This is a commission for ishipallthings, who wanted a stevetony fic where Steve travels back in time to when he was frozen. This rolls in at 7k.
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“Good morning, Tony.”
Tony’s eyes stay closed as he sighs. “Is it, Steven? Is it?”
With that, he pulls the blankets tighter around him. JARVIS keeps the Tower heated in the winter, but Tony can still imagine tendrils of cold snaking through the windows.
He’s more than a little gratified at Steve’s laugh: warm, amused and all kinds of fond. Once, Tony would have to work to receive a laugh like that. Now he coaxes it from Steve without even meaning to.
“I’m liking it so far,” Steve says, and Tony feels his weight settle on what they’d dubbed Steve’s side of the bed years ago.
There’s a hot press against Tony’s forehead, too hot to be Steve’s lips. Steve runs hot 24/7, but unless he’s lying about not being able to get fevers and his skin had turned into ceramic recently-
Tony cracks one eye open. A mug looms in front of Tony’s face, steaming softly and obscuring his view of Steve. Not that he needs to see him to know what he looks like: Steve will be wearing his jogging outfit, his hair flopping over his forehead, his face open and smiling as he waits for Tony to return to the land of the wakeful.
When Tony shuffles into a sitting position, the mug is pushed into his waiting hands. “Thanks,” Tony says, and turns his face expectantly.
The kiss goes on longer than Tony expects it- barring as a prelude to morning sex, their morning-kisses don’t usually last longer than a peck.
Still, Tony’s grinning by the time Steve pulls back. “Coffee and kisses hand-delivered to me? Is today the anniversary of our first date and I just forgot?”
Steve settles in to sit beside him, folding his legs underneath him. “No, that’s in June. You have a while.”
“Oh, good.” Tony takes a sip from his mug. It’s covered in prints of Cap’s shield. It may or may not be his favourite mug.
Steve’s hand covers Tony’s blanketed knee. His thumb rubs circles through the fabric. “I just… wanted to show you how much I appreciate you.”
Tony lowers his mug. Steve’s wearing an expression that doesn’t surface much anymore. It’s one he wore most of the time for the start of their relationship, an expression that whispered am I doing this right? It was a face Tony had found himself echoing right back to Steve on and off for several months. It had been inevitable, given both of their complete lack of experience in relationships.
Now, though, they have close to five years of experience under their belts. There isn’t much that raises that expression to surface, and it’s enough to ping concern onto Tony’s radar.
Tony covers the hand Steve had rested on his knee. “Hey, thanks. You know I love being appreciated. In fact-”
He moves to sit on Steve’s lap before realizing he has to not only ditch the mug, but the blankets. He leans over to place the mug on the bedside table before deciding fuck it and dragging himself into Steve’s lap, blankets and all.
Steve is laughing by this point, all traces of the previous expression wiped from his face as he watches Tony struggle into his lap with the duvet cover still coiled around him.
“-in fact,” Tony repeats, grinning as Steve’s laughter shakes the both of them, “why don’t I show you just how much I appreciate being appreciated?”
Steve kisses his chin. “Depends.”
“On?”
“You gonna take the blankets off for it?”
Tony nuzzles Steve’s throat. He’s cocooned in blankets and Steve and there’s coffee less than two feet away- who could ask for a better morning? “For you, I might consider it.”
Steve snickers. “Gee, thanks.” He allows Tony one long kiss before saying, “Sadly, I made you a frittata and it needs to be taken out of the oven in five minutes.”
“Mm,” Tony says. He hums it against Steve’s mouth. “Let it burn.”
“You know how I am about wasting food, Tony.”
“JARVIS will get someone else to take it out before it starts smoking.”
“It has bacon in it.”
With a sigh, Tony pulls back to meet Steve’s eyes. “Bacon, you say?”
Steve’s lips twitch. He nods sagely.
With another sigh that Tony feels in his chest, he shuffles out of Steve’s lap and sticks his feet out from under the blankets long enough to get his feet on the floor. “To the kitchen, then.”
Steve follows, tweaking at the blankets as he stands. “Thought Iron Man didn’t wear capes. Oh, wait, your coffee.”
Tony watches Steve duck around the bed to grab Tony’s mug and feels what he’s sure is an overly sappy smile stretching his face. He’s still not sure how he made it here, but he’s thankful to everything that led him to Steve.
“Thank you,” he murmurs as Steve pushes the mug back into his hands. He steps close to lure Steve into another drawn-out kiss. “Sure I can’t convince you to let the frittata burn?”
It’s a testament to how much Steve loathes wasting food that he shakes his head. “Sorry.”
Tony skims their noses together before leaning back. “This better be the best breakfast ever, Rogers.”
-
Clint sniggers when Tony emerges into the kitchen. “Your majesty.”
