"How was work?" Pepper asked with a contented sigh, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the stem of her wineglass as she gazed at Tony.
He shrugged, a half-smile playing on his lips. "Oh, you know. Saved the world. Twice. Before lunch."
Pepper rolled her eyes, but failed to suppress a fond chuckle. "Of course you did."
"What about you? Did that conference call with Tokyo go smoothly?"
"Mhm," Pepper nodded, her lips curving into a little smirk. "Closed both deals... Before lunch."
A comfortable silence settled over them, broken only by the gentle ticking of the antique clock on the mantle and the crackling fire. Pepper's expression grew pensive, her brow furrowing slightly as she set her glass down with a soft clink.
"So, Sarah's been transferred to Canyon Ranch," she said, her tone somewhat too neutral given the gravity of the situation. "We should probably head up there at some point."
"Fifty minutes away," Tony mused. "That's gotta be awfully tempting for Steve."
"Would've been romantic if it weren't so heartbreaking.”
"You find that romantic?" Tony scoffed incredulously, a hint of his usual playfulness creeping into his voice.
Pepper's hand found his, her fingers intertwining with his calloused ones. "As if you wouldn't end the world to make the trip if it were me," she murmured, her thumb tracing small circles on his skin. "Don't deny it."
Tony's lips twitched before breaking into a genuine smile. A verbal response was superfluous. Instead, he lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a soft kiss to her knuckles.
"I still can't believe it," Steve's voice pierced through the speaker, laced with residual panic. "Cluster seizures… I've never raced to London so fast in my life."
Sarah closed her eyes, remembering his unexpected appearance in her hospital room. "Steve, I told you, I'm fine now. They wouldn’t have allowed the transfer if my condition wasn’t stable. The doctors here are–"
"Amazing, I know," he finished, a hint of frustration in his tone. A group of young women walked past Steve, giggling and stealing glances. He turned slightly, angling his face away. "Still… I’d be a lot more confident if I were there."
Sarah paused her pacing, her heart skipping a beat at the idea of seeing him again. She glanced at the clock, then out the window at the lush Berkshire landscape. "It's only a 50-minute drive," she found herself saying. “I bet you could do it in 30.”
The line went silent for a moment. "What about public attention?"
Public attention. The words echoed in her mind, an ongoing theme that had shaped so much of her life. It was the phantom that haunted her relationships, the invisible barrier that had driven Bucky away. For a moment, Sarah allowed her mind to drift back to what her life could have been. An alternate universe. One where she'd never left New York, never become a household name. Would she be happier? More fulfilled? Or simply... different?
Sarah’s fingers trembled slightly as she held the curtains open, her eyes scanning the serene grounds of Canyon Ranch. The lush greenery was indeed a sanctuary from the prying eyes of the outside world.
"Sarah?" Steve's voice pulled her from her reverie. "You still there?"
She took a deep breath, pushing the what-ifs aside. "Yeah, I'm here… It's a pretty discreet facility," she said, her voice softening. "Easy to blend in. No fans, no paparazzi..." She hesitated, remembering her arrival. "There might've been security outside the property. I can't really remember."
“Okay, good. That’s good. You don’t need the media swarming around you right now.”
She let the curtain fall back into place, turning away from the window. Her free hand unconsciously reached for the locket at her throat—a gift from Bucky, before everything fell apart.
"Steve, if you're worried about being recognised..."
"I'm not worried about me," he interjected. "I'm worried about you. Your privacy, your peace of mind. The last thing I want is to cause you any more distress."
Sarah felt her heart swell at his words. Always thinking of others, always putting her first. It was so quintessentially Steve that she couldn't help but smile.
“No!” she blurted. “You’re not. There’s no distress. Please, if anything, you’d be helping me. I’d love to see you… I want you here.”
“Good. Then I’ll see you tomorrow. Bright and early, alright?”
As the call ended, Sarah flopped back onto her bed, staring up at the ceiling. Tomorrow. Steve would be here tomorrow. The thought sent a thrill through her, equal parts excitement and trepidation.
