Storytime with Rachel F Hundred

“Relax, Captain Rogers,” Natasha Romanoff said in a low whisper.  She smiled prettily at a waiter who all but fell over himself to offer her a tray of champagne.  She took two flutes and handed one to Steve.

Steve took it and tried to smile, but he felt stupid.  He resisted tugging on his bowtie.  He wished he had his shield with him.

He hated the mission.  He hated it because he was having to attend a fancy black-tie charity event and Steve felt as out of place as a virgin in a whore house. 

He’d tried to explain that to Natasha, but she had simply stared him down, ably assisted by a seriously intense cat watching everything from its perch on a filing cabinet.

The mission, Steve reminded himself, he just had to focus on the mission.  They were there to prevent an assassination attempt on Tony Stark.  Steve just had to focus on that.

He guessed he shouldn’t complain.  He’d told his handler, Agent Sitwell, often enough that he was bored being cooped up at SHIELD like some damsel in a tower.  Maybe he understood Director Fury’s decision for him to keep a low profile, but spending every day locked away in training was frustrating, especially once Clint Barton had been sent away to provide protection for some scientists.  He’d have taken that mission over the charity ball.

But this was a mission, he thought determinedly, and it had gotten him out of SHIELD at last. 

He sighed and blushed at Natasha’s remonstrative glance.  He glanced about but he didn’t see Stark anywhere in the ballroom.

“He’s not here yet,” Natasha said, “he’s usually late.”

Rude, Steve lamented in his head.  There again, Howard had never turned up for anything on time either, so his son was probably following his poor example.

Steve frowned.

The file he’d been given on Stark had been sparse.  It had contained a brief biography, and a summation of the man’s academic and business accomplishments.  It had also contained Natasha’s scathing analysis of Stark’s suitability for The Avengers. 

It appeared that Stark had inherited all of Howard’s brilliance and business acumen, and all of his worst habits.  It was disappointing.  Doubly disappointing because Steve loved the Iron Man suit itself.  As an artist he appreciated the beauty of it; the clean lines, the form…it was a work of art.

Bucky would have loved it.

His breath caught in his throat, the ever-present ache of his loss stealing over him again.  It might have been years since Bucky had died, but for Steve the loss was only months old.  He’d barely had time to grieve him before he’d been frozen…

(And he wasn’t thinking about why he’d been all too willing to put the plane in the sea, to go down with it…)

Steve forced himself to take a breath.  He sipped his champagne and grimaced at the taste. 

“Try to look as though you’re enjoying yourself!” hissed Natasha from beside him as they walked through the crowd.

“I’m a soldier not an actor,” Steve replied in a low voice, even as he attempted to smile at an elderly woman in an overly pink frock.

“You were in a show to sell bonds for months in the war,” Natasha said dryly. 

Steve felt the heat of his flush hit his cheeks and berated the fact that the serum hadn’t eliminated his tendency to blush.

Natasha steered them to the bar.  “Stay here,” she ordered, “I’m going to check the perimeter.”

She was gone before Steve could protest.  He shuffled awkwardly and tugged at the tightness of his bow tie. 

There was a credible threat against Stark, he reminded himself, and he was there to help ensure the playboy billionaire didn’t get himself killed, something Stark seemed determined to do by recklessly throwing himself into danger.

Steve flushed.

Reckless.

Well.

He’d be a hypocrite if he didn’t admit he’d throw himself into danger if it meant saving others.  He couldn’t exactly condemn Stark for doing the same thing.

Reckless acts like driving in a Formula One race though, that he could condemn Stark for…but then if Bucky had still been alive, no doubt his best friend would have already listed twenty reckless acts Steve had done before he’d even turned twelve.

Steve leaned heavily against the bar.

“Well, don’t you look lonesome?”

The comment behind him had him turning to find a pretty blonde in a short black dress sliding onto a stool beside him.  She was a beautiful dame and Steve felt himself blushing again.

“My, uh, date just went…outside,” Steve stuttered through an explanation.

“Uh-huh,” the blonde smiled.  “I’m Sharon.”

“Steve,” he offered and automatically held his hand out to shake.

Sharon’s smile widened, but she shook hands.  “So polite.”  She motioned at the bartender.

Steve found himself discarding the champagne and ordering a glass of merlot when she ordered one for herself. 

She swirled the red liquid around the glass and surveyed him over it.  “So, what brings you to the charity event of the year?”

“Is it?” asked Steve, surprised.