At Tony’s blank look, Clint swallows his mouthful of cereal and says, “The blanket cape. ‘Cause royalty wear capes. Or, Thor does.”
He hunches over his cereal and scoops another spoonful into his mouth. “Shut up, it’s 7 in the morning.”
Tony whirls around to pin Steve with a betrayed look. “You woke me up before 10?”
“You’ll survive,” Steve tells him as he makes a beeline for the oven mitts, which are on top of the fridge. Even Steve has to stand on his tiptoes to reach them, which means whenever Tony attempts to bake he has to either find a stepladder or forfeit his dignity and get one of his teammates to grab the mitts for him.
Tony heads for the cabinet and puts his coffee down to gather two plates into his arms. “Is anyone else having some?”
Clint raises the hand he isn’t using to give himself diabetes via sugary cereal.
“You’re literally eating right now,” Tony points out.
Clint goes into cereal overdrive. “I can finish it fast,” he garbles through his mouthful, shoving another spoonful in as he speaks.
Tony wrinkles his nose at him before looking over to Steve, who is leaning on the counter and watching the timer.
“We have enough to go around,” Steve tells him.
Tony sets the plates next to the oven and goes back for his coffee as the timer dings. He bites back a grin as Steve slides the oven mitts on- they’re a gag gift from Sam and are covered in tiny neon prints of birds. They come with an apron, but Tony has no idea where it went.
Tony goes to sit at the table, rearranging the duvet around him until he’s adequately comfortable. It gets Clint snorting at him, but Clint is shovelling cereal shaped like animals into his mouth at lightspeed so Tony doesn’t think he can judge.
He sips at his coffee as Steve loads up the plates. Steve pauses in the act of bringing them over when Natasha comes into the kitchen, hair rumpled along with her PJs.
“Frittata,” Steve says at Natasha’s questioning, if not bleary, look. “Would you like some?”
Natasha answers in Russian before shaking her head and continuing, “No thank you. Your highness,” she adds to Tony as she passes him.
Clint raises his free hand for a high-five that Natasha hits dead-on as she heads for the shelves of tea.
Steve sets Clint’s frittata down beside his bowl of cereal and then slaps him on the back as Clint starts gagging through the effort of finishing his cereal too fast. “Easy, Clint. Jesus. You can have your frittata for lunch.”
Clint gurgles something akin to words before shovelling more cereal into his mouth.
“You have to get your arms out of that blanket to eat,” Steve says as he puts Tony’s plate down in front of him.
“You underestimate me,” Tony says, but reaches out enough to hold a fork and bring said fork to his mouth after spearing a hunk of frittata on it. He makes an approving noise along with his declaration of, “It’s good,” because not only is it good but also because Steve seems to be watching his reaction instead of eating.
At Tony’s approval, Steve’s shoulders lose a little of their rigidness and he finishes bringing his fork to his mouth, which had been a motion stuck midway as he waited for Tony’s reaction.
Steve’s been drifting in and out of tenseness this morning, Tony realizes as he watches him eat out of the corner of his eye. Even when he relaxes, it’s like he’s continually remembering something that makes him stiffen.
He even jolts when Tony bumps his foot into Steve’s under the table and gives Steve a dubious look. Steve strokes their ankles together and sends Tony what he probably thinks is a reassuring smile.
Natasha comes to drink her herbal tea at the table and they finish their breakfast in silence until Steve stands and offers to put Tony’s plate in the dishwasher along with his own.
“Thanks,” Tony says. He takes Steve’s hand as he passes the plate over and taps Morse code into his wrist: u ok?
Steve gives a curt nod, but he doesn’t meet Tony’s eyes until he turns around after stacking the plates in the dishwasher.
“Could I talk to you?”
Tony’s nerves ratchet higher even as he wills them down. “Sure,” he says, since Steve is obviously trying for casual even as Clint and Natasha exchange a look at the strain in Steve’s tone.
He leaves his now-empty mug on the table and his blanket in the chair before following Steve out to the hallway. “What’s on your mind, Cap?”
Steve folds his arms, then unfolds them immediately upon noticing the action. He looks like he’s putting all his effort into not falling into parade rest out of nervous habit. “It’s nothing bad,” he says, which tips Tony off on just how well he’s masking his worry.
“Well, I hope you don’t think it’s bad,” Steve continues. He fiddles with something in his pocket as he clears his throat. He opens his mouth to speak before his gaze catches on the hallway. “Uh. Could we actually go somewhere else?”
“Something wrong with the hallway?”
“No, it’s fine. It’s just- not sure this is the best… place.” Steve trails off into a mumble before taking a deep breath and shaking his head. “No, nevermind. Here’s fine. It doesn’t matter.”
“Oookay,” Tony says slowly. His mind is racing through everything Steve could be telling him, landing on dozens of bad things despite Steve’s claim. “Sure?”