Steve pushed through the door to the café, the bell jingling overhead. He made his way back to the corner booth where Sam sat hunched over a bowl of oatmeal. The scent of cinnamon wafted through the air as Steve slid into his seat.
Sam looked up, spoon halfway to his mouth. "So, how's our girl doing?"
Steve removed his baseball cup, running a hand through his hair. "She says she's fine, but... I know she’s just putting on a brave face."
Sam nodded, stirring an extra scoop of protein powder into his oats. "Yeah, of course she’s putting on a brave face. Bucky doted on her every second. Took care of her in ways I didn’t think he had in him." He sighed, stirring his oats absentmindedly. "I bet she could use that kind of affection right now."
Steve's head snapped up, his blue eyes locking onto Sam's with an intensity that could melt steel. The words hit harder than they should have, cutting through the façade he'd been holding up for ages. God, how he wished it had been him who’d been there for her the past year.
The thought clawed at him, twisting his insides. Every second spent in duty, fulfilling obligation after obligation, felt like a missed moment. If he could just drop everything—forget the shield, forget the responsibilities, forget the damn pretence—and be the one to take care of her, he would. He'd give anything to be by her side, to dote on her the way Bucky had. To just be Steve Rogers. Not a super soldier, not a captain, just a man who loved Sarah Carter more than anything.
The Carter family's Upper East Side penthouse buzzed with activity as Manhattan's elite filtered through the lift. Cece Carter stood at the foot of the staircase, her silver hair flawlessly coiffed and her designer suit a vision of elegance. Her sharp eyes scanned the room, cataloguing each guest with the precision of a seasoned general surveying troops.
At the sound of her daughter’s polite laughter, Cece’s gaze snapped to Lily, her expression souring like milk left out in the heat. Lily's outfit—a simple black ensemble—was nothing short of a slap in Cece’s botoxed face.
"Lillian," Cece hissed, her voice sharp enough to cut glass. She grasped her daughter's elbow, steering her away from curious eyes, much like Lily had done countless times before with Sarah. "That's what you chose to wear to my networking luncheon?"
Lily flinched, her shoulders hunching slightly. "Mother, I–"
"Please," Cece interrupted, her lips pursed in disapproval. "You're a reflection of me, of this family. I expect this from the girls. Not from someone of your… maturity."
Lily's cheeks flushed, embarrassment flickering across her face. She opened her mouth to protest, but Cece cut her off with yet another sharp gesture.
"March up there and change into something less..." Cece paused, her nose wrinkling as if she'd caught a whiff of something unpleasant. "Morbid-looking. You’re casting a dour shadow on my luncheon."
For a moment, Lily stood frozen, caught between the desire to rebel and years of ingrained obedience. Finally, with a suppressed eye roll that would make the most belligerent Gen Z’er proud, Lily silently turned and started her climb up the stairs.
As Lily vanished from sight, Cece's demeanour transformed. The rigid set of her shoulders softened and her lips curved into an effortless (read: well-rehearsed) smile, ready to charm the next unsuspecting guest.
The sudden vibration of her phone drew her attention. Cece plucked it from her clutch, her eyebrows arching slightly at the name on the screen.
"Sharon," she cooed into the device. She turned away from the party, eager to hear from her less-problematic granddaughter.
Sharon's voice came through the receiver, terse and to the point. "Steve's heading to Canyon Ranch in the morning."
Cece's smile faltered. "Well," she said, her tone cooling considerably, "have you expressed your displeasure?"
"Gran, you have no idea how stubborn he can be."
Cece's fingers tightened around the phone, the pearls at her throat seeming to constrict as she drew in a sharp breath. "Sharon, darling, have we taught you nothing? If you can't keep your household in order, you leave me no choice but to intervene."
A heavy silence hung between them, broken only by Sharon's muffled sigh.
