”

“The very same.”

Dr. Alloway cocked her head, waiting for Steve to elaborate. After moments of silence, she decided to point out, “Wasn’t it the UN who exposed Mr. Ross and brought the charges on him to proper authorities?”

“Under Stark’s and Rhodes’ persuasion,” Steve bit out, tilting his chin defiantly. “I think UN did it just to protect themselves from public outrage.”

“Maybe,” Dr. Alloway allowed but no further. “Do you concede the UN did have the choice to ignore Ross’ actions before or during or after the Accords?  What's more, they could’ve brushed it under the rug to avoid the political fallout after finding out the State of Secretary used unfavorable methods under the Accord’s guise. However, the fact that the UN didn’t ignore or wash their hands of Ross was a sign that they did not approve his actions. They did not defend Ross or anyone who was involved.”

Steve didn’t feel entirely convinced. “I’m aware of this, but it doesn’t change the fact they didn’t stop him from throwing the rest of the Avengers in the Raft.”

Unfazed by the venom in Steve’s voice, she shot back smoothly, “Did the UN know this?”

Steve opened his mouth, then let closed with a huff, his brow drawing together. “No,” Steve admitted reluctantly, remembering the anger, the disgust, the political frenzy to have the Raft destroyed immediately. “It became clear that Ross was doing it behind the UN's back.”

“I see.”

The silence stretched out between them as Dr. Alloway studied Steve for a moment. Steve refused to look away from her scrutiny, meeting her assessing gaze unflinchingly.

“Commander Rogers, do you realize you view everything negatively or with extreme suspicion?”  Dr. Alloway said bluntly.   

This caught him so completely off guard that Steve did a double-take. “What do you mean?”

“What I mean is that you have a rigid approach which doesn’t allow you to perceive anyone without negative connotation or, as you said a couple of times, ‘agendas’. What worries me is that you don’t regard others in a positive association, or you are unable to understand their choices when they differ from yours.”

“Not all of them,” Steve disagreed adamantly, feeling the indignation rise to burn across the nape of his neck. “Besides, this . . .  ‘approach’ has saved my skin coupla time.”

“That may be, but answer me this, Commander Rogers: have you sustained any long-lasting relationships—whether they be romantic or platonic—aside from Captain Barnes?”

“Sam,” Steve answered easily. “And . . .” He felt himself pause, and took a fortifying breath as he added, “Nat.”

“When is the last time you have talked Sam?”

“It must’ve been . . .” He trailed off, his eyes shifting around as he thought things through. Steve blinked, his mouth open as he realized aloud. “It can’t be. It been months?” 

She made a contemplative noise. “The last time you talked to Sam, was personal or business?”

Swallowing painfully, Steve guessed where this was going but not wanting to be right. “Business.”

“What about other Avengers?” she asked very carefully. “Have you done anything or gone out with them under a non-professional setting?”

“It’s been awhile,” he admitted.

“Why?”

The question hung in the room uncomfortably and Steve felt as if a chord had struck somewhere with him, his mind offering reasons why. Ever since with the breakup with Sharon, Steve had buried himself mission after mission, post-battle business to attend to, debriefs, intel to follow and an overabundance of paperwork. Before Steve quite knew what was happening, years had gone by. 

Sam and Bucky must’ve noticed because lately they’d been trying to coax Steve for drinks, for Avengers’ bashed or family dinners, but Steve preferred to keep himself busy, rather than catching up with his friends or even having a moment to himself just to relax.

To say his life revolved around work was depressing was an understatement, which in turn left Steve wondering how the hell it had happened.

“I . . .” Steve stared at the woman. “I don’t know.” 

*****

One moment, James was dreaming that he was sewing the sideband of an elaborate hat and then the next, he was wide-eyed awake, alarmed. In an instant, he grabbed the gun under the pillow, turned the safety off and moved off the bed. The night still loomed outside the window. James glanced the digital clock that read 3:57 a.m. He wasn’t sure what woke him up but the atmosphere told him something was off. 

He left his bedroom cautiously, leveling the gun in the darkness as he peered through the corner. The gloom of the darkness was relieved by the soft glow of blue light seeping across the threshold of the living room. Once he stepped inside, James found the place looked the same as the last time he saw it. He glanced at the laptop, the source of light, and next to it was a pile of files still sitting on the coffee table in disarray; then he surveyed the surroundings.