“Right,” Steve says. He takes another bracing breath, squaring his shoulders as if he’s going out to deliver an inspirational speech in front of the troops. “Tony.”
“Steven,” Tony says when Steve hovers on the edge of speech without continuing.
“Tony,” Steve repeats. His throat clicks. His hand is still in his pocket. “I, uh. I was wondering if-”
His mouth moves wordlessly for a moment before he blows out a breath. “I love you.”
Tony blinks. He can’t have heard that right. “You were… wondering if you love me?”
“What? No! Those were separate statements-” Steve scrubs a hand over his face. “I know I love you. If I know anything, it’s that I love you. I never thought I’d ever have anything like what we have, and I’m- I’m thankful everyday for it. You mean so much to me.”
“Back at you,” Tony says. He winces internally. ‘Back at you?’ Come on, Stark.
Still, Steve seems to find it reassuring, since he continues with, “I just- I wanted to ask-”
Three things happen at once:
One: Steve starts getting down on one knee.
Two: The hallway door opens and Bruce walks in and promptly gags on his tea at the sight of Steve frozen with his knee hovering just above the floor, his hand halfway out of his pocket, palm obscuring the object he’s holding.
And three: the Avenger alarm goes off.
The blare of it gets them all jolting. Bruce is the first to recover, spluttering into his mug and choking out, “Alarm- I’ll just- I’m- leaving, need to Hulk,” as he turns.
“Nope,” he adds to Clint as he appears in the doorway. As Clint’s confused question devolves into “Whoa hey what the fuck,” as he notices Steve and Tony, Bruce grabs his shirt and drags him back into the kitchen, the door swinging shut behind them both, leaving Steve and Tony to stare at each other as their brains attempt to reboot.
Steve’s eyes are wide, but Tony’s sure his own are bugging out of his head as his mind reels in a continuous loop of dazed swear words. Steve was going to-? Steve wanted to-?
The last word jerks away whenever Tony’s mind tries to voice it.
Thankfully, Tony is saved from saying something by JARVIS speaking up.
“There is a situation with a new villain in Lower Manhattan.”
When Tony opens his mouth, all that comes out is air. He coughs and tries again. “Elaborate, J.”
“His motives are unclear, but he seems to be vanishing people with a ray gun.”
“Sounds like a pickle,” Tony croaks. “A pickle the Avengers should get to. Right now.”
“Right,” Steve echoes weakly. He starts to get up, all tight limbs and hunched shoulders, and he almost flinches when Tony lays a hand on his shoulder.
“Just so I’m clear on this, you were going to-”
Steve cuts him off before he can say it. “Not if you don’t want to.”
Tony wets his lips. “And if I do?”
“That’s…” Steve still looks more or less like he’s been hit on the head with a mallet. “Definitely preferable.”
“Yeah?” Tony can feel a loose grin making its way up his face as he steps closer. When he links his arms around Steve’s neck, the man looks like he’s just been saved from drowning.
JARVIS sounds regretful when he interrupts. “Sirs-”
“We’re going,” Tony tells him without looking away from Steve. He lowers his voice, says, “How about we continue this when there isn’t some asshole with a ray gun loose on the streets of Manhattan.”
Steve’s nod is all kinds of relieved. “I’d like that.”
“Good,” Tony says, and has to reign in his smile enough to kiss him. “Later,” he promises, and then all but runs to summon the armour.
-
“FEEL OUR WRATH,” Thor booms as they get into earshot. “YOU HAVE INTERRUPTED A VERY SPECIAL MOMENT BETWEEN OUR TEAM LEADERS.”
“I see Clint wasted no time in telling everyone,” Tony says over the comms.
An arrow whizzes past Tony’s head, accompanied by Clint’s voice in his ear: “Fuck you, Bruce blurted it out the moment the door closed.”
Hulk roars, then says, “HULK VERY HAPPY FOR TIN MAN AND STAR MAN. HULK VERY SORRY FOR WALKING IN ON SPECIAL MOMENT.”
“I dibs telling Bucky,” Natasha announces from the ground. She pauses to dodge a beam the new villain of the week aims her way. “Cap, do you mind-”
“I got it,” Steve says, and Tony grins at the sound of his voice: blazing bright and victorious.
The villain- who Tony privately dubs as Monocle-Man, due to the actual monocle wedged in front of one of his eyes- goes down in a sprawl of limbs as Steve’s shield slams into his back.
They all lapse into silence as the team reaches the ground around Monocle Man.
“Well,” Thor says. He blows a strand of hair out of his face that had fallen out of his ponytail during the flight over. “This battle was far less exciting than I had hoped.”
“For some reason, I’m fine with that,” Steve says.