Cece's gaze swept across the room, taking in the oblivious guests in their designer suits and cocktail dresses, the weight of the Carter legacy bearing down on her dainty little shoulders.
Sarah, sequestered away at a recovery retreat. Lily, shockingly forgetting the immaculate Carter way. And now Sharon, incapable of maintaining a firm hand in her own household. What had become of the strong Carter women she'd worked so tirelessly to mould? Her sister, Peggy, would be rolling in the grave.
"When will you and Steven be home?"
Sharon's surprise was tangible even through the phone. "Oh... uhm..." she stammered, caught off guard by the use of her husband's first name. Gone was the formal, yet respectable, 'Captain'. Now that they were in-laws, familiarity somehow sounded… threatening? "Later. Maybe around seven."
"Excellent. I'll see you then. It appears we have much to discuss."
She ended the call without waiting for a response, slipping the phone back into her clutch. Her serene expression did nothing to quell the storm in her eyes as she formulated her latest plan to rectify another family crisis. Unlike before, Celia “Cece” Carter, matriarch and puppet master, prepared to pull the strings in the most direct, audacious way, determined to preserve the Carter name. Confronting Steve himself.
************************
Later that evening, Sharon kissed her grandmother on either cheek and escorted her to the kitchen, feeling only slightly guilty for whatever Steve was about to walk in on. He descended the staircase and turned the corner, already smelling Chanel No. 5 from the living room. He’d never forget her signature scent; it both repulsed and infuriated him, transporting him back to his and Sarah’s younger days.
Steve's footsteps echoed as he entered, his broad shoulders filling the doorway. His blue eyes swept over Cece near the island, her posture too perfect, one manicured hand resting lightly on the marble countertop.
"Celia Carter..." he drawled, making no effort to hide the disdain in his voice. "I'd say it's good to see you, but I pride myself on being a man of honesty."
Cece tsked softly, impressed by Steve's candour. "Now, now, Steven, we're family. It's high time we buried the hatchet. Sarah's moved past it…"
Her lips forming around Sarah’s name aggravated him. The mere sound of it—her casual appropriation of Sarah's name—sent a hot spike of fury down Steve's spine. His hands balled into fists at his sides, knuckles blanching white as he fought to maintain composure.
"Don't," he said, the single syllable containing decades of accumulated rage. "Don't you dare speak her name like that."
Cece tilted her head slightly, her pearl earrings catching the kitchen light. "Like what, Steven? She's my granddaughter." Her smile never reached her eyes. Calculating pools that assessed him like a predator sizing up prey.
He took a deliberate step forward, his wedding band pressing painfully into his finger as his fist tightened further. The expansive kitchen suddenly felt too small, too warm.
"Like you have the right," he said, his voice dangerously low. "Like you didn't spend years trying to convince her she wasn't good enough. Like you weren't the one who told her befriending me would be… What was it…? Oh, right. 'Reaching above her station.'"
Sharon shifted uncomfortably near the refrigerator, her gaze darting between them.
Cece's expression remained impassive, but something flickered behind her eyes. A momentary crack in her perfect façade. "Ancient history, Steven. Families have disagreements."
A harsh, humourless laugh escaped him. "Disagreements? Is that what you call it?" He moved closer to the island, placing his palms flat on the cool marble, leaning in. "I held her while she cried herself to sleep, Celia. I watched her second-guess every decision she made because you and Lily conditioned her to believe she couldn't trust her own judgment."
The corner of Cece's mouth twitched slightly. "Sarah has always been... sensitive, hasn’t she?"
The words hit him like a perfectly aimed kick to the groin.
"Sensitive," he repeated, the word like poison on his tongue. "She killed herself to graduate early, you know that? Applied to all those bullshit schools for you! Suffered nervous breakdowns, panic attacks…" His voice dropped to a whisper. "Do you have any idea what it's like to watch someone you love disappear into themselves? To see them hollow out from the inside because they're desperately trying to be someone they're not?"