Nothing was out order, and yet, something was different. Or . . . would soon be?

James moved toward the window, eyes drawn to the dark outlines of the green grass poking over the rolling hill and the shadowed meadow beyond the garage, barely lit by the glow of the moon.  He tilted his head, picking up on a sound so low and familiar enough to pinpoint.

He frowned. “Tony?”

Sure enough, the roar of repulsor grew louder, but not loud enough to wake up his neighbors. In fact, it if weren’t for his super-hearing, James wouldn’t have heard it. 

James followed the noise toward the staircase at the end of the room, opening the roof-access door. It was cool outside and he took a moment to stare above the skies, looking for the familiar glow of repulsor. He found a gleam of gold and black armor standing few feet away at the far-left corner of the rooftop, one boot propped on the ledge.

“Did something happen?” James asked. He wanted to strip Tony down and look him over, make sure Tony wasn’t bleeding, scarred, or broken inside the armor, but James remained where he stood, no matter how much tempted he was. Tony wasn’t his to touch. 

Iron Man jerked around, startled, and James found it weird since he was supposed to be the jumpy one than the other way around.

“What?” Tony’s filtered voice asked but when James’ words registered, he nodded. “Oh, right. I’m okay. Everyone’s okay. Everything’s peachy for an Avengers’ night.”

“You say as if it’s bad thing.”

Iron Man shrugged. “It is when you need a good distraction.” He glanced around. “By the way, how did you manage to dismantle S.P.O.T.?”

James blinked at the sudden question, though it wasn’t entirely unexpected. He'd grown accustomed Tony’s acrobatic verbal form of conversation without as much as a pause.

“Spot?” James frowned. “You mean one of those thingamajigs you set up to spy on me?”

Iron Man made a wounded sound. “Thingamaj—” He cut himself in mock outrage. “You old decrepit bastard. I’ll have you know it’s called Simply Protecting Our Troublemaker—”

“Your acronyms still suck.”

“—and no, it’s not spying. I’ll say again for the millionth time, it’s a home security system.”

“Riiiight.” James fought to restrain his smile and instead he gave Iron Man his famous stink-eye. “A dozen mobile tiniest drones I hafta seen—about the size of a button—with cloaking technology fluttering around me is for my safety, is that what you’re sayin’?”

“Yes,” Iron Man said with complete aplomb.

It was such bald-faced lie and they both knew it. This time James didn’t bother to hide his grin and his chuckle, something warm and homey settled in his chest, happy because this wasn’t awkward. This was familiar, old as time and theirs. 

If anyone nearly a decade ago had ever suggested that James would be standing here, talking and enjoying Tony Stark’s presence, he would’ve driven them straight to a psychiatric ward for a checkup. But here James was, late at night with the man whom now he considered one of his best friends, nearly beating Steve’s friendship department.

These days, though, James spent more of his time with Tony than he did with Steve. In part, it was because James and Steve were busy with their duties and more often than not, missions took them to the other side of the world and almost never in same time zone. Ironically, ever since Tony took over the Mighty Avengers, Tony barely spent his time on Earth but James saw Tony more than Steve, mostly because Tony and James found themselves paired on several cases where the Mighty Avengers and the New Avengers had overlapping interests and common enemies That didn't happen so much with the Secret Avengers who often dealt in secrecy and shadows.

Truth be told, James preferred to spent his time with Tony because they genuinely enjoyed same things—which was waging month-long prank wars, sneaking out, often baiting each other to complete ridiculous challenges and getting creative because they were—to quote Sam—five-years-old inside with no sense of control.

And this was one such challenge. Well, sort of. It didn’t exactly start that way. And yes, Tony can tease James about it all he wants, but James was glad it happened that way.

Back in the beginning when James moved here and Tony had set up security systems in James’ house as he usually did with other Avenger’s with their permission. Unfortunately, around that time, James had been fifty shades of paranoid and hadn’t considered the ramifications until he realized he was easily startled when he heard the silent (to normal human hearing) buzz, hum, beep or crackle from every appliance or anything remotely electronic. Even the fucking security pinhole cameras were noisy.

It didn’t help when, one night after James woke from a bad nightmare, adrenaline in high gear, every noise was multiplied like locust swarm in the wind, nearly deafening James’ ears. In the end, he couldn’t take it anymore. He tore everything apart to bare bones and wires, including Tony’s biometric sensors, which triggered the alarm in Stark’s tower.