“Seconded,” Tony says. “Now how’s about we get this guy in cuffs and hand him off to SHIELD so I can go back home and have newly-engaged sex. I’ve heard it’s even better than we-almost-died sex.”
Steve looks his way to grin at him, eyes bright. Tony grins back despite the faceplate being down and that’s when it happens.
There’s a moment of warning- Natasha and Thor notice at the same time, but both are too late to do anything but lunge for the ray gun as Monocle Man raises it with a shaking hand and fires.
Tony has mapped its trajectory before the man’s finger squeezes the trigger fully: a blast of light emerges from the gun and hits Steve full in the chest before Tony can get to him.
There’s a second where Steve doubles over, the light flashing over his body, radiating out from his chest, before he vanishes in front of Tony’s eyes.
Tony only freezes for a moment before he’s whirling around to face Monocle Man, who is currently on the receiving end of Thor’s fist as Natasha kicks the gun away.
“What did you do,” Tony demands through his teeth. He clenches his metal hand around the man’s throat until he’s gulping for air. “Where is he.”
The man scrabbles at Tony’s gauntlet where it’s locked around his neck. His monocle wobbles dangerously close to falling off his face. “Sent… sent him…”
“I hate to say it, but you might have to loosen the grip,” Clint says darkly.
It takes actual effort for Tony to make his fingers unclench.
Monocle Man gasps for several seconds until Tony shakes him. “Sent him back,” is all it jolts from him.
“Sent him back?” Tony snarls. “Back where?” Even as his mouth moves around it, something clicks into place in his head. It’s the barest hint of a possibility, but-
God, no.
-
Steve wakes up in a forest.
The leaves are dense enough that the sparse light that filters through is barely enough for Steve to see clearly for a dozen feet or so.
It comes back to him in a flash: the man with the ray gun, his hand shaking, Tony moving to get in front of Steve or shove him aside-
Displacement, Steve thinks, squinting up at the trees. He can handle displacement.
He raises a hand to his ear, but there’s nothing but static through his comm. He withholds a sigh.
“Guess I’m walking,” he says aloud, and regrets it instantly when something rustles. He tenses in preparation for an attack, reaching for his shield before remembering how he was yet to pick it up after taking out the ray-gun man.
No matter, Steve thinks. He’s a weapon even when he isn’t armed. Whoever or whatever it is will end up regretting-
“Hands in the air,” comes a voice from the bushes.
Steve goes still. It’s impossible, but so is every day of Steve’s life.
And yet- no. Can’t be. There’s a level of impossible and that would be breaching it.
The voice continues: “I know you HYDRA bastards aren’t one for surrendering-”
“I’m not HYDRA,” Steve says. “Thought the uniform would’ve tipped you off.”
There’s a beat of silence. “One wrong move and you’re down for the count,” the voice warns, and then a man is moving into the clearing.
Steve thinks he might be even more surprised than Dum-Dum. It’s a surprise that quickly hardens to anger in Dum-Dum’s case.
“What, you think you can tweak a few stitches on Cap’s uniform and go out in combat with it? Who the fuck do you think you are? Hey,” he barks as Steve’s hands move towards his cowl. His gun follows the movement. “What’d I-”
“Dum-Dum, it’s me.” Steve doesn’t wait to pull his cowl away. It drops along with Dum-Dum’s jaw.
“Thought it sounded like you,” says Dum-Dum distantly. He steps forwards, his gun lowering slightly before he stops. “How-? Steve?”
“It’s a long story,” Steve tells him, eyes going over Dum-Dum’s face. He looks older than when Steve knew him, more tired. “Dum-Dum, I need you to listen to me. What year is it?”
Dum-Dum wavers. Then: “1950, Cap. You’ve been gone a while. Gonna explain any of that?”
Steve nods as his mind reels around him. Focus. You need to get back.
Didn’t he once think the same about the 20th century, in his lowest days after the ice? Didn’t he wake up from dreams and nightmares sure he’d give anything to be back here?
“You have a base,” Steve asks.
Dum-Dum nods. His gun lowers fully.
“Good. Take me to it. I’ll explain on the way as best I can.”
Dum-Dum nods again, slower this time. “Better be a heck of an explanation. Either way, Peggy’s gonna deck ya.”
It’s as if he’s been punched already. Steve has to close his eyes for a moment.
Fuck. Peggy.
“She’s at the base?”
“’Bout half an hour back,” Dum-Dum says. He’s watching Steve with furrowed brows. “She’s gonna be even more pissed than I am that you didn’t come and see her. What, you obeying rules now? Someone tells you your being alive is classified and you- what, you just lie down and-”
“I wasn’t-” Steve swallows. “Just. Get me to the base, Dum-Dum.”
Dum-Dum heaves a sigh, but slings his gun over the strap on his shoulder. “Hey, you got it,” he says, and punches Steve’s shoulder as he falls into step with him.
