A/N: This story can also be found on AO3. Also, the summary system here hates me, but here's how it's supposed to be:

When Tony was little, he hated Cap because he stole Howard's attention and affection. Captain America was gone, even Tony knew that, but he was right here—dad, don't you see?
Cap became the standard Howard held him to, and that was the source of Tony's resentment as he grew older, but eventually—
Eventually, he hated Cap because he looked at Steve Rogers and found himself lacking.

"Did you read this article on you, Tony? Bruce asks, waving a newspaper from where he's sunk into a living room chair. Tony's actually surprised to see it's not a tabloid – Bruce hasn't said anything about his love for them, but all these magazines have suddenly started lying around, and Tony can put two and two together. It's just the two of them living here for now, officially, even though it doesn't feel like it – Steve, rounding a corner and pausing as he sees them, proves Tony's point.

Tony gives Steve a half-nod before turning back to Bruce. He's slung over a couch end with a tablet on his knees, trying to figure out the everlasting problem of the armor's response time, delayed as it is. Voice commands are the closest he gets, and they still take too long – if only he could communicate with the suit telepathically, or something. "Hmm," he muses in delayed answer. "Who's it by?"

"Christine Everhart," Bruce reads, and Tony winces. He's surprised, too – last he remembers she was writing for Vanity Fair.

"Yeah, that one's no good. She has it out for me. I tried sleeping with her, but it didn't help much," Tony says, jotting down a quick thought. He stops and looks at Steve, who's staring straight back. "Oh, come on, I can feel your judging stare from all the way over there. What?"

Steve hesitates, but Tony's raised eyebrows convince him to say whatever's on his mind. "I don't think you should sleep with people just to gain their favor." Bruce makes a noise which can either mean I agree with Steve, I don't agree with Steve, or oh no, why did I open my mouth, I just want to read my paper in peace.

Tony snorts. "Why am I not surprised – and 'gain their favor', Jesus, are we in Camelot? Do you even believe in sex before marriage, Steve?"

"I—" Steve flushes a bit. "Sex is something to be shared between two people who love each other," he says firmly, even though he's still pink.

"What if they're three people?" Tony asks.

"Three people?" Steve repeats, looking at Bruce for help. Bruce holds up his hands, obviously determined to stay out of it. Bruce is no fun.

"Yeah," Tony says impatiently, fingers skittering over the surface of the tablet, "you know, if three people love each other? Uh, one another? Polygamy, Steve, maybe it's a 21st century thing."

"That's— if they all consent," Steve says, but he still looks taken aback.

"Trust me," Tony says. "I've tried it, and the consent tends to be enthusiastic. And loud." He can practically feel Steve disapproving of him, even before he looks over to waggle his eyebrows lewdly. Steve meets his gaze, looking earnest and honest and so damn perfect, even with the defensive line of his brows, and fuck, Tony's so over that. "I'm going up to the shop," he says, turning off the tablet and standing up. "Bruceykins, dinner?"

Bruce looks up with a long-suffering expression. "Later, yeah. I'll make something."

"Good," Tony says, gleeful. Bruce is a damn good chef – he supposes it comes from all that time spent traveling.

He exits the room as dramatically as he usually does, but just before the door closes, he can hear Steve's, "was it something I said?"

Fucker.

"Where are you?" Tony demands into the phone. Natasha's standing next to him, and she gives him a Look when he doesn't even bother with a greeting.

"Sorry, sorry," Steve says, and he sounds slightly out of breath. "I had to – there was a bird, and it'd gotten stuck in some branches, so—"

"Stop talking," Tony says. "Stop talking and just be here, your wholesomeness might be actually, physically hurting me through the phone." He hangs up, still slightly pissed. God, this is the reason he's always late for everything – it's so he doesn't have to waste time waiting around forother people. Natasha raises an eyebrow when he looks over at her.

"Did he stop to help an old lady over the road?" she asks sardonically.

"Thank you," Tony sighs. "No, there was a … a bird, or some shit. Jesus, it's like the reason he was put on Earth was to put others in a bad light."

"Well," Natasha says reasonably, and no, that's no good, Tony just wants to bitch and moan about Steve, none of this reasonable shit, "the serum did work on him for a reason."