The perfect line of Cece's shoulders stiffened almost imperceptibly.
"She was born a Carter," she said, each word precisely enunciated. "There are expectations that come with that name."
"And there it is." Steve straightened, a bitter smile crossing his face. "The almighty Carter legacy. Worth more than your granddaughter's happiness. Worth more than her mental health… My God, Peggy would have been ashamed to be associated with you people."
Sharon took a half-step forward, her face pale. "Steve–"
He held up a hand, never taking his eyes off Cece. "No, Sharon. It's time someone said it. Lord knows I should have opened my mouth sooner." The veins in his forearms stood out prominently as he braced himself against the counter. "You don't get to waltz in here, in my home, and pretend you care about Sarah now. Not when you've spent your entire life trying to break her into something that fits your precious mould."
A heavy silence descended. Cece's fingers tapped once against the marble. The only tell Steve’s words had landed… to a degree, that is.
“Oh, Steven, must you rehash history? Goodness, even Sarah's gotten over all that. Why can't you?"
His jaw worked silently for a moment. "Sarah's desperate for your approval,” he almost growled. "I have the absolute pleasure of not giving a shit."
Sharon inhaled sharply, her eyes widening at the bluntness of Steve's words. Cece, however, didn't flinch. Her smile merely tightened, that predatory glint in her eyes sharpening.
"Well, that's disconcerting,” she breathed halfheartedly.
The air grew thick. Filled with secrets, threats, and long-buried grievances. All the while, Sharon stood frozen, caught between her grandmother's icy determination and her husband's simmering resentment.
Steve squared his shoulders, suddenly appearing taller than his 6’2 frame. “State your business, then leave. We both know this isn’t a social call.”
“Very well. Your intentions for visiting Canyon Ranch,” she started, slipping into business-mode. Not everyone got to see this side of her. It was a side she’d reserved for negotiations and… well, for threats. For the most part, Lily handled all the dirty work while she kept her hands surgically clean. This instance, of course, was an exception she was willing to make. “They may well be innocent, and I do appreciate your ongoing concern for Sarah, but I’m afraid that’s just not going to work for the rest of us…”
Steve knew that, by ‘us’, she wasn’t referring to the Carters. What he couldn’t understand, however, was what it had to do with her.
“Not going to– I thought we were over this shit, Celia! I married Sharon, didn’t I? What more do you people want from me?”
Cece pushed off from the counter and slowly closed the distance between her and Steve. “What I want is very simple… Let. Her Go. Once and for all. Focus all your attention on your wife like a good little soldier. Certainly, that’s not a ridiculous ask, is it? Putting your wife first? Being a “man of honesty” and all…”
It took every iota of Steve’s strength to muster the necessary restraint. His vision narrowed, the edges of the kitchen blurring until all he could see was Cece's triumphant face. The blood in his veins turned to ice, shocking his system into a stillness so complete he could hear the ticking of Sharon's watch from across the room.
Steve slowly uncurled his fists, each finger releasing as he gathered the remnants of his composure. When he finally spoke, his voice was hollow, stripped of the anger that had fueled him moments before.
"You don't dictate who I care about… You never have, and you never will."
Cece's smile widened a fraction, mistaking his calm for surrender. "I believe I've made myself clear," she replied, reaching for her purse on the counter. "I'm so glad we had this little chat."
But as she turned to leave, Steve's next words froze her in place.
"Sarah will always be family to me, Celia. Long after your precious legacy has crumbled to dust."
The matriarch didn't turn around, but the sudden rigidity in her posture told him everything. For all her power and influence, for all her schemes and manipulations, she couldn't control this. His loyalty to the one Carter who had never fully bent to her will.
Sarah stood at the window of her suite, watching as the hands of her watch ticked past six o'clock. The golden hour sunlight bathed the majestic landscape of Canyon Ranch in a warm, romantic glow that failed to penetrate the growing coldness inside her. The tip of her thumb caressed her phone screen as she checked for messages… Nothing.