-
Tony has to be held back from tackling a SHIELD agent who attempts to break the ray gun.
“That might be our only chance to get Steve back,” he yells at a terrified agent who hasn’t stopped babbling an apology since Tony started yelling over him. “Why the fuck isn’t Bruce de-hulked already, we need his brain.”
“Gee, I don’t know,” Clint snaps. “Maybe because you haven’t stopped shrieking for five seconds-”
“Excuse me if I’m panicked, my boyfr- fian- Steve is stuck twenty years before I was even born!”
He resists the urge to flip Thor over his shoulder when Thor places a hand on the arm of his armour. “And you cannot help him when you are like this, my friend.”
Tony wants to blast something. Or cry. Possibly both.
He refuses to look over at Clint when Hulk begins deforming, green turning to pink as he shrinks.
“See,” Clint says, and Tony very nearly bares his teeth at him.
Bruce accepts his glasses from Natasha when she offers them. “Hi. What are we- oh god, Steve.”
“Not helping,” Tony snarls.
Thor lifts a hand to his arm again. He squeezes, but Tony can’t feel it through the metal. “We will bring him back, Tony.”
What if he doesn’t want to come back, Tony doesn’t ask him. It’s been niggling at his brain ever since he realized what had happened, and based on the looks that his teammates are sending him, it shows.
He inhales sharply through his nose. “Get Monocle Man to an interrogation room. I want to get every bit of information about that gun.”
“Oh, Stark’s giving orders now,” Clint drawls. “Is that the guy’s name? Monocle Man?”
“He’s got a fucking monocle, what else would I call him,” Tony says, and storms off.
-
Steve is still explaining by the time they walk into the base. It’s partly due to Dum-Dum asking questions and partly due to Steve not knowing how the hell to say the truth without sounding like a lunatic.
Every agent that catches a glimpse of Steve stops to stare. Whispers have broken out by the time they’ve taken six steps in.
“Yeah, yeah, I was surprised, too,” Dum-Dum calls as they walk. “Quit your gawking. Oi, you. Go get the rest of the Commandos.”
The agent in question snaps out of his daze before running off.
Steve tries to remember if Dum-Dum had been married yet in 1950. “How’s, uh. Laney?”
Dum-Dum pins him with a look. “Who the heck is Laney?”
Not married, then. “Nevermind.”
Dum-Dum’s face splits in a grin. “Naw, I get a gal in the future, huh? She good-looking? How long ‘til I meet her?”
“You’re taking this better than I thought you would,” Steve admits.
Dum-Dum shrugs. “Still not sold on you being sane. Or un-brainwashed.”
“Fair enough.” Steve would think the same if one of his dead friends showed up claiming they’d never been dead, just encased in ice and would stay on ice until the next century where they would wake up, live for close to a decade and then get shunted back by a ray gun.
His throat sticks as they approach the tent that Dum-Dum says is Peggy’s. She’s rising up the ranks, but she’s yet to be Director of SHIELD, still fighting her way towards getting the recognition she deserves and Steve wants to see her so bad it aches.
What would he have given eight years ago if he’d been given the chance to see Peggy one more time?
Dum-Dum is the one to push the tent flap open. “Look who we found!”
Steve winces. Not the best way to introduce a- lover? He and Peggy had never made anything official, had never shared anything other than that one rushed kiss- to someone who thought he was dead for the past five years.
Peggy’s sigh is weary and familiar and it cuts Steve to his core. “What did I tell you about bringing HYDRA prisoners into my tent? I-”
Steve steps into view and she falls silent. Her lips part.
“Hi,” Steve says quietly, because anything louder means his voice is going to break. He drinks in the sight- Peggy in a new uniform, her hair done up in its usual waves, her lipstick as perfect as it always was. She’s older than he remembers, but it’s not anything significant- she looks almost just like she did after she kissed him, the last time he saw her without wrinkles and Alzheimer’s.
“Hi,” Peggy replies, equally soft. Her lips start to tremble, her eyes filling before she blinks hard. She takes a hesitant step forwards before she’s closing the distance.
Steve’s unsure whether he’s about to get kissed or punched. It looks like Peggy is just as unsure, as she stops less than an inch away. Her hand hovers over his chest before she drops it, and Steve has a bizarre deja-vu of climbing out of the vita-ray machine, his breathing unhindered by asthma for the first time in his life.
“It’s-” she looks over at Dum-Dum. “It’s him? Truly?”
“Asked him things only Steve Rogers would know,” Dum-Dum says. “He’s got one hell of a story to tell, Pegs.”
“He bloody well better,” Peggy says.
It’s stern and shaky enough to make Steve laugh, though it’s a pained thing. “I missed you,” he says, and it’s eight kinds of inadequate and still the truest thing he can think of.