Sharon tilted her head.  “Don’t tell me,” she said dryly, “your date dragged you here.”

Steve smiled.  “You got me.” He gestured at the ballroom and its glittering crowd of rich people.  “This isn’t really me.”

“You mean being charitable?” teased Sharon.

“Is this charity?” asked Steve, bluntly.  “Charity shouldn’t be just about turning up to a fancy do and sipping champagne.  Volunteering, helping out…that’s charity.”

“Some people help hands-on,” Sharon commented, “and some give money to help those people have charities where they can be hands-on.”  She sipped her drink.  “You can’t deny money makes the world go round.”

“Doesn’t make it right.”  He shrugged.  “This lets people pretend they’ve done something instead of actually doing something.  It’s a waste of time.  If all they want to do is give money, then give the money.  There’s no need for this whole song and dance.”

“You sound like Tony,” commented Sharon.

Steve’s eyes widened.  “You know Stark?”

Sharon nodded, amusement plain on her face at his shock.  “My Aunt is his godmother,” she explained, “I spent most of my childhood following him around and bugging him to play with me.”

Steve frowned.  There had been nothing in the file to say Stark had godparents.  “And did he?”

“Sure, unless he was in the workshop with his Dad,” Sharon said. 

Hadn’t the file noted Stark’s Daddy issues as part of his broken psychosis? Steve couldn’t quite reconcile that with a boy happily spending time in a workshop with his Dad.  But then he couldn’t reconcile Stark agreeing with Steve about the charity event; he said as much to Sharon.

“Tony hates these events,” Sharon confided.  “It’s why he’s always late and will only stay as long as Pepper insists.”

Her expression had softened at the mention of the CEO of Stark Industries.

“You must know Ms. Potts well,” Steve commented.  He personally felt sorry for the woman being lumbered with Stark as a partner and employer; he was an overgrown man-child according to the file and didn’t seem like a good match for an accomplished woman.

“She’s great,” Sharon enthused, “and I’m glad the pair of them are finally together.  The mutual pining was getting painful.”  Her gaze was dreamy.  “My Aunt used to say life was too short not to dance with the one you loved.”

Steve’s heart ached a little at that.  He remembered all too well his own missed dance with Peggy.  He wished he could have made their date.  Maybe if he’d jumped from the plane…but surviving had seemed too difficult without Bucky.

He wished he could get up the nerve to go visit her.  He knew she was in a care home with memory issues, that she wasn’t the vivacious woman he had courted, but that truly didn’t matter to him.  No, it was the thought that seeing her would make the fact that he was in the future all too real that made him stay away.

Steve startled at the feel of Sharon’s hand atop his own.

“You OK?”  Sharon asked, concerned.  “You seemed far away just then.”

“Just remembering lost opportunities,” Steve demurred.  He searched frantically for something to say to divert attention from his own pain.  “You think Stark will go the distance with Ms. Potts?”

“They love each other,” Sharon said, her eyes narrowing at the hint of scepticism in his tone, “that’s half the battle.”  She shrugged one shoulder elegantly.  “Besides, she knows who he really is.”

“And who’s that?” asked Steve bluntly, thinking of Natasha’s harsh opinion.

“A good guy,” Sharon immediately replied, “one of the best.”  She gestured back out to the crowd.  “Take the charity thing; Tony spends hours doing hands-on stuff, but nobody hears about it.”  Her finger skimmed the rim of her glass.  “When I asked once about why nobody knew, Tony said that nobody was interested in him helping out at a disadvantaged kids’ science event when they can have pictures of him drunk at some charity ball instead.”

The contrast with the file was jarring.  Maybe Sharon was biased because of her own relationship with Stark.

“One good deed doesn’t make a good man,” Steve thought out loud.

Sharon’s blue gaze turned icy.  “Who do you think he is?” she asked with a hint of anger.  “Since you know him so well.”

“I think he’s not the kind of man to lay down his life for others,” Steve said, “and I think he should stop playing at being a hero.”

Sharon’s eyes widened abruptly.  “You don’t even know him.”

Steve felt heat rising in his cheeks.  “I’ve read enough about him to…”

Sharon laughed, cutting him off.  “Read about him?” she shook her head, sending the blonde waves flying around her uncovered shoulders.  “Most of what’s written about him is outright lies or someone’s interpretation of what they think they see.  There’s very few people who know the real Tony.”  Her gaze glittered.  “You shouldn’t believe everything you read.”