James was thisclose in tearing off his own bionic arm—unable to handle another  whir, or the soft clack when the metal plates shuffled when he moved— only to be stopped just in time when Iron Man barged through the sunroof, sending a rain of glass and metal all over the place, landing right front of James with a loud thud. James blinked, stared at the glow of Iron Man’s eyes slit until the faceplate popped open to reveal a worried face as he stared down at the carnage of circuits, wires and debris scattered all around the floor.

As he stood there, back ramrod straight, James had expected a scolding, an argument of breaking thousand dollars equipment. He expected derision, scorn, disappointment. Instead, Tony finally looked up from the mess and fixed James’ eyes with a calculating stare and said: “Challenge Accepted.”

And, just like that, it was on.

That had been four years ago, and the challenge never stopped or completed. If he was being honest, James hoped it never would.

Iron Man’s electronic voice snapped James’s mind back to the present. “I thought it would’ve stumped you for months.”

James blinked first, processing the words. Then he snorted, crossing his arms over his bare chest to stave off the evening cold. “It almost did. Cloaking device? Really? Bit devious, even for ya.” He scowled at the memory. “I thought I was imaging things when I saw it.”

Iron Man gave an electronic titter. “I thought it would.”

James grinned like an idiot, but still, there was a question that nagged him in the back of his mind and he had to ask, “Not that I’m complaining but why're you here?”

Oddly enough, Iron Man didn’t answer it immediately and the silence that followed was deafening. James felt his smile slid off and wondered if he’d said something wrong. He raised his eyebrows when Iron Man’s faceplate clicked open and there was a blankness in Tony’s expression but his eyes told another story. It was bright under the moonlight, lit with some emotion—wait, was that anger?

“I need to ask you something—” Tony cut himself off when James started to shiver at the sudden gust of wind that promised the cooler winds of winter, noticing for the first time of James’ current state of wear—or rather, the lack of it except for the boxers. “Actually, on second thought, can we go inside?”

James nodded, letting Tony usher him toward the door as the armor whirred behind them. Instead of feeling the hard planes of the metal fingers on his shoulders, James felt skin and warmth. It was warmer when James stepped inside, listening to Tony close the door behind them. Then they were standing together at the top of the stairs.

James still felt cold, mostly on his left shoulder but it was nothing new since his prosthesis sucked all the heat. It ached like tiny pinpricks crawling all over it but James ignored it in order to look at Tony. 

The genius looked well-rested except for the wild hair, one side flattened and other half raised up in different directions. There was oil smudge on his tank-top but his face and hands were clean, which suggested Tony had been working on something before sleeping somewhere else, probably on the tower’s communal floor or the workshop. When he glanced lower, James had to resist the urge to smirk at the sight of Tony’s pajamas pants, dotted with yellow bright ducks.

Tony must’ve noticed James’ amusement because he retorted sullenly, “Like yours is any better.”

James smirked proudly, nearly flexing his muscles. He glanced down at his underwear, sporting a winking emoticon’s face right at the center of his groin and on the left tight was a white lettering that spelled: your face or mine? “I’ll have you know this was a gift.”

“Johnny?”

Surprised, James raised his eyes and found Tony glancing at him with an amused expression, “Yup. Guess you received something from him too?”

“Mine had Aladdin’s lamp. It said, ‘Rub here’.”  

There was a moment of stunned silence from James then he exploded with laughter, clutching his stomach. “Oh,” James sniggered, “that’s brilliant.”

“Shut up,”  Tony said without any heat, fighting not to smile. “I can’t even imagine what the others got from him.”

“Knowing him, it’s dirtier than ours,” James said, managing to laugh himself out into wheezes.

Tony motioned to the stairs before he lumbered down the steps. “Come on, I’ll make your favorite Irish coffee. It’s the least I could do after I interrupted your beauty sleep.”

“It’s not unwelcome.”

“Good to know,” Tony called few steps below as he moved carefully, his limp pronounced than ever, staggering almost.

James frowned. “You sure nothing happened?”

“Yep.” Tony glanced over his shoulder, shrugging. “I’ve spent too long standing in the same place.”

The former assassin wanted to argue or hug him until the other man felt better. That wasn’t going do either of them any favors and James wisely kept his limbs at his sides and his mouth shut. James wasn’t sure what was worse; the memory of finding Tony in that alien’s place, truly dead—no ifs, no buts—and coming out the other side with his body littered with cumulative damage, Tony’s right leg included. Or that Tony had the option to take the damage away—the pain Tony felt every single day— permanently, but Tony refused to because this wasn’t a weakness for Tony.