Peggy’s lips continue to tremble. She blinks the sheen of tears from her eyes. “Well, I quite missed you too,” she says, and her voice shatters on the next sentence: “You’re older, where were you?”
“It’s a long story,” Steve tells her. “And- hard to believe.”
She squares her shoulders. “Try me.”
-
Surprisingly, it’s Natasha who ends up slamming Monocle Man up against a wall five minutes into the interrogation.
Tony has a moment to lament the fact he didn’t get a chance to do it before he’s folding his metal arms. “I could reverse engineer it myself, but I get the feeling it’d be faster if you just told us. Nat, loosen up a little.”
It’s meant literally: Natasha loosens her grip enough for Monocle Man to gasp air into his lungs.
“I- I suppose I could-”
“You will,” Tony corrects him, stepping forwards. It’s menacing enough that Monocle Man scrabbles backwards and is stopped by the hand around his throat.
“I s-sent people back to where they wanted things to go differently! I gave them a second chance, how is that-”
It cuts off into gurgles as Natasha tightens her grip again.
Tony turns the comms back on. “Bruce, how are we going?”
“Slowly. Is he talking yet?”
“Slowly. Might go faster if we stop restricting his windpipe,” Tony admits. “Nat, not that I don’t enjoy this-”
Natasha releases her hold.
“Talk,” she tells the man.
Monocle Man massages his throat, glaring up at her, but begins to speak.
-
Dum-Dum leaves rather than hear the explanation a second time around.
Peggy doesn’t speak through the whole thing. When she finally does, it’s to say, “So you- our you- is currently frozen somewhere in the Atlantic ocean in suspended animation?”
“I am. He is,” Steve corrects himself.
Peggy covers her mouth with her hand before dropping it to her lap. Her smile, when it comes, is hopeful. “You don’t happen to have the co-ordinates, do you?”
“No. I never checked,” Steve says. “I’m sorry.”
Peggy waves him off. “It was a long shot,” she says. She already looks like she’s thinking up a battle plan. Her jaw stiffens as she straightens up. “What’s our play from here?”
Steve hesitates. It’s only for a split second, but Peggy catches it. “You’ll be wanting to get back to your own century, I suppose.” She sounds resigned, but not surprised.
“Peggy-”
“It’s okay, Steve.” Another smile, this one less hopeful and more sad. “I’d want the same thing. You have people to get back to, of course.”
Steve nods. It’s on the tip of his tongue, and then falling from his mouth: “I got engaged just before getting sent here.”
He’s all too familiar with the pain that laces through Peggy’s expression. He had gone through his own version of it upon reading about Peggy’s marriage to some man Steve had never had the chance to meet.
“Well,” Peggy says. “What a lucky woman.”
Steve pauses, but only momentarily. “Lucky fella, actually.”
Peggy’s eyebrows shoot up her forehead and Steve remembers a lifetime of being told he had to pick one or the other. He hastens to add, “That doesn’t mean- it doesn’t mean I loved you any less. I did love you.”
“I know you did,” Peggy says. Her eyes are wide. “It’s legal, then? In your age?”
“Not everywhere, but- all over the USA, yes.”
Peggy’s lips curl upwards. “Isn’t that something?”
Steve twists his hands together. His fingers hurt from the pressure he’s pressing down on them. “Pegs-”
“It’s fine,” Peggy tells him. She’s not looking at him. Instead she’s looking at her bag, and Steve watches as she bends down to rummage through it. She plucks her purse from it and produces a black and white photograph from the change pocket.
Steve takes it- it’s worn, but not too old. In it is an oddly familiar woman with her arm around Peggy. She’s either a civilian or good at pretending to be one as she presses her cheek to Peggy’s, the both of them grinning at the camera.
“Her name is Angie,” Peggy says. Her fingers clench and unclench in the hem of her skirt and she looks around before lowering her voice and continuing, “We’ve been stepping out together for the past two years.”
Steve has to stop his grip from tightening as to not crush the picture. “Yeah?”
Peggy smiles. It’s watery and speaks volumes of something like fear and something else like pride. “Yes.”
Steve looks back down to the photo. “She’s beautiful, Pegs.”
He remembers her wedding photos- Angie had been a bridesmaid, he’s sure. He’s also sure that they had been touching in almost every photo of them Steve had seen; moreso than Peggy and her groom. He remembers deciding it must have been wishful thinking upon thinking that Peggy and her groom had looked at each other with something more like friendship than romance.
“She rather is, isn’t she,” Peggy agrees. She thanks him softly when he hands it back, then she busies herself with placing it gingerly back in her purse and placing that in her bag.