He wasn't coming.
With a shaky exhale, she turned away from the window, her gaze settling on the small overnight bag she'd packed that morning in anticipation of their visit. How presumptuous of her. Hoping he’d swoop in and save this helpless maiden, responsibilities be damned. She'd even asked the kitchen to prepare an extra dessert with lunch, which now sat untouched on the small table near her bed.
Sarah moved to her closet, pulling out her larger suitcase and placing it on the bed with more force than necessary. The zipper made a harsh sound as she yanked it open, the metallic scrape somehow satisfying in its abrasiveness.
One by one, she began folding her clothes, her movements becoming increasingly erratic as tears threatened. The soft cashmere sweater—her favourite—slipped from her trembling fingers, landing in a heap on the floor. She stared at it for a long moment before her composure finally cracked.
With an anguished sound, she sank to the edge of the bed, covering her face with her hands. How could she have been so stupid? So pathetically hopeful? She'd practically begged him to come, and still, he'd chosen not to show.
Her phone rang, startling her. For a moment, her heart leapt. But the caller ID showed Lily's name, not Steve's. She wiped her eyes hastily, drawing in a deep breath before answering.
"Hey," she said, attempting normalcy despite her congested voice.
"Sarah? You sound terrible. Is everything okay?" Lily's uncharacteristic concern filtered through the line, somehow sharpening Sarah's pain.
Sarah's gaze drifted to the window again, to the path where Steve should have appeared hours ago. "Lily, listen, I’m… I'm ready to leave," she said, her voice wavering. "So if you could come get me... or send a car..."
The silence on the other end stretched for a beat too long.
"Sarah,” Lily sighed, her exhaustion clear. She was in no mood for antics. Still, she managed to keep her voice calm. An outsider may even mistake it for care and concern. “Honey, you're supposed to stay until the end of the week.”
Sarah's fingers curled around the handle of her YSL duffle bag. "No, I know, but I..." Her voice caught, battling with just how truthful she should be. "I… Steve promised he'd be here today, and he didn't show."
"Wait, what? What do you mean, he was supposed to be there?"
Sarah stood abruptly, pacing across the room as if movement could dispel the humiliation coursing through her. "I was just so desperate to see him. I didn't think it'd be a big deal; it’s just one visit."
Lily sighed again. "Sarah, we've been through this. You have to learn to let go. He's your sister's husband first and foremost. You're no longer a priority… Have a little dignity."
The words struck like blow after blow.
“You have to learn to let go…” BAM!
“He’s your sister’s husband…” POW!
“You’re no longer a priority…” BOOM!
“Have a little dignity…” TKO!
She stopped pacing, frozen in place as the truth of Lily’s words resonated.
"Hang tight," Lily finally said, her voice softening. "I'll be over in a couple of hours."
Sarah blinked, the phone nearly slipping from her grip. A wave of shock washed over her, momentarily displacing her tears. She had braced herself for the inevitable lecture, the cutting remarks about responsibility and propriety that had characterised their interactions for years. Her shoulders had already tensed in anticipation of Lily's wrath. A conditioned response to her aunt’s historical disdain for any deviation from the Carter plan. But instead of anger, Lily had offered... help? The unexpected gentleness left Sarah unbalanced, like missing a step on a familiar staircase. Rather than questioning this uncharacteristic compassion, Sarah clung to it desperately, too relieved to be suspicious of this new caring streak in her typically judgmental aunt.
The call ended, and Sarah stood motionless in the center of the room. Her reflection caught her eye in the mirror across from her—pale face, red-rimmed eyes.
“It’s okay,” she consoled herself. “Heartache fades over time… Just like your hopes of ever truly mattering to Steve Rogers again.”
She returned to her packing with renewed (read: forced) determination, each folded item representing another brick in the wall she was constructing around her heart. By the time Lily arrived, she would be composed, dignified—a proper Carter woman.
But until then, in the privacy of this room, she allowed herself to mourn (yet again!) what was no longer hers to lose.