It was a reminder.

At least, with Extremis, Tony could take his pain away temporally but only when he used the Iron Man armor. It was a poor consolation, though, and James repressed an aggrieved sigh.

Tony shuffled into the kitchen. It was a little surreal to see Tony bustle around the kitchen as if it was his own home rather than James’, grabbing the cups without looking before moving to rummage the other cabinet for coffee grounds.

James leaned his back against the refrigerator, watching as Tony fussed with the coffeemaker. “You didn’t really answer my question.”

Tony didn’t pretend to misunderstand, scowling at the coffeemaker as he clicked it on. James had the strangest feeling Tony was angry at him. “I know.”

Tony took a deep breath, glancing around the kitchen as if the answers remained inside the cabinet before snapping his brown eyes to meet James’. “Why you don’t want to date me?”  he blurted out suddenly.

James' mouth fell open, feeling like he’d been sucker punched. “What?” 

“Right, I’m jumping ahead. Sorry.” Tony tugged his hair as if trying to rein himself in. He looked strangely confused, desperate and frustrated. “Give me a minute to make this coherent or at least coherent enough for you.” Tony began to limp back and forth, his sneakers made a squeaking sound across the tiles. “After you told me about your feelings, I’ve noticed you didn’t ask me out.”

“Wait—do you want me to ask you—”

With a negative gesture, Tony interrupted curtly, “No, no, no, no. That’s not the point I wanted to make.” He snapped around on his heel to face James but he didn’t pause his pacing. “Look, when you like a person, you ask them out. It’s the unspoken rule, the social mores, the modern day of the battlefield of romance, blah, blah, blah—”

James blinked, confused. “Um, I’m having trouble following you—”

“I’m getting to it, shush your pretty mouth,” Tony said breezily, which resulted in James gaping at him.  “Where was I? Right, I know you know all of this. You’re no prude or celibate and based on your offhand comments about your pasts, you used to be quite ladies’ man.” His lips thinned and this time the anger was obvious, flashing in his eyes. “But here’s the thing, you didn’t even bother to try with me. Which, from purely objective view, it sucks because it means you gave up long ago, way before when you came to me.”

“I-I—that’s not true.” James frowned at him, feeling strangely offended that Tony was overanalyzing him. It wasn’t that he didn’t expect it—he actually did because it’s Tony. But that being said, it still left him feeling like he was under microscope ‘specimen’ being examined, about to be dissected. James floundered for a moment, finishing lamely, “It’s complicated.”

Tony’s feet stopped and studied at him for a long uncomfortable moment. “It is because I’m male?”

He couldn’t help but scoff, “No. Not even close.”

“Then what? It’s because of what you’ve done or what I did?”

James’ breath shook with a shocked painful inhalation, feeling the shame and guilt barrel him in the chest with full force. He bunched his hands into fist, knuckles bright white while the other—the metal one—grated loudly under pressure. “The truth, Tony?”

Tony had the decency to look contrite at James’ expression but he wasn’t about to take his words back, “Truth.”

“You’re right,” James managed to grit out, his voice tight. “It’s what I’ve done. Your parents’ blood is on my hands, but that’s not the only reason. We both nearly killed each other, and you might not admit this, but I’m mostly the main reason the Avengers tore themselves apart .”

“No, James, that was—”

“I know.” His voice was low. “I’m aware it’s was due to Steve’s utter stupidity, your guilt, and the world’s fears. You don’t have to fight on me about that. But one thing we can agree on is that I was the effect behind the cause. Rest of it? Everyone just pushed it up faster.”

Tony’s brow furrowed. “That sounds familiar. Why I’ve heard that one before?”

“’Cause you were the one who said it. Principle of causality, remember?” Tony stared at James in surprise at his impressive recall, but he pushed on, “I know you’ve forgiven me but you can’t say it doesn’t affect us. You know it does.” James saw Tony open his mouth to protest but James interjected before he could, “It does.”

The last bit caught Tony off guard, shocked at the vehement insistent in James’ voice.

James felt his exasperation fizzle out like a blown candle. He rubbed his face with his hands, feeling suddenly tired. “Hell, I know there are days you can’t bear to see my face, Tony,” he said wearily, the words catching in his throat as if the admission hurt him.

