Cap/Iron Man fic: What Happened When Cap Joined the Team

[triedunture]

Title: What Happened When Cap Joined the Team
Pairing: Cap/Iron Man friendship
Rating: Gen
Words: 4000
Summary: After he recovers from his stint in the ice, Steve doesn't actually want to be a hero anymore. Even though this Stark character keeps yelling at him about it.

Previous part here.

<><><>

After a short amount of time, Cap noticed he wasn't a hero anymore.

In the kitchen, he watched Warbird lift up the refrigerator with one hand to retrieve a bottle cap that had rolled underneath it. While taking a walk with the others in the park, he heard Thor quiet the lightning and thunder in the gray Manhattan sky with a whisper. While lounging on the sofa after lunch, he saw the repeated reel of film on the all-day news channel: Iron Man vaporizing an entire warehouse full of dangerous technology, no sweat, in under five minutes.

Steve Rogers stood in front of the ornately framed full-length mirror in his borrowed room, and he examined the reflection for signs heroism. But compared to these invincible warriors, what was he but a man who was slightly stronger, slightly more agile than normal? There was nothing special there. He stopped looking in the mirror, and he tried to focus on adjusting to life in the new future.

"So when do you get your own key to the Quinjet?" Ant Man asked him once. He'd shrunk down to crawl inside a piece of delicate technology to fix it, rather than take it apart, before growing back to full height. Steve had been watching in fascination, sitting on the sofa of the lounge-slash-workroom.

"Oh." Steve scratched at the back of his head, thinking absently how he would need a haircut soon. "I'm not sure if I have a place here on the team."

Ant Man removed his shiny metal helmet to reveal a disappointed frown. "You mean you're going solo?"

"No, I mean maybe I'm not cut out to serve like I used to," Steve said, shifting on the leather cushions. The new clothes made him uncomfortable; the dungarees hung too low, but Giant Girl had forced him to accept them.

"You should talk to Iron Man about it," Ant Man suggested. He had the air of someone who was secure in the knowledge that he was right, and Steve was being ridiculous.

It turned out Steve didn't get a chance to talk to Iron Man about it. Tony Stark got there first.

Steve's first glimpse of the billionaire came at an unexpected moment, when he was in his borrowed room, wearing his borrowed pajamas, trying to solve the Times' crossword puzzle without using the Wikipedia that Iron Man had shown him earlier. The door slammed open to usher in a toothily grinning young man in a blue suit and a slim red-haired woman with one of the handheld computers Steve was just now recognizing as Stark Tech. Steve rose to his feet (bare), and wished he wasn't wearing flannel PJ's.

"Mr. Rogers, so nice to finally make your acquaintance. I'm Tony Stark," the man said, a bit too loudly. He was tall with dark hair and a small, neatly trimmed Van Dyke. His eyes, bright and restless, darted around the room, refusing to settle on Steve for more than a moment. "Pepper, was this really the best we could do for him? Jarvis just had to put him in the oldest, dustiest—"

Very briefly, the young woman looked up at Steve and gave a small smile. "Hello and welcome, Mr. Rogers." He nodded in response.

"I don't mean to sound all huffy; I know Jarvis has a lot on his plate. It's just—" Stark rubbed a fingertip over the spotless mantle and quirked his lips in an impressed way. "Well, I guess it is clean. I shouldn't have doubted the man. But honestly, the furniture in here? I feel like we should be making way for Helen Mirren, complete with period costume."

"That's what happens, Mr. Stark, when antiques get collected. We have to put them somewhere." Pepper didn't look up from her handheld. "I could put him in the south garden room. Also, the ambassador just rescheduled."

"Nah, let's not worry about it. Forget I said anything." Stark turned his attention to Steve, standing somewhat unsurely in the middle of the Persian rug. One nimble, confident hand was extended. "It's not often I get to meet a real living legend. It's great to have you here," Stark said.

Steve reached forward, and they shook hands. "Thank you, Mr. Stark."