Her words landed with enough force to make him inwardly feel their sting; to feel stupid at taking the file at face value.

“I’ve seen enough too,” Steve replied firmly, trying to maintain his position on what felt like shifting sands, “there’s video of him doing things…”

“Like what?” challenged Sharon.

Steve scrambled to reply.  “He wore the Iron Man suit when he was drunk and frightened people at a party held for his benefit.”

“He was dying of heavy metal poisoning which influenced his behaviour,” Sharon retorted.  “And he had a little spider whispering in his ear when he was most vulnerable telling him to do whatever he wanted.”

Steve almost flinched at the allusion to Natasha before the rest of it registered.  “He was dying?”

Sharon nodded. 

Steve wondered how Stark had gotten heavy metal poisoning, how he’d been cured…he shook his head.  “I didn’t know that.”  It hadn’t been in the file.  Had Natasha’s entire report been based on Stark when he’d been ill and dying?  That seemed unfair.

“It seems there’s a lot you don’t know,” Sharon remarked dryly.  “So, go on; what’s your next so-called proof?”

Steve scrambled to think of a second example.  “The Senate hearing,” he blurted out, “he was…he told the Senators they were…ass-clowns.”

“They were,” Sharon said dryly.

Steve blinked at her.  “They deserve respect.”

“Do they?” asked Sharon.  “Do you really think corrupt politicians who wanted to bully Tony into turning over his intellectual property for their own use deserve respect?  Especially when Tony was only just getting over being kidnapped and tortured by terrorists trying to do that same thing?”

Steve pressed his lips together because he couldn’t reply to her brusque questions with anything other than agreement.  But, Steve thought, it did leave him with another line of attack.  “Do you really think destroying his father’s legacy was the right response to that?”

Sharon stared at him.  “His father’s legacy?” she repeated.  “You think Tony should have just continued to make weapons because it’s what his father did, no matter the personal cost to Tony?  To his conscience or to his sense of self-worth?”  Her eyes flashed angrily.  “Tony never wanted to make weapons in the first place, he wanted to create robots!  If it hadn’t been for everyone telling him the same bullshit you just spouted after Howard died, he wouldn’t have even continued the company at all.”

A throat clearing behind them had them both turning.

Steve froze at the sight of Phil Coulson stood there, a placid expression on his face.  Steve had only met the senior SHIELD agent once but his reputation in SHIELD was of a stellar agent who was Fury’s right-hand man.  Coulson ignored Steve thankfully and focused on the blonde woman beside him.

“Miss Carter, you’re needed elsewhere,” Phil said calmly.

Steve started at the familiar surname.  She couldn’t be related to Peggy…could she?

Sharon smiled coldly and abandoned her drink.  She looked over to Steve.  “It was interesting to meet you, Captain Rogers,” she picked up her small evening clutch-purse from the bar, “I guess it’s true what they say; you should never meet your heroes.  I guess that’s because they’ll turn out to be judgemental asses.”

She slid off the stool and was away before Steve could say another word.

Phil looked at him. 

Steve rubbed the back of his neck and smiled sheepishly.

Phil angled his head towards the ballroom doors.  “Walk with me.”

Steve fell into step beside him, feeling like nothing more than a green recruit.  They walked in silence and once they cleared the ballroom, Steve couldn’t bear the silence anymore.

“I didn’t realise you were part of this op, sir,” Steve said politely.

Phil hummed.  “From what I overheard, Captain, there seems to be a lot you don’t realise.”

“You agree with Sharon, uh, Miss Carter?” He blurted out.

Phil raised one thin eyebrow at him.

“You think Stark didn’t destroy Howard’s legacy,” Steve stated for clarity.

Phil had walked them over to the elevators.  He pressed the call button and ushered Steve into the empty space.  He slid a key card through a scanner and pressed a floor number before he replied.

“What I know is Howard considered his son his greatest achievement,” Phil said evenly, “and Stark Industries is prospering under the new direction.”  He met Steve’s gaze.  “I’m not certain how you would view those facts and surmise that Tony Stark destroyed Howard’s legacy.”

“He’s not making weapons,” Steve replied almost sulkily.

“No, he’s not,” Phil said, “but he is making technology which keeps our soldiers alive in the field and helping them live their lives afterwards.”

“That wasn’t in his file,” Steve said defensively.  He was beginning to think that there was a lot missing from the file and that was a problem.