It was obvious that Tony was struggling for words, opening and closing his mouth and then Tony’s shoulder slumped and gave James his resigned smile, devoid of warmth or joy.

“Okay, I won’t lie to you. Yeah, it does affect us,” Tony admitted after a moment, “But let me ask you this. If you came to me under different circumstances where you didn’t kill my parents and we got off from the start—in fact, pretend I’m not me, I’m someone else. Would you have asked me out?”

James didn’t even hesitate. “Yes.”

Surprisingly, Tony’s gaze sharpened into a calculating stare which made James’s hairs on his neck rise in alarm.

“Really?” Pure skepticism oozed in Tony’s voice. “When is the last time you have asked a person out and not the other way around?”

James was taken aback by the question but before he could process it the coffeemaker beeped softly, signaling it was done. Tony’s eyes were immediately drawn at the machine and he limped toward it.

Frowning to himself, James tilted his head as he considered the question.

He hadn’t been on a date in two years.  Before that, it had been mostly casual, one-night stand types, sometimes sporadic friends-with-benefits. Most of them never went past the second or third date. It had been fun and blissfully meaningless but over time, it had sort lost its appeal, and James wasn’t sure why. Sure, James still loved seeing revealing, skin-tight dresses that hugged around a lovely woman’s body, but it never felt real to James. It always left him feeling lonelier than before.

So, he went from wanting fun one-night stands to nothing, looking for something James couldn’t explain, searching for a feeling that didn’t leave him empty inside afterward. For a long time, James worried that maybe he was getting colder inside, back into the recesses of a Winter Soldier’s psyche.

Until Tony.

What was funny was that James had known then, or at least, his subconscious part had recognized all the signs that he cared for Tony more than a friend before his brain caught the memo. All told, it actually took James a year to realize that he was completely gone for Tony.

The man in question walked into James’ line of sight, breaking his reverie. James must’ve been thinking far longer than he realized because Tony handed him a steaming mug with two spoonsful of brown sugar, a dose of Jameson, and heavy cream on the top sprinkled with cinnamon, just the way James liked it.

Almost in a distracted fashion, James accepted the mug but didn’t sip, his appetite suddenly gone, because he was beginning to realize he didn’t like the answer behind that question.

He was aware he was handsome enough to have women hit on him and take their offers, but for some far-too-explicable reason, James never got around to ask someone out. Not once over the course of the years had it occurred to James this.

So, there he stood, feeling dismayed at the epiphany, staring at Tony. The genius stared back with his Tony-patented-look, the one he used when he saw straight into James’ soul.

Swallowing a lump, James asked, “When did you notice?”

“Awhile.” Tony lowered his eyes as he took a sip of his own coffee. “I think it was around Michelle? Milly?” At James’ puzzled look, Tony elaborated, “The paramedic?”

“Mila?”

The genius snapped his fingers. “That one! Mila, right. Well, I liked her. She made you smile.” Tony remembered with fondness, “I remember being impressed at her for having the balls of steel to ask you out there in the ball.” He had a thoughtful expression on his face. “Later, someone—I don’t remember who—made comment about it. It went like this: Man, Bucky is lucky he doesn’t have to ask the ladies out, otherwise he’d be celibate as a monk,” Tony mimicked with accurate voice impression that sounded very much like Sam.  James felt his face twist into a scowl.

“And it made me wonder,” Tony continued, his expression growing serious. “I began to pay attention next time because I was worried for you.” Shrugging, he curled both of his hands around the mug in absent fashion. “Later, I figured that was none of my business. Plus, I’m hardly the best person to give you advice when it comes to healthy relationships in any shape or form.”

It made sense but James was still confused. “But you’re here.”

“Because you made it my business.” Tony set the coffee mug on the counter with a loud clack, nearly sloshing his coffee over, eyes flashing with ire and determination. “After you admitted your feelings for me, it was all I could think about it and I was so angry that I could've sworn I was seeing red. Not because of you,” he quickly assured James, seeing his dismayed expression. “I’m not mad that you told me. I’m glad you did. Well, not really, because no one wants to be the one who-who, um—god I’m already making a mess of it, aren’t I?”

With a frustrated noise, Tony resumed his lopsided pacing, back and forth around the island, hands gesturing wildly in the air. “Look, you didn’t ask me out despite the confession and while I won’t deny a small part of me is relieved you didn’t but the rest of me? Pissed.” He stabbed his finger furiously to no one in particular. “And. I. Couldn’t. Understand. Why.”