"Oh, I know, 'good man', yadda, yadda, yadda," Tony says. "It's not like dad ever shut up about it."

Maybe there's something in Natasha's pheromones, she just exudes something that makes people want to tell the truth. It's embarrassing, anyhow – his mind flashes to his first memories of her, back when she was just Natalie, a potentially very expensive sexual harassment lawsuit and not important, not like she's become. Not like they've all become.

"Anyway," Natasha says, when it becomes Tony is spiraling downwards – probably the effect of not having seen daylight for … four days now? Longer than the others allow him, anyway, which is why they're on this outing in the first place. "Let's get a table while we wait, come on."

"I do not understand," Thor is saying as Tony enters, "these men are neither cows nor boys."

"No," Clint agrees. He moves the controller and his entire body to the left, and the shot he was firing goes into the bandit's leg. "It's because they herd cows, or something. You do it in this too."

"Are you teaching Thor about the wild west through Red Dead Redemption?" Tony asks, dumping down beside Clint on the couch. Thor's on the other side, leaning back. It's almost intimidating how he can make even Tony's favorite, ratty gaming couch look like a throne.

"Yup," Clint says, completely focused with his arms back on his knees. He's chasing a bounty, the gameplay music appropriately action-filled.

"Not bad," Tony says with an approving shrug. "What about your name brother?"

"He didn't like him," Clint says, and manages to glare at Thor despite it seeming like he doesn't take his eyes off the screen.

Thor looks genuinely contrite. "I apologize," he says, "your fellow Clint Eastwood is undoubtedly a man of great talent, but I did not find his tales entertaining."

Tony pretends to look stricken as Clint swears up a storm. "Donkey balls on a shit-stick, God fucking damn," he yells, making an aborted move to throw the controller at the screen. "I was so close!"

"You even used dead-eye," Tony says gleefully as the bounty disappears from the mini-map. "You're supposed to be our marksman, and you couldn't even hit a virtual guy on horseback in slow-mo?"

"It's this fucking controller," Clint grumbles. "Give me a real bow and I'll put an arrow up each his nostrils."

"Do not worry," Thor says, patting Clint on the leg. "Once, the Warriors Three and I were on the hunt for bilge-snipe, when Fandral took aim erroneously and shot an arrow right in Volstagg's buttocks." His laugh at remembering the incident almost shakes the room, and Tony and Clint join in after a moment, their laughter not half as boisterous as Thor's.

Upon hearing the sound, Steve sticks his head in. "Hey, guys," he says, taking a seat in the not quite as ratty chair next to Tony. "What are you doing?"

"Watching Clint play Red Dead Redemption worse than a 5-year old," Tony says. "I'm serious, where's my phone, I'll find something on YouTube for comparison—"

"FPS aiming is completely different than in real life," Clint insists. "TPS is even worse."

"Okay," Steve says with a confused smile.

Tony sighs in an exaggerated manner and turns to Steve. "First person shooters and third person shooters," he explains patronizingly. "21stcentury lingo for types of video games."

"Right," Steve says, his voice falling just short of amicable. He looks at Tony, something almost angry hidden in his brow, but looks away when Tony quirks a brow.

Tony turns back to the screen. "Oh, hey," he says, when Clint rides next to the train, "you should hogtie a woman and put her on the train tracks, you get an achievement for that."

"Really?" Clint asks, and Tony nods. "Does the train have to drive over her?"

Tony shrugs. "Dunno, I'd think so."

"Interesting," Clint says, and rides back into town. When Tony looks over, Steve is gaping. His face quickly forms into something hard and disapproving. Here we go again, Tony thinks.

"That's despicable," Steve says with feeling.

"Oh, come off it," Tony says, annoyed. "Are we getting another morality spiel?"

Steve turns to him. "Is killing innocent ladies in horrible ways considered entertainment today?" His brow furrows. "You get an – an 'achievement' for it?"

"It's just a game," Tony starts, but Steve talks over him.

"No, it's 2012. You're all so cavalier about death, you'd think you've never experienced it."

"Hey," Clint says, but is silenced by Thor's hand on his leg again and the sudden weight of his eyes.