With that, she straightens again and lifts a hand to pat her hair into place. “I’m almost certain we won’t have anything to send you back with, Steve. But the technology eighty years in the future-”
“They’ll find a way,” Steve says. It’s a balm on his insides. “If there is a way, they’ll find it.”
Peggy hasn’t stopped looking at him like she expects him to vanish at any moment. “I am glad you found people, Steve. It can’t have been easy.”
Steve laughs. “That’s an understatement, Pegs.”
Peggy sucks in a breath and blows it out. “How long do you think you’ll be here?”
“I don’t know.”
Peggy nods. She purses her lips. “We should at least try to get you back, at least. I can get Howard to look into-”
She stops, then smacks her hand down onto her knee. “Howard! Howard will want to know you’re here! How was that not-”
She trails off at Steve’s expression. “Or I could hold off on that particular phone call.”
“That’d be… better.”
“Mm. Would it now.”
Steve forces a smile. “If I have to talk to Howard, I will.”
Peggy eyes him. “Steve. Please don’t tell me one of my closest friends is secretly HYDRA, or he becomes a secret HYDRA agent, or-”
“No, nothing like that. I just-” Steve struggles to find the words and settles with, “I’m close to someone who Howard didn’t… treat very well. For a long time.”
Peggy looks unsettled. “Define ‘didn’t treat very well,’” she says slowly. “Should I be on the watch for anything in particular?”
Probably, Steve doesn’t say. From what he’s gleamed from his time in the 21st century, he’s pieced together a picture of what Howard was like and it’s not flattering. Steve’s almost sure that he never inflicted physical abuse on his wife or son, but he’s also sure that that was one of the only redeeming features the man had when it came to his family. Whenever Tony let something slip about what Howard was like as a father, Steve had to wrangle the surge of anger that would flare up towards his old friend.
He’s saved from having to answer when the signal for dinner rings through the base.
-
Tony is running on caffeine, red bull and three hours of sleep in as many days when a crash drowns out Tony’s music.
Tony leaps up, wrench in hand and turns around only to find Bucky knocking shards of glass out of the way with his metal hand until he has a hole large enough to step through.
“Came as soon as I heard,” he says as a greeting, as if he didn’t just knock a hole in Tony’s workshop. “Where’s Bruce?”
“Sleeping.”
Bucky looks Tony up and down- Tony’s sure he looks less than impressive. “Which is for the weak, right?”
Tony scowls at him. “I’m working.”
Bucky shrugs. His metal arm might lag a bit on the upwards roll- Tony has to take another look at it later. “Shouldn’t matter. This works, you can pull him back from wherever, right? Just punch in a time and bam, he’s back after being in the past for two days. Or three.”
“One.” Tony presses the heels of his hands to his eyes. “We agreed on one day. It’s not enough for-” the life Steve originally wanted to live- “but we agreed. One day.”
Bucky shifts his weight from one foot to the other before stepping ever forwards until he’s leaning against the workbench. “What, you afraid he’s gonna like it too much if you let him stay longer?”
Tony doesn’t answer.
Bucky makes a noise in the back of his throat and shoves hair out of his eyes.
He’s overdue for a haircut, Tony thinks.
Bucky clears his throat. “Uh. Heard he proposed, before-"
Tony turns away. "Don’t.”
“Tones,” Bucky says. He says it almost like Rhodey- who Tony should probably text back, now that he thinks about it. Also Pepper. Pepper’s called him over twelve times and he hasn’t listened to one of her messages. “This is his home now. Has been for almost ten years. He’s not gonna be sad about coming back here. Hell, he’ll fight his way back if he has to.”
“I really want to believe you,” Tony tells him, and shit, he must be sleep-deprived to the nines if he admitted that.
Bucky’s gaze softens. He lifts his flesh hand and squeezes Tony’s shoulder. “C’mon. Steve’d knock me one if he knew I saw you like this and didn’t make you get some sleep.”
“’M fine.”
Bucky snorts. “Sure. C’mon.”
“James-”
“I’ll knock you out if I have to. I brought tranqs.”
“You’re a menace,” Tony grumbles, but he gets up and moves towards the cot in the corner of the workshop.
-
Steve wakes up to a tent ceiling.
It’s a familiar sight, but one that’s grown less and less familiar as the years passed. It takes him a second- where’s Tony why is JARVIS not telling me the weather- before it all comes back.
It sits heavily on his chest, pushing hard enough that Steve struggles to draw breath for several seconds. It’s eerily like it used to be when he woke up in the 21st century, back when he was still in his SHIELD-issued apartment and had yet to open himself up to the possibility of having actual friendships. He’d wake up and not recognize the white ceiling, and there’d be a moment of blissful confusion before reality set in again.
He closes his eyes and imagines the comfortable weight of Tony in the bed next to him, the soft light of the arc reactor ever-present in his chest as it lifted and fell with his breath.