James swallowed, back rigid, face blank and he braced himself for the worst.

“Then I remembered that comment tonight, after all these years. And it just clicked. I finally understood. The reason I was so angry because it meant the strongest and bravest person I've ever known isn’t willing to put himself out there for a real relationship.”

Even bracing for it, James felt as if someone had punched him in his chest. He hadn’t known Tony had felt this way. In a way, it was strange hearing it from Tony’s mouth when there were others who were braver than him. Pepper came to mind, for her unwavering ferocity against the veiled misogyny in the corporate world. Bruce, for coming back home after being hunted for a long time. T’Challa for risking his country to save the entire the world.

Then there was Tony, chest-scarred, emotionally and physically. As if without his volition, James’ eyes flicked down to Tony’s right leg.

Bravest person? James didn’t feel brave. He never had, even long before Hydra, before the war, before everything had turned upside down. 

James looked at his feet, feeling overwhelmed and ashamed.

“It doesn’t have to be me. It can be anyone. Ask someone out. Try. It’s worth it, James, even the worst parts, like having your heart broken off.” The waver in Tony’s voice was obvious as it rose. “Best parts? When that someone loves you back despite everything. That you’re enough for him or her. You’re it.”

He heard Tony take a deep breath. “I wouldn’t have brought this up if I thought you were happy being alone but I don’t think you are. If you are, then tell me now and I’ll back it off but if not . . .” There was steel in his voice. “I dare you.”

James felt his breath slowly leave him in a shaky exhale. He wanted to accept the challenge. Wanted to tell Tony he was right, that he had been terrified of everything. Of his nightmares where he could still feel the arc reactor under his metallic hand, the light flickering out. Of being with someone who deserved more than the dark stain of his soul because once upon a time, James was nothing but a weapon, a symbol of destruction, but most of all, he was afraid of living.

Perhaps, there was one more reason they called him a ghost story, after all.

James wasn’t one, though, and neither he was dead inside. He wanted to—god, he truly wanted to sometimes, to stop feeling altogether or even just to cease to exist—but it wasn’t happening right now. And that was the most astonishing thing about it all, that even the old part of him that had died when he fell off the train, that place deep inside of him—the place that Bucky could touch—was still pushing him forward, not allowing him to give up and be a ghost.

Finally, James looked up, suddenly shaky and it was the hardest thing to do when he met Tony’s eyes. His heart was pounding in his ears and everything seemed to fall away from James, leaving nothing but Tony standing right there, his cinnamon eyes strangely soft, a contradicting intense expression on his features. It sent James’ heart beat wilder. Instead of feeling fear or anger at being called out, James was moved, rattled down to the bone.  Not once in his life had he expected Tony would hope for James’ happiness. Not once had he expected that Tony thought that James deserved it. 

“Okay,” he said without even thinking. He didn’t know who was even more surprised, himself or Tony.

“Okay?” Tony echoed, his expression somersaulting into different degrees of emotions. “What you mean okay?”

James couldn’t believe he was even considering this. It wasn’t like he never did this. As Tony stated before, he had asked others out a couple of times, but that was the old Bucky Barnes and those memories never felt like his. James couldn’t even fathom to describe to someone of how it felt, smelt, touched or thought in those past events.

This? It was different. James could feel and hear his pulse beating fast against his skin, the skin of his right palm damp with sweat, and he was struggling to remember how his lungs worked. He could see Tony. His whiskey eyes, the tiny gold flecks, the complex and intricate textures of his iris.

This felt real. It was more real than anything he ever experienced.

And it terrified him.

But this was Tony, the man who had galaxies spread out in his eyes, a whole universe within. It was everything James wanted and it would be stupid of him not to try.

“Hey, Tony?”

Tony frowned; that little adorable furrow between his eyebrow deepened just a tiny bit before his eyes narrowed into slits, his voice laden with wariness. “Yes?”

“Will you go out with me?”

Tony stared at him in utter disbelief, practically a statue by the end of the last word. James could hear Tony’s breath stutter as if he couldn’t make his lungs work correctly. Tony’s gaze met his, searching his face for something as if trying to gauge if James was serious. It made James straighten his back and maintain his eye contact, hoping that Tony found something in James that he was looking for.