************************
The sleek town car glided through the winding roads away from Canyon Ranch, its tinted windows shielding them from the outside world. Sarah leaned her head back against the leather headrest, watching the landscape blur past, her reflection superimposed over the darkened scenery like a ghost.
Lily studied her niece’s profile with… concern? Calculation? After a moment's hesitation, she shifted closer and did something she rarely did. She wrapped an arm around Sarah's shoulders.
Sarah stiffened momentarily at the unexpected contact before relaxing into her embrace, too emotionally drained to question this unprecedented display of affection.
"You know," Lily began, her voice gentler than Sarah could ever remember hearing it, "this is probably for the best."
Sarah turned to look at her aunt, finding an expression of sympathy that seemed alien on Lily's perfectly made-up face. "What is?"
"This... realisation, if you will, about Steven. You need to allow him and your sister to live their life together. Be married. Start their family. Grow together."
The words, though delivered with uncharacteristic softness, still cut deep. Sarah’s lower lip quivered as the image formed in her mind—Steve and Sharon with children, building a life that didn't include her.
"I know," she whispered.
Lily tilted her head. "Look at me," she said, waiting until Sarah met her gaze. "You're Sarah Carter. America's sweetheart. People’s Choice Award winner, Teen Choice Award winner, Young Hollywood Award winner… I can’t even remember the others… You don't need a man for love or validation." Her lips curved into a smile that almost reached her eyes. "You have 422 million followers for that."
A surprised laugh escaped Sarah, albeit fragile.
"Even so," Lily continued, "the right one will come along at the right time. When you're ready." Her expression shifted slightly, a familiar glint returning to her eyes. "It's too bad that it wasn't James; he was at least... suitable. But we move on. Onward and upward."
There it was—the Lily she knew. But somehow, the familiar critique was almost comforting in its predictability. Sarah let it slide, unwilling to disrupt this rare moment of motherly-like connection over something as insignificant as a barb about her ex. In all her years, this was the most genuine support she'd ever received from Lily.
"Thank you," Sarah whispered, not specifying what for—the ride, the comfort, or simply the unusual absence of judgment.
Lily squeezed her shoulder before letting her hand drop. "That’s what family’s for."
As the car continued its journey, Sarah found herself wondering about this new version of her aunt. The unfamiliar kindness felt like a lifeline thrown to a drowning woman, and she clung to it desperately, ignoring the small voice in the back of her mind that questioned its sudden appearance.
Cece sat perched on a barstool, her posture impeccable despite the early hour, delicately cutting a grapefruit into precise segments. Across from her, Lily nursed her green tea, scrolling through her tablet with a self-satisfied expression.
The silence between them was comfortable—the silence of conspirators who had long ago perfected their routine of power and manipulation.
Cece set down her silver fruit knife, dabbing the corner of her mouth with a linen napkin. "I’d meant to ask earlier… How'd it go last night? It wasn't a tears-and-tantrums episode, was it?"
Lily looked up, a smile playing at the edges of her lips. She set her tablet down, giving her mother her full attention. "You know what? I actually may have gotten through to her. I have a good feeling about this. Our problem could finally be a thing of the past."
Cece raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow, intrigued.
"Really, it couldn't have worked out better," Lily continued, warming to her subject.
Cece allowed herself a small, impressed smile. "Alexander will be pleased."
"The Council gets what they want, we get what we want," Lily agreed, taking a sip of her tea. "Everyone benefits."
"Except, perhaps, the star-crossed lovers themselves," Cece mused, though her tone held no real sympathy.
Lily scoffed. "Steven Rogers needs stability, not distraction. And Sharon affords him that. The Council needs their perfect Captain America fully integrated into the system, not mooning over some actress who pulls him in unpredictable directions."
Cece’s eyes drifted to the framed family photo on the wall—three generations of Carter women, powerful and connected. "The marriage does secure our legacy in ways Sarah's career simply cannot."
