Chapter Text
Three months after Steve wakes up, the world needs saving again.
Apparently, it's a twice-a-year kind of thing, which Steve wasn't aware of, but he's not exactly going to ask questions when there's a guy with a doomsday device threatening to detonate said doomsday device, unless they- unless they- okay, at this point, Steve is kind of distracted, because everyone else shows up.
'Everyone' being the Avengers, who all look surprised to see each other, before slipping back into superhero mode and kicking the living shit out of 'Doctor Doom,' or whatever the heck he calls himself.
Steve finds himself grinning, despite everything, because god, he didn't realize how much he's missed this- having someone to back him, people to fight around, getting caught and pulled to his feet.
Hell, even Stark's quips make his mouth quirk upwards slightly.
The fight doesn't last long, and it ends with 'Dr. Doom'- and Steve suppresses the sigh at that, because who voluntarily calls themselves 'Doctor Doom,' really- surrendering, which is a welcome surprise.
Clint clicks his bow back into place. “Wow. You really don’t give up, huh?”
Doctor Doom- and come on, Steve is never not going to despair over humanity at that- glowers, and lifts his chin under the mask. “I will be free in a matter of weeks, scum. Mark my words.”
“Whatever, Doomy-woomy.” Clint chucks him under the chin. “We should really start having dinner dates. I’m free next Tuesday, if you want to escape then-”
“Don’t taunt the evil mastermind, Barton,” Coulson’s voice comes from the comm.
“Whatever you say, sir,” Clint says back, and then: “Okay, not that I’m not glad to see you guys again, but what the hell are you doing here? Hey, Tasha.”
“Hey,” Natasha replies. “Fury called me in. He said this was a solo mission, but obviously he might have stretched the truth a bit.”
Tony cocks an eyebrow. “Good ol’ Nicky-poo? Well, I never. How dare you suggest that he would lie to us like that, when we trust him so deeply-”
“Fuck you, Stark,” Fury’s voice comes in over the comm, deadpan as ever.
Tony grins. “Aw, shucks. In a matter of fact, gee willikers and golly gee.”
He sniffs, and flips the faceplate up. “Sorry. Cap seems to be having an effect on me.”
“Nice to see you, too, Stark,” Steve says, and surprise flickers across Tony’s face before the trademark smirk is back, full-blown.
“And I don’t say ‘gee willikers.”
“But you do say ‘golly gee’? Because I was joking, Christ, Cap, we need to get you caught up on this century’s swears. Okay, first, there’s ‘fu-‘”
“-dge,” Steve cuts him off, glaring. “Is this really the time to lecture me on cussing, Stark?”
Tony blows air crassly through his lips. “Weeeeeell, since Fury hasn’t said, ‘I guess you’re wondering why I called you all here today’ yet-”
“Don’t push it,” Fury says. “I wanted to test that you still work well together. Now that I’ve seen you do-”
“You couldn’t have rang us up, asked us nicely, hey, remember those dudes you saved the worlds with a few months back-”
Fury says, “Stark, I will fly this goddamn Helicarrier down and sink my fist into your teeth,” and Tony holds up his hands, sighing melodramatically.
Steve bites the inside of his cheek to stop him from laughing, and why the hell is he enjoying this so much?
He knows the answer, distantly- too many nights walking through Brooklyn, or putting off walking through Brooklyn, or noticing something that was there 70 years ago and having it ache just as much as something that wasn’t there 70 years ago, like a bakery that’s still a bakery, or a bakery that got demolished and turned into a crappy hotel in the 80s.
And it hurts, it does, and he thinks it’s always going to hurt- that full, physical pain in his chest, sinking into his stomach, because he had only closed his eyes for a few seconds and the world has grown around him while he wasn’t looking, into something blinding and flashy and fast that Steve doesn’t even think he wants.
“We’d like you all to become a team again,” Fury says, and his voice crackles from a bad connection. “Full-time. Would you be able to handle that?”
“Where would-”
“I think you can find a place, Stark. I’ve seen the blueprints.”
Tony mutters something that Steve doesn’t catch, and Fury says, “And Cap would be the leader, of course.”
Of course. “Thank you, sir.”
“Not doing it for your benefit, Captain. Are you all in on this?”
Clint shrugs. “I got nothing on.”
“I’m in,” Natasha says.
“I would be honoured to continue to fight in such a team,” Thor says, clapping a hand to his chest and making Steve imagine a blonde orangutan. “I accept.”
“Hrrrrrrg,” says Hulk, and Tony hooks a thumb at him. “Bruce says yes. And I graciously, selflessly-”
“We’re in,” Steve interrupts.
Clint rocks back and forth on his heels. “O-kaaaay! Now that that’s all settled, where the hell are the SHIELD agents to pick up our old friend Dr. Doom here?”
Steve manages not to roll his eyes- Doctor goddamn Doom, honestly, he’s never going to get over this- and catches Tony’s gaze as he does, who is smirking almost knowingly.
Steve’s mouth twitches, and he shrugs slightly, just a tiny shift of his shoulders.
“Well, it is a stupid name,” he says quietly.
He thinks he hears Natasha snorting on the other side of him, but when he looks up, her face is impassive.
“They’ll be there in a minute, hold your positions,” Fury says.
“Yesserrie,” Clint salutes sloppily, before looking up at the others. “Sooooo. Have you guys done anything interesting since we saved the world from an alien invasion, almost died a billion times, defeated a demigod, and looked fucking spectacular while doing all of it?”