There was a flicker of anger across Phil’s face before his expression smoothed out again.  “Your version of the file was heavily edited.”

Steve frowned at that but before he could ask why, there was a ding.

Phil motioned at the opening doors.  “Natasha is in room five-oh-eight.  She’s expecting you.”

Steve stepped out.  He turned back to ask Phil why he was being directed to a bedroom, but the doors were already closing, the elevator going down again.  It was probably the surveillance room.  He remembered Natasha had mentioned it when she’d briefed him.

Steve shook off his unease and glanced at the sign which informed him the room he was looking for was to his right.  He set off.

He rounded one corner, swore when he realised that he was going the wrong way and turned around again.  He rounded another corner and…froze.

There was a man at the end of the corridor by the stairwell door.

Dark hair, shoulder length; dark eyes trained on him.  He wore a tactical outfit; leathers.  He was armed; knives, gun.  He was wearing some kind of metal sleeve on his left arm…

Steve would have recognised him anywhere.      

“Bucky,” Steve whispered.

The man glared at him and stepped back through the door, disappearing into the stairwell.

Steve didn’t think – he chased after him.

He barged through the door and heard footsteps above him, running.

He leaped for the stairs, taking them two, three at a time…he jumped over the bannisters to cut down the distance between him and his fleeing friend…

“Bucky!” Steve called out, desperately.  “Wait! Please, just…wait!”

But the footsteps kept running.

Steve raced up a final staircase, threw himself through the exit door and onto the roof.  He raced around the corner and…stopped at the sight of Bucky.

His friend stood at the roof’s edge, looking back at him, with a strange calm.

“Bucky?” Steve took a step forward but stopped as Bucky held up a hand.  “Buck, please.  It’s me, Steve.”

Bucky sighed.  “I’m sorry about this, Stevie.”

Steve’s heart leaped.  It was Bucky!  Joy filled him until he thought he couldn’t breathe from it.  But what was Bucky apologising for? 

There was a short, sharp pain in the back of his neck.

He clapped a hand to it and he whirled around to see Sharon standing there with an injector.

“Sharon?” Steve asked, but his strength was already draining away.  His knees went to jelly and he slumped to them, listing sideways to fall against the hard concrete of the roof.

Bucky filled his vision as it started to blur.  Steve tried to say something, anything…and the world went black.

o-O-o

Consciousness had always flooded in sharply; Steve shifted from sleep to wakefulness in a blink, but Steve had long ago trained himself not to move when he woke up.  The memory of what had happened before he had lost consciousness played over in his mind even as he began to catalogue his surroundings.

He was on a bed; the mattress was firm.  He was clothed; still in the pants and shirt he had worn before he had been rendered unconscious, although his feet were bare and there was no tie.  That settled him a little.  He wasn’t naked.  He wasn’t strapped down either; he couldn’t sense any bindings and his position felt natural. 

There was someone in the room with him; they sat near to the bed, but not too close.  They were tapping on something occasionally.  The scent of them was familiar despite the years which had passed; Bucky.

He’d seen Bucky.

Chased him to the roof.

“You can stop pretending to be asleep, punk,” Bucky said.

Yeah.  He’d never been able to fool Bucky.

But it had to be a trick or a hallucination.  Bucky was dead.  Steve had seen him fall.  There was no way he could have survived, right?  Right?

“You should know I’m not above dragging you out of bed and dumping your ass in a cold shower,” Bucky continued.

“You’re dead,” Steve replied roughly, mouth dry as bone.  He kept his eyes closed.

There was a short beat of silence.  Steve held his breath.

“I survived,” Bucky said softly.  There was movement, a couple of steps, and Steve almost flinched at the touch of a hand on his arm.  “Open your eyes, Stevie.”

“You promise you’re really here?” whispered Steve.

“I promise,” Bucky whispered back.

Steve opened his eyes slowly, half-afraid he wouldn’t see Bucky, and half-afraid he would.  Bucky’s face filled his vision.  Steve gave a half-sob and threw himself forward.

Bucky caught him and they ended up sat awkwardly on the bed, Steve wrapped around Bucky as tight as he could hold him.  Bucky held him back just as tightly.  Steve couldn’t stop the tears.  He tried blinking them back, but they ran down his face anyway.  He tucked his face into Bucky’s neck to hide them.

“Stevie,” Bucky sounded as wrecked as Steve felt.

“I’m so sorry, Buck, I’m so sorry!  I tried, I swear and I…”

“Hey, hey,” Bucky’s hand stroked over the back of his head.  “It wasn’t your fault, Steve.”