Stark continued shaking his hand, staring intently at him much longer than Steve thought appropriate. Finally, he dropped his hand and looked away. "Jesus, I'm forgetting the thing, the big deal. Here, Pepper, give me the thing, please." He snapped his fingers in the woman's direction, as if trying to recall the object he was looking for. She produced a package wrapped in brown paper from her voluminous handbag. "Pepper Potts, by the way, my personal assistant. Invaluable. If you need something, ask her. She's a one-woman army," Stark babbled, unwrapping the box and holding it out to Steve.

"Nice to meet you, Miss Potts," Steve said while simultaneously accepting the gift.

"Likewise, Mr. Rogers. Though when addressing other unmarried ladies, you might want to refer to them as mizzzzzz instead," Pepper said with an indulgent smile.

"Mizz?" Steve parroted.

Stark seemed to be ignoring their conversation altogether, prodding the unmarked box with an impatient finger. "Go ahead and open it, no need to wait until Christmas, you know."

"Ms., as in Em-Ess period. It's replaced Miss as an appellation in the past few decades, for the most part," Pepper informed him.

"Gosh, I hope it wasn't out of line to call you—"

"Potts, quit pelting him with that new-wave feminist mumbo-jumbo and let him open the box."

"No, no, not at all, Mr. Rogers. I just thought you'd appreciate the heads-up."

"The box?" Stark insisted. So Steve opened it. The brightly colored contents caught his eye, and he sat on heavily on the edge of his bed.

"Oh," he said quietly.

"Oh?" Tony Stark crossed his arms and grinned. "Take it. Try it on. Potts got your measurements from some unclassified documents, so it should fit. Those army guys are thorough."

The uniform was a little different, like everything in this new world. The blue leather was a little slicker, the stitching was neater, the shirt's mail was lighter, the red boots looked a little more durable. Steve combed a hand through the box, touching each piece like a kid skimming his hand through water.

Stark's smile faltered. "Do you like it?"

"Thank you, it's," Steve looked for a word, "perfect. But I can't accept it, Mr. Stark."

"Please, it's Tony. Mr. Stark was my father."

Steve shook his head and repeated, "I can't take this."

"What, you don't like the redesign? It might feel a little weird at first, but the scale-mail can take a hit just like the old—"

"No, it's not that." Steve pulled his eyes over to the silent Ms. Potts, standing behind her boss. Stark eventually turned to her and said, "One minute, Pepper?"

The woman left, closing the door behind her. Stark turned to face him, his hands now stuffed in the pockets of his slacks, waiting.

"I don't think I should be activated as an Avenger," Steve said at last. "It's not that I'm ungrateful. Thank you, of course, for letting me stay here while I get my bearings. But—"

"What, do you want to go solo?" Stark gestured like it was none of his concern. "That's fine, that's your decision, there's no obligation on your part to join the team. I'd love to have you, of course, and if it's a question of authority, then—"

"No, sir, that's not what I—"

"Tony."

"What?"

"It's Tony, not sir. My father was a sir. Only Jarvis can get away with 'sir.'"

"Okay, fine. It's just—" Steve set the box down on the floor and gazed down into it. "I don't think I should get back into the game at all."

"At all?" Stark sounded shocked.

A rueful shrug of one powerful shoulder. "It's not what it used to be. Things have changed, and I haven't."

"And that's supposed to be a bad thing?"

"I don't think I would be an asset."

"Well, that's—"

"I think I would be an extreme liability."

"Oh, for crying out—"

"I don't have the proper training with modern equipment; I don't have a working knowledge of the major players; I'm not prepared to go into the field."

"No one's asking you to go out in the field right now, Cap!" Stark threw his hands in the air, the picture of frustration. "Take all the time you need. Biologically, you're twenty-eight. You have all the time in the world."

There was a small silence, during which Stark seemed to compose himself. "Look, I'm just the bankroller for this operation. But I know the team wouldn't hold it against you if you took a few months to get comfortable before joining. It doesn't have to be all or nothing."

Steve shook his head. "I'm out of my league here, in more ways than one. It's time I stepped aside and let others do the job."

"Think about it before you decide."

"I have thought about it. It's decided."

Stark's lips twitched side to side, as if he were debating the integrity of this statement with himself. Finally he sighed in acquiescence. "It's your life, Mr. Rogers. I think you're making a mistake, but that's not my call."

"Thank you."

"You can keep the suit."

"Okay."