“I learned how to knit,” Natasha deadpans, sliding her knives back into their holsters, and Tony makes a sound that might be a laugh if he wasn’t trying so hard not to let it turn into one.
She looks at him with raised eyebrows. “I also learned a few dozen ways to kill someone with a knitting needle.”
“I spent much time with the fair Jane,” Thor says, and when he smiles, it’s nothing like the broad grin that Steve is used to: it’s soft, almost shy. “It greatly humbles me to be in her presence. I would not exchange it for the world.”
“Good for you, big guy,” Bruce says from behind him, holding up his pants with both hands. “I mean, now that you’re the, uh. Big guy.”
Tony flicks his hand at him, half-waving. “Hey, Bruce. I might have possibly signed you up to the Avengers.”
“So I heard,” Bruce says, practically drowning in his fistfuls of pants, which seem to have stretched enormously while Hulk-ing. “Good to see everyone again.”
“Likewise,” Natasha says, her lips curving upwards. “So, Stark. Where is it you’re going to be keeping us?”
Tony brings a metal hand around to scratch at his head. “I might have a place picked out.”
-
Steve, unsurprisingly, doesn’t have much to pack to bring to the tower.
Avengers Tower, apparently, which Tony had neglected to mention.
He only has to pack one suitcase- his clothes, which barely fill the bottom of the suitcase; along with his toiletries, and his shield.
“You know,” Tony says, when he looks up from his phone and sees the single suitcase that Steve’s carrying out to the car, “I could take you on a shopping spree. That is pitiful. You have, what, two shirts? One for winter and one for summer?”
Steve lets Happy take his suitcase from him and pop open the boot. “Three, actually.”
Tony opens his mouth, before catching sight of what’s probably a too-loose smile on Steve’s face.
He finds himself remembering talking to Tony on the Helicarrier, after Coulson had been declared ‘dead’- Fury hadn’t said sorry afterwards, but Coulson had almost tripped over his IV apologizing- and how Tony’s voice had curled into itself, how his entire frame had shifted into something defensive and broken, almost, when he had said, I’m not a soldier.
Then the careful re-adjustment, the drop of his eyes, the lowering of his voice, trying to keep everything under control: I’m not marching to Fury’s fife.
Me neither, and Steve remembers the words had tasted waxy under his tongue, bright and bold and rolling away before he can stop them.
Tony closes his mouth again, and then: “We’re bantering?”
“Yes, Tony, we’re bantering." Steve bites down on a smile, and nods to Happy, who is closing the boot. “Thanks, Mr. Hogan.”
Happy- true to his name- grins. “No problem, sir. And call me ‘Happy.’”
Steve nods again, and Happy might bounce a little as he walks to the other side of the car to the driver’s seat.
Tony clicks his tongue, pushing himself off of the bumper. “Okey-dokey, artichoke-y! Let’s go harass some paparazzi.”
“No,” Steve says, reaching for the door handle, and from inside the car, he can hear Bruce’s muffled, “Just get in the car, Tony.”
Tony pouts. “You never let me have any fun,” he says, and slides into the car next to Steve. “Drive, Happy.”
“Tower, Boss?”
“Tower.”
“Oooh, waitwaitwait,” Tony says suddenly, and Happy glances at him in the rear-view mirror.
“Detour,” Tony says. “5th Avenue. We need to get Steve some actual clothes. Maybe another shirt, if I’m feeling generous, so he can have one for each season.”
“I’m fine-”
“Steve,” Tony says, turning to him. “Come on. Shirts. Pants. Shoes. Underwear. Even superheroes need clothing. We can get you something star-spangled!”
“No,” Steve says flatly, and gets the feeling that he’s going to have to say that too much in the near future, because Tony’s going to say things like this a lot.
It sounds more appealing than it should be.
“It’s easier if you just give in,” Bruce says. “If he buys you something with rhinestones on it, just ignore him.”
“Pleeeeease,” Tony begs. “Come ooooooon. Billionaire taking you on a shopping spree. People would literally kill for this.”
Steve holds his gaze for a few seconds, and tries not to let his mouth tick upwards when Tony pushes his bottom lip out.
There’s something beating around in his throat, and he doesn’t realize what it is until he runs through what Tony had said-
Steve. He had called him Steve, twice, and he hasn’t done that before.
Don’t get him wrong, he’s used to everyone calling him ‘Cap,’ but it only hit him when a new SHIELD recruit had paused while talking to him, and asked him what his actual name was.
Sometimes- most of the time- he thinks that Captain America doesn't leave any room for Steve Rogers.
“Fine,” he says finally, his voice more steady than he thinks it should be.
Tony’s grin is like the tide coming in, and Steve doesn’t want to put a name to the swell that swims through his gut when Tony’s eyes crinkle.
He recognizes it, though, and it makes him remember another set of brown eyes.
He’s good at this- adjusting, he means. Adapting. Taking what he gets, and rolling with it, and being attracted to men- being allowed to be attracted to men, and Howard’s son, no less- is just another one of the things he has to get used to, along with 3D movies and bikinis.
Tony is talking again, and Steve’s not sure what about, because he’s still grinning, and his eyes have this light behind them.
Steve loses himself in it for seconds at a time before grabbing hold of something- the car going over a pothole, the sun hitting the window.
Tony talks, and Steve breathes in hard through his nose.
Adjust. Adapt.