Steve gave a gasping sob to that, unable to manage words because it was his fault.  He should have done something more…he should have saved Bucky.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Bucky repeated.  “I made my choices and it was…it was stupid bad luck.  That’s all it was.  It wasn’t your fault.”  He tugged Steve into a position where Bucky could look him in the eye and Steve forced himself to meet Bucky’s gaze.  “It wasn’t your fault.”

Steve leaned forward and rested his forehead on Bucky’s.  “I missed you.”

Bucky’s breath seemed to catch.  He swallowed.  “I missed you too.”

Finally, Steve managed to pull his shattered composure into a semblance of normal.  He inched back and really looked at his friend.

Bucky’s eyes had a suspicious gleam of dampness too.  He looked good for all there were faint hints of strain in lines that edged the corners of his eyes, a smudge of dark underneath giving away a lack of sleep.  Steve absently noted the more muscular frame of his friend before his eyes snapped to the metal arm sleeve…only for him to realise it wasn’t a sleeve at all…

“Bucky, your arm…” Steve spluttered out, horror coating every word.

“Lost it in the fall,” Bucky said succinctly.  “Tony made me this.”

“Tony?” Steve frowned.  “Tony as in Stark?”  He looked around them at the large bedroom.  There were blinds covering the windows.  The furniture was simple, modern but with a classic feel.  “Where are we?  And what happened last night?  Why was I knocked out and…” 

Bucky held onto him as Steve started to shift away.  “Look, it’s a long story, Steve,” he said, “and I will tell you everything.  But first though, bathroom’s through there,” he pointed at a door off to the side, “get washed up.  I’ll leave you some clean clothes out here and when you’re ready, you can come find me in the kitchen.  It’s just through that door,” he pointed to another door at the end of the room, “and up the stairs.  JARVIS can help you if you get stuck.  Say hi, JARVIS.”

“Good morning, Sergeant Barnes; Captain Rogers,” a smooth English voice sounded from the ceiling and Steve flinched.  JARVIS had been in the file; he was Stark’s computerised butler.

Bucky turned back to Steve.  “Wash, dress, come find me.”  He left before Steve could stop him.

Steve sat, flummoxed.  He shook himself.  He wasn’t going to learn anything by sitting on the bed.  He got up and followed orders. 

Thirty minutes later, he wandered in flimsy flip-flops into the kitchen only to stop at the sight of the ocean through the balcony doors to his right.  Bucky pointed him at the small round table nearby and they sat down outside in the sunshine with freshly brewed coffee, sandwiches and chips.  Steve devoured the food as Bucky talked. 

It was horrifying.

Torture.

Brainwashing.

Years spent being frozen and unfrozen just to kill, just to undergo more torture and brainwashing.

Steve’s guilt rose back up with each word Bucky spoke.  If only he’d searched for Bucky himself…

“Anyway, almost a year ago I got sent to kill Tony.  Hydra wanted him dead because he was intent on going after anyone who had Stark weapons illegally,” Bucky said.  “Only I get here to Malibu to kill him and I get taken down by DUM-E, his robot.”

Steve blinked at the amused tone.  “You got taken down by a robot?”  He remembered there had been mention of a robotic arm in the file with the same designation; was that the same thing?

“To be fair, Tony called me Bucky Barnes which confused me.  I stood there asking who the hell was Bucky and DUM-E hit me over the head with a fire extinguisher,” Bucky said wryly.  “Cognitive recalibration.  Tony’s helped me shake the brainwashing, replaced the arm and…” he paused, sobering suddenly.

“Buck?”

“He forgave me for killing his parents,” Bucky said quietly.

Steve’s eyes widened in shock.  “Bucky, you couldn’t have…”

“But I did,” Bucky said, “I might have been brainwashed at the time, but it was my hands which killed them.”

“If Stark is blaming you…”

“Tony didn’t blame me at all,” Bucky asserted strongly, cutting Steve off from the beginning of a rant.  “He said he knew I was only the weapon; Hydra pulled the trigger.  When I begged him for forgiveness, he said that there wasn’t anything to forgive because it wasn’t my fault.”

Steve felt like a chump.  He ran his hand through his blond hair and grimaced.  “Sorry, just…” he sighed heavily, “I know you think he’s a good man, and he’s clearly done a lot for you, it’s just…the file SHIELD gave me paints a…”

“You mean the file Hydra gave you,” Bucky interrupted him again.