"Might need it for, I dunno, something. A photoshoot, maybe."

Steve didn't quite suppress a wince. "There's going to be a photoshoot?"

Stark's initial grin crept its way back onto his face. "No, not if you don't want one. My people have kept everything quiet. No one needs to know you're back from the dead until you're ready to tell them." He laughed. "Hell, you can even decide which reporter you want to give the interview of the decade to."

"Is it really going to be that bad?" Steve rubbed his empty palms together between his knees.

"Oh, yeah. It'll definitely steal airtime from the president's next speech, if you time it right."

Steve gave a small chuckle. "Can't do that to the Commander-in-Chief."

"Maybe not." Another flash of a smirk, then Stark was turning to leave. He stopped with his hand on the doorknob and looked over his shoulder. "The new president. You've seen him on the news, right?"

"Yeah." Steve shook his head slowly. He smiled. "Warbird told me it's a first."

"What do you think?" Stark said, completely neutral.

"I think it's amazing," Steve said. "I'm sorry I missed it. Missed all of it."

Stark tapped his fingernails against the brass doorknob in thought. "I've often wondered how history could have taken a different turn. If certain variables had changed. If you hadn't been frozen in the ice, maybe you would have been one of the men who escorted those kids to school in Mississippi. Maybe we would have been better sooner."

"I saw the footage online. You had plenty of heroes to guide you then. Just like you do now." Steve raised his empty hands in defeat. "The world doesn't need Captain America. It hasn't for awhile."

"I think we could debate that point until the cows come home. But for now, let's agree to disagree." Stark twisted the knob and left with a friendly, "See you, Cap."

<><><>

Much of Steve's schedule during this transition period at the Avengers mansion consisted of wandering around the massive building. He'd found a decent gymnasium on one of the lower levels for his daily workouts, and there was a small kitchen where he was allowed to rummage around for food all he wanted, according to the kind butler, Jarvis.

But the lab in the basement. That was a discovery that took a few days.

Steve walked onto the elevator and, for a change of pace, hit the B4 button, since he'd never been to the fourth basement floor. The elevator immediately shut its doors and a computerized voice demanded, "State code name for vocal verification."

"Uh." Steve blinked. "Sorry, hit the wrong button, I guess."

"Please state code name for verification."

Steve tried to hit another button, but none would light up. The voice repeated its request. Finally, Steve gave in. "Steve Rogers."

A beeping noise. Then: "Alias not found. Please indicate code name."

"Captain America?"

A low hum. "Processing." A ding, like the cheery noise the microwave in the kitchen made when Jarvis used it. "Access granted." And the elevator descended, to Steve's surprise.

It was dark on the B4 level. Steve stepped out of the elevator and headed toward the brightest source of light: the blue flame from an acetylene torch, wielded by Iron Man.

"Good evening, Cap," he said in that flat, metallic voice, not looking up from the machinery he was working on.

"Sorry for barging in like this. Got turned around. This place is huge." Steve ran his hand over one of the sleek metal creations on a nearby worktable. It looked like a giant silver beetle. "What are you working on down here?"

"This and that. Side projects. Sometimes they end up useful for the team." Iron Man switched the torch flame off and set his instrument down. "So you met Stark yesterday."

"Yep." Steve picked up the beetle and examined it. A communicator, perhaps?

The gold mask with its empty slits for eyes revealed nothing. "What was your impression of him?"

Steve idly replaced the device on the table as he answered. "He was younger than I expected."

"Ah." Iron Man turned back to his soldering and said, "I think he's a prick."

Steve gave a chuckle and rolled his shoulders, his hands on his hips. "I'll reserve judgment on that."

The conversation on Stark might have continued, except a blaring alarm sounded, complete with red flashing lights above the sleek console on the far wall. Iron Man moved there, keying in a few commands to pull up the situation that was calling the Avengers. Steve craned his neck to catch a glimpse of the images flashing across the screen.

"Are those robots?" he asked slowly.

"Doombots." Iron Man's answer was clipped as he worked. "Sent periodically by Victor von Doom, the ruler of Latveria. An insane genius. But he's never sent this many at once before. Giant Girl, Thor, what's your progress?"