“Wow,” Tony said, almost whispery. “I think this is the first time someone took my advice in a heartbeat that’s not related life or death situation or business.” Tony blinked as if surprised he said it out loud. Actually, between the utter shock on his face, there was pride too, like he had before when James had told Tony he’d successfully tricked Loki.

James tried to smile at Tony but his face felt strained because he’d gone numb with anxiety and fear. He was standing uncomfortably, feeling any moment he might explode with nerves. 

Tony must’ve noticed his expression, because he was suddenly serious, his eyes softening, thoughtful. “Hold that thought,” Tony nearly hesitated, wincing, “because I’m going ask you another question.”

Feeling dismayed and stomach knotting, James opened his mouth to protest, not wanting to deal waiting games right now. “Jesus, Tony—”

“No, seriously,” Tony reassured him quickly. “It’s related to that question. I promise you’ll have your answer soon.”

James stared at him for a long moment and Tony stared back, begging with his eyes as if he wanted James to understand. It almost made him angrier because he didn’t understand at all. Instead, James found himself more curious than angry. He knew he should be more upset for not getting his answer instantly after Tony’s insistence, but he wanted to hear him out.

“Fine.”

“Okay,” Tony said, albeit nervously. James watched as Tony tugged the neckline of his PJ’s as he shuffled awkwardly. It was strangely endearing and James found himself smiling.

“Can I kiss you?”

The air vanished out James’ lungs, his chest contracting rapidly and ears ringing as if someone had actually triggered a bomb nearby and he couldn’t escape the force of the explosion. James blinked rapidly because—did Tony actually say that?

“I mean—well, I’m not sure how to say this without offending you but I never looked at you as more than a friend. You know, it’s mostly like: hey, James. What up?” Tony said without inflection as he shuffled again. “And it’s not as if I woke up and realized everything was different and was like: oh. Hey, James,” he added predatorily at the last sentence, biting his lower lip as he looked at James through his lashes. 

James’s breath was trapped inside his chest, more from  Tony’s intense playboy look than from his words. Luckily for him, the spell broke when Tony’s expression changed into a pensive frown.

“Having said that, I want find out if it could be more and the funny thing is, I can imagine us together.” The furrow between Tony’s eyebrow deepened. “But it never seems real. It’s always hazy and unfocused. That’s the whole problem because you’re standing right in front of me and I can’t see you.”

“And you want to?” James asked hoarsely, unable to believe his own ears. Was he dreaming? “Why?”

Tony looked at him as if he found the question incredibly ridiculous, giving him a perplexed glare. “Because, James,” he began quietly, “aside from Pep and Honey Bear, you’re probably the most important person in my life, and I don’t mean because of what you did as Winter Solider or in the war. I mean in the sense that I’ve met lot assholes in my time and you’re one of them—the biggest—but I still like you. You’re my favorite, actually.”

The silence grew oppressive. James knew that if he didn’t speak now, Tony might take his silence as a no, but James didn’t know what else to say. He was terrified of saying the wrong things, had no idea what the right words might be. Everything he could possibly ask for was dangling just out of reach, and he wasn’t sure what to do.

Since he had nothing to say, James nodded instead.

Tony’s eyes widened just tiny fraction and slowly, very slowly, he took a step closer.  James felt himself panicking. Being this vulnerable petrified him more than anything else when his heart was on the line for the first time in decades and he was trying to trust Tony not to change his mind halfway. This close, James couldn’t decipher the looks in Tony’s eyes. It was clear Tony was nervous, but there was something else James didn’t understand and that scared him as well. 

James’s lungs shuttered when Tony was well inside his personal space, close enough to feel the warmth of his body, close enough to smell the slight faded cologne on Tony’s skin and he was acutely aware of his body beginning to respond just Tony’s proximity.

He couldn’t help but inhale sharply when Tony’s lips brushed over his, ghosting over his, just the slightest contact. Then Tony jerked back, eyes open wide, looking shocked at himself and James felt a wash of disappointment, because that didn’t even come close to a real kiss. Was that it? He wanted—

Surprisingly, Tony curled his fingers through James’ hair, tightening it and James dragged air into his lungs before breath stopped completely. He followed the pressure of Tony’s hand and bent his head as Tony rose to meet him.