Steve froze.

Bucky sighed and rubbed his chin.  “SHIELD employed Zola and a few of the other scientists after the war.  They infiltrated SHIELD.  It came to light when Tony went digging into Hydra after my attempt to kill him.”

Steve got up, unable to remain still.  He paced back and forth.  Hydra was in SHIELD.  

“We’ve been trying to find a way to get you out since Tony got the call from the Stark Expedition team that they’d found you, but before Tony could move, SHIELD seized the Valkyrie and you,” Bucky said.  “Alexander Pierce insisted on taking a personal interest – he’s Hydra – and assigned Sitwell before Fury could get Coulson into place.  We managed to have Barton befriend you until they managed to get him reassigned a few weeks ago.  He alerted us to the fact they were feeding you with misinformation.  Thankfully, Natalia was able to play double agent for us and get Sitwell to assign her as your partner.”

Steve paused.  “Natalia?”

“Uh, you probably know her as Natasha,” Bucky said.  “She sent an SOS last week when she found evidence that they were planning to brainwash you; to put you in the…” his voice broke off and he looked away into the distance.

“You said they were feeding me misinformation.  The file on Stark…”

“All the files you were given were altered,” Bucky stated, “but the one on Tony?  They arranged the info on him in such a way to ensure you’d dislike him before you’d even met him.  Nat’s report was a fake designed to get Tony interested in Fury’s Avenger thing; it wasn’t meant to be shared wider.  They couldn’t have the two of you forming a friendship.”

Steve winced.  And they’d succeeded, he thought angrily.  Even when Bucky told him about how Stark had helped him, Steve had assumed the worst about Stark’s motivations.  He had only started questioning the file the night before after his encounter with Sharon and…he flushed with embarrassment recalling Sharon’s words from the ball.

“Wait,” Steve said, everything suddenly coming together in his head.  “The mission to save Stark last night…”

“…was a set-up to rescue you from Hydra,” Bucky confirmed.

Steve felt like an idiot.  “Does Stark know about…”

“He knows Hydra lied to you about him,” Bucky said comfortingly, “and he doesn’t hold anything you said about him last night against you.”

Steve put his hands over his face.  “He heard everything?!”

Bucky nodded, a faintly mischievous glimmer in his eyes.  “Sharon was wearing a wire.”

“He must hate me,” Steve said out loud.

“He doesn’t hate you,” Bucky pushed the plate with the remaining sandwich on it across the table.  “Go down the stairs by the kitchen; they’ll take you to his workshop.  Go find out for yourself.”

Steve would have dithered but for the knowing gaze Bucky sent his way.  He picked up the sandwich and made his way back inside.  He walked down the stairs feeling like a man walking to his doom.  How did someone apologise for being such a…what had Sharon called him?  A judgemental ass?

The workshop had a glass front and Stark froze at the sight of him.  For a long moment they stood on either side of the glass staring at each other.

Stark was not the glossy image of his photos.  He wore old jeans, streaked with grease; a faded old band t-shirt backlit blue from the arc reactor.  He looked tired…and wary, but he waved Steve inside.

Steve stepped through the open door and put the sandwich down on a nearby bench as Stark wiped his hands with an old cloth.  Part of the Iron Man suit was laid out in front of him.

“What can I do for you, Captain?” asked Stark politely.

Steve winced at the formality.  “I’m sorry,” he blurted out, “I just…”

“You believed what Hydra wanted you to believe,” Stark cut in sharply.  His smile was almost as cutting.  “Listen, Cap, no apologies necessary.  The file wasn’t wrong; I am a spoiled rich kid who does exactly what he wants.”

But Steve could see the defensive and guarded look in his eyes despite the arrogant tone. 

“You’re more than what’s in that file,” Steve countered evenly. 

He saw the words register with Stark and there was a subtle shift, tension leaking out of his body.

Steve took a breath and offered his hand.  “If you can forgive me for being a judgemental ass, I’d really like to get to know you.”

For a moment, he thought Stark wasn’t going to respond.  His dark eyes searched Steve’s expression and Steve held firm, confident in his commitment to make things right, to move past the file and his wrong impressions.

And, finally…Stark reached out and took his hand.

“We’re destroying Hydra, right?” Steve stated.

Stark smiled darkly.  “Every single head.”

Steve smiled back.  That, Steve thought with satisfaction, was a mission he could get behind.

fin.