Steve listened to the coordinated efforts for a moment. Then, when it became clear that the entire team would be needed for this task, and that Iron Man was preparing to leave as well, he retreated to the elevator and took it back up to the upper level. From the floor-to-ceiling glass windows that looked out over the city, Steve watched the red and gold glinting spark that was Iron Man flying out to meet the enemy. The entire building seemed to descend into silence, with every Avenger gone. Steve sighed.

He took a seat on the couch and turned on CNN. He watched the progress of the battle there for a minute, then flipped to MSNBC. Same camera angle. He flipped to ABC, CBS, Fox. All the same. Thor pummeling the same robot through the same beige sedan. Warbird flinging the same robot into the East River, over and over.

Steve's hands itched.

"While the Avengers seem to be methodically eliminating the robot threat," one intrepid reporter said into her microphone as she crouched behind a shattered fruit stand, "there is mass panic here in the streets, with innocent bystanders unable to reach safety. With police and rescue teams blocked by a wall of carnage, there will likely be some heavy casualties here today."

Steve stood swiftly. Then sat again. Tapped his fingers against the glass surface of the coffee table. Watched the repeated loop of film that showed a shower of concrete blocks falling into a crowd, and then a quick cut away to nothing.

Steve stood again and strode to his borrowed room, where the new Captain America uniform was waiting, neatly folded into a dresser drawer.

Stark had been right. It fit like a glove.

He went by rooftops instead of on the ground. He wanted to have a good vantage point when he got into the thick of things, a place to evaluate carefully, assess, offer defensive support only. Help guide the civilians to safety. That was all.

Steve leveled his breathing and took another leap between buildings, landing solidly on his feet, his new boots slapping against the flat concrete as he kept running.

It was just like riding a bicycle.

Sure, the enemies may have been more robotic, and the lasers may have been more deadly, but the heat and thrill of battle was the same. The irresistible urge to do good, to protect those who couldn't protect themselves? It had never gone away. Like a man frozen in the center of an iceberg, it had lain in his chest, just waiting to be brought forth again.

He slammed his shield into the glowing eyes of the first Doombot, impressed with its resilience even in the face of the unbreakable alloy. It took two more hits to bring it down; not efficient enough, Steve decided.

He took some time to think about that as he scooped up a small boy in his arms and carried him outside the danger zone. The boy looked up at him through thick wire-rim glasses, his little mouth hanging open, but he didn't say a word.

“Stay here, son,” Steve ordered him as he set him down a block away. “I'll come back soon.”

Giant Girl was the first team member to see him. She looked up from where she was stomping robots to death beneath her feet and saw him approaching on a rooftop.

“Cap! You made it to the party.” She seemed pleased to see him, her large eyes taking in his new uniform. “Looking good.”

“Thanks,” Steve offered as he swung down to street level on an awning. He aimed the shield at the neck of a nearby Doombot: a much cleaner hit, and then it went down. “I'm just here to get run interference for the civilians. Are any more pinned down?”

The giantess nodded down the block. Steve followed her gaze and saw a young couple huddling behind a laser-pockmarked car. They had their hands clapped over their ears, so Steve didn't bother shouting instructions to them.

He dispatched another bot and took off at a full run. He passed Thor, who was shorting out a dozen or so Doombots with a bolt of lightning; he saw Ant Man out of the corner of his eye, crawling out of a disabled bot's helmet with a fistful of tiny wires; Warbird was in the air, taking care of the few robots that still had flight capabilities. And Iron Man, blasting wave after wave into oblivion, shouted, “Nice to have you, Cap” as Steve ran by.

“Just here to help the bystanders,” Steve threw over his shoulder, though he didn't know why he was so adamant about it. But better not to let Iron Man think this was going to turn into a permanent thing.

Steve reached the couple and guided them out of harm's way, covering their escape with his shield.

It was all over in minutes. The last Doombot crackled and died under Giant Girl's boot, and Steve had gotten all the injured into the hands of the paramedics.

“Couldn't help yourself?” Iron Man asked as they both lifted a twisted car off a man's leg.

Steve was about to protest, but Thor boomed, “My friend, you too know of the strength that beats in the heart of the warrior. Such a thing can never fade, and we see it today in the Captain.”