It’s not long before he forces himself to his feet and goes to find Peggy. She’s awake, writing up reports, and nods at him as he walks into her tent.
“Still staring,” she asks.
“Every last one of ‘em,” Steve nods as he comes to lean against her desk. “What’s the official story?”
Peggy glances up, her hair bouncing with the motion. “We haven’t decided yet. Dum-Dum wants to say you’re a clone. Do things like this happen often?”
“Hmm?”
Peggy waves her pen at him. “Being displaced in time by a supervillain.”
“I wouldn’t call him a supervillain. Every supervillain I know has tried to take over the world- or end it- at least once.”
Peggy’s lips twitch. “I take it your answer is yes.”
“Things specifically like this don’t happen often,” Steve says. “But- yes. Every time I think this is hands down the strangest thing that has ever happened to me, something comes along the month after and blows it out of the water.”
Peggy laughs. It’s light and it yanks at Steve’s chest- she’s young and smooth-faced; she’s almost the Peggy he had fallen in love with so long ago.
We could have had a good life together, Steve thinks as he looks at her. It’s an old thought, one that hasn’t crossed his mind in- god, years. But it rears up as searing as it did the first time he thought it, the possibilities threatening to overwhelm him: a house, maybe, the both of them cleaning their weapons at the kitchen table and kissing for good luck before a mission. Growing old together.
He’s imagined it a hundred times over, but as soon as they appear, they’re shifting into the future Steve has built for himself: his team debating what to pick on their weekly movie night; Natasha sparring with him until Steve is grinning through blood; Clint and Thor arguing over Angry Birds after dinner; Bruce bringing him a bowl of muesli after a workout.
And Tony, of course- always Tony. Tony dozing next to him in the mornings, Tony kissing him absentmindedly in the workshop; the wet flop of his hair after a shower; his battle laugh. The softness in his eyes whenever Steve told him he loved him. The ring Steve left in his sweatpants pocket back at the Tower over fifty years from now and the life they’re going to make together, the life they’ve already constructed at each other’s side.
Before they had been interrupted by the Avengers alarm and Bruce, Steve had a speech planned. At one point he’d say I can’t wait to grow old with you, and though watching Peggy spurs a twinge in his chest, it’s an old pain that Steve has long since worked through.
Steve watches hair fall over Peggy’s eyes, watches her hand come up to brush it behind her ear and thinks We could’ve had a good life together once more. It’s still wistful, but it’s a closed door, one that he accepted years ago.
He’s still watching her when she looks up, mouth open to speak. She stops when she catches the look in his eyes.
They’re looking at each other when a light bursts into existence outside the tent. Yells start up immediately, and Peggy reaches automatically for her gun, but Steve stands.
“I think that’s my ride.”
Peggy’s hand hovers over her holster as Steve hears a mechanical whir and an achingly familiar voice say, “Whoa, hey, I come in peace. Ignore the shiny robot that appeared from nothing, I’ll be out of your hair in a second, I’m just looking for someone.”
Steve all but runs from the tent as Tony continues, “Has anyone seen-”
His faceplate is up. He’s holding something metallic and circular, coloured the same as the ray gun that had sent Steve back.
He trails off as he spots Steve, his lips moving in a soundless thank god as Peggy calls for the agents pointing guns at Tony to stand down.
“You’re a sight for sore eyes, mister,” Steve tells him as he comes closer. It’s true, even though Tony looks run ragged- he hasn’t shaved in days and looks as if he hasn’t slept in just as long. His hair is greasy across his forehead. “Gonna take us home?”
Tony’s mouth tugs downwards. His eyes go over Steve’s shoulder, and Steve turns to see Peggy schooling her expression into a casual one- no doubt she noticed the man’s resemblance to Howard.
“You sure you want me to,” Tony asks in a low voice, quiet enough that no one can hear it apart from Steve.
Steve reaches up to take Tony’s face in his hands. Or, the sides of Tony’s helmet. Masculinity was more tactile back here, and it wasn’t like Steve was staying long enough to get court-marshalled.
“Tony. This is my past. Okay? You’re my future.”
It earns him a tremulous smile. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. Thought that was clear, what with the proposal and all.”
“Which you still haven’t finished.”
“Which I still haven’t finished,” Steve agrees. “Take us home and I’ll get right on that.”
Tony hesitates. “You saying goodbye first?”
I said goodbye when she died, Steve doesn’t say. Instead he turns and meets Peggy’s eyes. “I-”
“I know,” she says, and Steve pictures her on the wedding day she hasn’t lived through yet. “Go home, Steve. You of all people deserve it.”
When Steve looks back at Tony, he’s holding out the orb he has cupped in both hands.
Steve places his fingers on it. Tony clicks something on the side of the orb that rasps metallically, and Steve closes his eyes as the light washes over them both.