"Not to mention the potential for offspring," Lily added. "Can you imagine what the Council would give to have the next generation of super soldiers under their direct influence? A child with Rogers genetics and Carter loyalty..."
"Precisely why we can't have Sarah muddying those waters," Cece concluded. "She serves her purpose best exactly where she is—making millions for the family name through her celebrity, safely distant from any real power or influence."
Neither woman noticed the soft ding of the private elevator, nor the gentle swish of its doors opening at the far end of the open-concept living area.
"Well, not to worry," Lily continued, completely unaware. "Your conversation with Steve, mine with Sarah… That relationship's as good as ov–"
"That's why he didn't show?!"
The voice sliced through the penthouse like a switchblade. Both women froze, their heads snapping toward the source.
Sarah stood just beyond the living room, her face a mask of shocked betrayal. In the harsh morning light, she looked younger than her years, vulnerable in a way that made Cece's stomach twist with an unfamiliar sensation—something almost akin to guilt.
"Sarah–" Lily began, rising from her seat.
But Sarah was already in motion, storming past them toward the hallway that led to her bedroom suite. "Unbelievable!" she muttered, brushing past Cece without a glance.
Cece reached out instinctively, her fingers grazing Sarah's arm as she passed. For the first time in decades, the Carter matriarch looked genuinely concerned. Not at the situation itself, but at being caught in the act of orchestration.
The sound of Sarah's bedroom door slamming echoed through the penthouse, the vibration causing the crystal chandelier to tinkle softly overhead.
Lily and Cece exchanged looks of dismay, the perfect plan suddenly not so perfect after all.
"Well," Cece said finally, reaching for her teacup with a hand that was not quite steady, "that's an unfortunate development."
************************
Tony stood on the expansive deck, gently bouncing Morgan in his arms as she giggled and reached for his sunglasses.
"You want these? Sorry, kiddo, but Daddy needs these more than you do," Tony murmured, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
The crunch of gravel caught his attention. Tony looked up to see a familiar figure striding toward the house.
Steve moved with the determination of a man on a mission, jaw set and shoulders squared. It was a posture Tony recognised immediately—Steve's no-bullshit demeanor. The look that meant Captain America had left the building, and Steve Rogers, the stubborn kid from Brooklyn who never knew when to back down from a fight, had taken his place.
Tony's eyebrows rose above his sunglasses. "Uh-oh," he whispered to Morgan. "Uncle Steve's got his battle face on."
The sight was rare enough to be concerning. Natasha had once confided in Tony after witnessing it firsthand during a particularly tense mission in Bucharest. "Scares the living daylights out of me," she'd admitted, knocking back her vodka. "That's not Captain America anymore. That's just raw Steve Rogers, and God help whoever's in his way."
Tony shifted Morgan to his hip as Steve climbed the steps to the deck, his blue eyes laser-focused and burning with an icy fire Tony hadn't seen since Siberia.
"Hey, Cap…" Tony said cautiously. "You look like a man who's either going to punch something or flip a tank. Should I be evacuating the premises?"
Steve's expression didn't soften, but he paused to gently touch Morgan's cheek, earning a delighted gurgle from the little girl.
"I have an idea," Steve said without preamble. "A crazy, stupid, terribly reckless idea… But I need your help."
Tony studied him for a long moment, taking in the tension in Steve's shoulders, the resolve etched into every line of his face. Whatever this was about, it wasn't trivial. And it wasn't official Avengers business either. No, this was personal.
A slow, dangerous smile spread across Tony's face. "I'm in," he said without hesitation. "Whatever it is, I'm in."
They shared a knowing smirk as they nodded in mutual understanding. The world's most advanced tactical mind combined with its most brilliant technological innovator. They both knew that when working together instead of at odds, they were a force to be reckoned with.
What neither Cece Carter nor the World Security Council had accounted for was this. They might be able to control Captain America, but they had severely underestimated Steve Rogers and the lengths he would go when pushed too far.
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