Steve stumbled only a little when Thor patted him on the back with a bit too much force.

First Ave was a mess of smoking wreckage, and Steve was scanning the area for any other trapped people when he saw the woman. She wandered between two cars with blaring alarms, looking shell-shocked and lost. Her vacant eyes finally landed on Steve.

“My baby?” she asked. “He's just a little boy. He—”

Steve cursed himself silently. Of course the boy's parent would be worried. “Does he have glasses?”

The woman nodded, and Steve ran once more to find the boy he'd placed in the safety of a building's alcove. He found him right where he'd left him, having not moved an inch.

“Come on, son. Your mother's looking for you.” He held out a red gloved hand to the child.

The boy clasped it in his tiny grip and allowed himself to be led. He was still staring up at Steve with wide eyes.

“My dad has an old picture of you on his wall,” the kid finally spoke in a shaky voice. “Are you really Captain America?”

“Well, it's complicated,” Steve hedged.

“My dad has all the old comic books they made of you. He lets me look at them sometimes,” the boy continued. “He won't believe me when I tell him you're real again.”

“That's for sure.” Steve grinned down at the boy as he led him around the more dangerous pieces of detritus in the streets.

“Did you really punch Hitler in the face?”

“Um.” Steve rubbed his jaw. The boy's eyes went so wide with hope, though, that Steve felt compelled to answer him. “Yes. Just once, but I made it count.”

“That is so cool.”

Steve smiled despite himself as they turned onto First. A cry of happiness jolted through the silence of the post-battle street, and the boy's mother ran to meet them.

“Mom, Captain America saved me!” the boy shouted as he released Steve's hand and flung himself into his mother's arms. “And guess what? He really did punch Hitler, he told me so!”

The woman seemed to see Steve then for the first time, the whole costume and everything. A look of disbelief came over her face, and Steve felt strangely like he was Santa: he wasn't supposed to really exist, but here he was. And no one seemed to know what to say to that.

“Thank you, whoever you are,” she finally whispered.

“Mom, don't you recognize him?” her son asked. "It's Captain America."

"No, that's not possible, sweetie." The woman looked at him closely. "Is it?"

It wouldn't have been right, really, to let these poor people go home with a false sense of hope, or worse, a false story to tell an eager reporter. The last thing he needed was a front page story on how Cap was back from the dead. Steve felt the cowl was too much at that point, so he palmed it back, over what he was sure was a terrible case of cowl-hair. He let the woman and her son look him in the face, and he said, "I used to be Captain America. A long time ago. But I'm not anymore."


"But you gotta be!" the little boy cried. "You can't just quit! You can't!" And he burst into tears.


While Steve was ineffectually and rather pathetically trying to calm the child, Iron Man strode up in his whirring suit of metal. He laid a mechanical hand on Steve's forearm, his voice a low buzz in his ear: "Saying you're not going to be a hero is like the sun saying it's not going to be bright anymore. It's in your nature to do this, Cap. Can you really see yourself doing anything else?"


The boy sniffled to a stop, waiting for Steve's answer. Even his worried mother seemed to be all ears.

Steve hesitated.

"What's it going to be, Cap?" Iron Man asked softly. "Are you a man or are you more?"

With deliberate slowness, Steve pulled his cowl back into place. He turned his head to face the reflective surface of Iron Man's mask. "I'm an Avenger, aren't I?" he asked.

A buzz that might have been robotic mirth. "Good. Now that extra Quinjet key won't go to waste."

I have noooooo clue if this is going okay or not. But it's done and that's more than I can say about other things? Anyway, next part would be Cap finding out the Stark = Iron Man, and then there's a Sentient Armor adventure, and also a bit on Tony's alcoholism. Oh, and a pride parade. Man, I'm sorry. This is a lot of stuff. Anyhoo, maybe you're still interested in seeing it? I'm gonna shut up and just let y'all talk now.

Comments

[lady529.livejournal.com]

I love. I want more. Anditsbabiestoo.

I'm really liking this, even if the name Captain America sounds more than a little, I don't know, silly, for someone who haven't grown up with that particular comic. Beginning to get over the name even at this point : )

Really though, more please?

The Lady 529

[triedunture.livejournal.com]

Cap is silly, and antiquated, and out of touch and all of that.