This kiss wasn’t chaste or light. This was hesitant, tentative and just close to a fly's eyelash away from shy. Tony tugged James’s lips, then brushed with his own, tip of a tongue tracing against it. James made an inarticulate sound. Every sensation was far more intense than it should have been, from the warmth of Tony’s mouth, the scrape of his beard over his skin, the lingering taste of the coffee and the warmth of his body pressed against him, hard planes instead of the soft curves. Kissing Tony felt like a live current running through his body and James shivered, trying to control the surge of emotion. 

“Tony,” James gasped just before Tony slipped his tongue inside. James slid his hand up along Tony’s arms, over his shoulders, one cybernetic hand curling on the nape of Tony’s neck, other slid down to his back and pulled him closer, and finally kissed him back for all he was worth. Tony made a soft, hungry noise and mapped James mouth like he was trying to remember every second of it into memory for future reference as if this was the only chance he might get.

After a lifetime, the kiss gentled into something sweet and playful before Tony pulled back a little, eyes still closed, pressing his forehead against his. James couldn’t take his eyes away from Tony’s mouth, all red and swollen and to say that James was . . . shaken was an understatement.

When Tony opened his brown eyes, glazed over, James realized he wasn’t the only one who hadn’t come out this kiss unaffected. Open, vulnerable, afraid was all there in Tony’s face but it didn’t deter him from giving James a shaky grin, almost timid, saying, “Ask me again.”

James felt as the world has turned upside-down on its axis. He looked at Tony’s face with something akin to awe, and for the first time, he knew Tony wanted him too because Tony was looking at him with the familiar gentleness that James had seen many times before, usually directed to Pepper or Su Yin, only this time, that look was meant for James and no one else. There was something different too in Tony’s expression, accompanied by strange wonder, the likes James had never seen before. It was as if Tony had found something precious. Something infinitely beautiful.

Swallowing past a heavy lump in his throat, James dared again. “Tomorrow—you and me—at seven, in La Brújula’s—”

“Yes.” Tony answered it quickly as if he couldn’t wait one second more.

James felt a smile threaten to break corner of his lips and he laughed breathlessly, “Yes?”

“Yes!” Tony laughed, nodding vigorously with unrestrained excitement, leaving James no doubt of his sincerity.  

At Tony’s bright expression, unable to restrain himself, James reached out, brushing along the curve of Tony’s jaw, enjoying the trickle of his beard beneath his fingertips, and delighting in the way Tony shivered in response.  Soft affection filled filling his brown eyes as he beamed at James.

It felt like a dream, suffusing his being with wonder because James had taken a chance but never in million years could he have expected this even after being dared by Tony.

“I just can’t get . . . over this.” Tony echoed his thought aloud, pressing his face closer to James’ hand.

“You and me both,” James rasped, fighting the impulse to close his eyes and kiss Tony again. “Are we really doing this?”

Tony sobered, hooded eyes intent on his. “Yes, James.” As if to show he was serious about this, Tony gripped James’ wrist and lifted his hand to press his mouth to his palm.

James took a staggering breath, trying to summon his willpower. “If we do this,” he began after a moment because he needed to say something else, “it won’t be easy.”

There was an almost unbearable pause at the end of the sentence.  James wasn’t under the delusion that the kiss made everything okay—Maria and Howard were still dead, Steve had lied to Tony and they left him injured all alone in the cold frigid of Siberia, and there was the fact Tony had tried to erase the Winter Soldier from existence—and as result, James too, albeit indirectly—during the Infinity War. Emotional scars might’ve healed, but they still hurt, scabbed over.This would always exist between them.

Tony’s lips twisted into something that tried to be a smile. “I know.”

“You okay with that?”

“When is it ever easy?” Tony shot back.

Flicking his eyes down to their hands, where Tony’s fingers still gripped his wrist. It gave James a comfort to see a physical proof. At a loss for articulate words, James simply said, “Point.”

They both lapsed into silence until Tony took a deep breath and spoke up reluctantly. “I guess I should go.” Tony gave a sidelong glance at the clock on the refrigerator. “It’s getting late.”

Tony made move to let his go of his hand but James tightened his hold, “Want to watch something? A movie?” he proposed, not wanting the night to end. When James saw a slight hesitation in Tony’s face, he rushed in to point out, “I won’t be able to get a wink tonight after everything happened and I’m betting you won’t either.” A touch pleading, he added, “Come on, will ya? Stay.”

Tony huffed a laugh but he couldn’t keep the smile off his face. “Fifth Element?”

“It’s like you’re reading my mind.”