But he's just so earnest! I'm glad you like him despite his goofy code name.

[lady529.livejournal.com]

Well, I certainly like him in your fics and art <3

The Lady 529

[juniper200.livejournal.com]

Oh god, that is so Steve! I love this!

[triedunture.livejournal.com]

Thanks v. much, I'm glad you think so.

[cat-13145.livejournal.com]

Love these shorts. Keep them up.

[triedunture.livejournal.com]

Will do, thank you!

I'm enjoying this

[jazzypom.livejournal.com]

But you know what? Write it for you. It's a lot of work and pain and grief that you might be setting yourself up for, but if you can't see yourself not writing it, well write it, post it, and let those screw themselves if they can't take the story in the spirit that you've done it in, you know?

I'm sorry if my tone sounds rather hard, but I've been having internal monologues re: writing fic that perhaps, not many people will read and comment on, but I tell myself that I'm writing for (a) me, (b) the few that might like this fic like me and most importantly (c) contributing to the fandom wiki by writing stories that make use of canon in a (what I think) respectful way.

You're ticking the right boxes here, and the story is shades of awesome and d'awwww.

I d'awwwwed at this one:

Sure, the enemies may have been more robotic, and the lasers may have been more deadly, but the heat and thrill of battle was the same. The irresistible urge to do good, to protect those who couldn't protect themselves? It had never gone away. Like a man frozen in the center of an iceberg, it had lain in his chest, just waiting to be brought forth again.

Yeah, this. Bully for Cap for not ignoring his vocation.

This story is definitely awesome, and so are you for writing it.

Re: I'm enjoying this

[triedunture.livejournal.com]

No, no, you're right. I need to suck it up and just do it because I want to. Just had a slight attack of GAH while posting.

Very glad you enjoyed it, thank you very much.

[dorcas-gustine.livejournal.com]

I really like this. I like how you managed to convey the fact that Steve ultimately thinks of himself as a soldier, and when he sees that his physical skill have been widely surpassed while he was in the ice, he thinks of himself as obsolete. :D I guess he still has to adjust to the fact he is Captain America, and while in his mind he's been for, what, only a bunch of years, for everybody else he is a LEGEND! :D

And I liked the "I think he's a prick," comment IM made, because at this point Tony is the alias. :D

In other words, if you keep writing I'll keep reading! :D

[triedunture.livejournal.com]

Thank you! I think I just might do that. :3

[amonitrate.livejournal.com]

I like it! I can see Cap having doubts, in the face of all the changes. also, this:


"Ah." Iron Man turned back to his soldering and said, "I think he's a prick."

heh. I can see Tony saying this, for sure.

[triedunture.livejournal.com]

Oh, Tony. It's funny because it's true.

[marinarusalka.livejournal.com]

I really like your characterization of Steve. He's very human and sympathetic here, yet the larger-than-life hero still comes through. It was great to see him joining the battle and assuming his role as an Avenger.

And I love your Tony/Iron Man, too. Great job with both personas.

[simmysim.livejournal.com]

I'm always impressed with a well written action scene, and that was VERY well done. I could picture the battle very easily.

Ah, of course you're not going to be able to sit around twiddling your thumbs while people are getting hurt, Cap. His eagerness to join the battle was fun to read :)

[johanirae.livejournal.com]

Love this fic, and your decision of making Steve more hesitant in the beginning. His reasoning of not wanting to endanger the mission... man, it's really just so HIM :D

[ija-ijewna.livejournal.com]

I really like how human is your version of Cap America. One of my favourite (but usually left unsatisfied) kinks/themes for Cap is his confusion and sense of inadequacy in modern times. Often he's portrayed taking it all in one stride, but I simply love authors (yes, that's you ;-D) who remember that he was born in 1917 and make him behave accordingly. Thanks!

Oh, and Tony being prick is just priceless. :D

[skyearth85.livejournal.com]

I LOVE IT!
Don't stop, please :)

[roachpatrol.livejournal.com]

I'm so glad you did a second one! This is great. I adore the instance with that little kid. And the way Iron Man doesn't like Stark. And Tony himself, he's great. And you're great. And you need to write a lot more of this!