"Are you kidding me?" Tony says, turning to Steve more properly. "Hello, it's not like you have a monopoly on having people die on you. You were in a war, we get it." Their faces are close now, and Tony can see every nuance of blue in Steve's eyes, even though he can't decipher the emotion in them.

"Maybe that's the problem," Steve says. Tony's so close he can see Steve's face turn almost horrified at the words tumbling out of his own mouth, but he disregards it. "You've experienced – caused – so much death you can't deal with it."

The room is silent.

"Damn it," Steve says, then "no, Tony, wait—" but it's too late, Tony's up from the couch in a flurry of motion. Steve instinctively lays a hand on his arm to keep him there.

"Let go of me," Tony hisses, looking at Steve, then the hand wrapped around his bicep. "Or I swear to God, I will suit up and I will blow your handoff."

"Tony—" Steve says, at the same time JARVIS inquires, "sir?" Steve, still surprised by JARVIS when he's unprepared, loosens his grip enough for Tony to wrench his arm away.

"I knew it," Tony says, voice low. "I fucking knew it."

He leaves the room, Steve's hand still clenching empty air.

"Impressive, Captain," Clint says dryly.

Steve glares at him and makes a move to follow Tony, but Thor stops him with a word.

"I do not think that wise," he says. His voice has an undertone of bitterness, like this reminds him of something else. "He would not appreciate your efforts. Sit down, Captain."

Steve sits down. Clint un-pauses the game, and the room's filled with shots and recorded hollering before long.

"The first biography I ever read was on Marie Curie," Bruce says, a sudden non sequitor from their science murmurings. "She was my idol."

Tony rolls with the subject change. "That's why you ended up in radiation?"

Bruce nods, and smiles a little. "I read everything about her I could get my hands on. She was just so amazing, you know? Here was this woman – this couple, dedicating their lives to science, fighting expectation and discovering two elements in the process." It's silent before Bruce continues, chuckling lowly. "My mother," he says, "she was absolutely sure that I was in love, so whenever she found me with another biography in my hands, she'd tactfully mention that the Curies were married – and that they'd passed away before I was even born." Bruce lets his words hang in the air. "I always got terribly sad when she said it, but in some ways I think it was a relief. My expectations would've been crazy if I ever met Marie – Curie," he adds hastily, as if they're on a first name basis in his head. Tony wouldn't be surprised. "And I don't know how I would've handled being disappointed by her."

Tony is a genius, and it doesn't take long for him to catch on. "You think Cap's my idol?" he asks incredulously.

Bruce gives a one-shouldered shrug. "Well, yeah," he says. "Look, even I know how your dad was with him."

"That's exactly why I'm not a big fan," Tony says with resentment. Bruce is quiet in a way that means you don't have to tell me if you don't want to, but I think it'll be better for everyone if you do. Bruce is very eloquent in silence.

Tony sighs and opens another note document, fingers uninspiringly typing away in his self-designed shorthand. "How do you think it was," he says, not looking at Bruce, "being five and trying so fucking hard to make something to impress your dad – hell, even just get his attention – because you knew that if he could choose, it would've been you at the bottom of the ocean?" His eyes flick upwards, and finds Bruce considering him with a soft, sympathetic expression. Tony snorts, ignoring how he longs for a tumbler in his hand. "Look, it was a long time ago, forget it. My sob story's the lamest of the team, probably, poor little rich kid and all that. Besides," Tony spreads his arms, encompassing the workshop-cum-laboratory, "I proved my worth in the end, didn't I?"

Bruce still doesn't say anything, and his silence is like a balm on Tony's frayed nerves. He drops his arms, and if he thinks, killed more people than Howard ever did, he doesn't say it out loud.

He doesn't have to.

Some crackling from the intercom – which, he really shouldn't hear – is all the warning Tony gets before Clint yells, "AVENGERS ASSEMBLE! For dinner. In the kitchen."

That explains it, Tony thinks. Clint asked JARVIS to add it because he said he wanted to feel like Wash whenever he used it – it's the only reason Tony still tolerates it. (Does Firefly have crackling? I don't remember.)

"Saving current processes," JARVIS says, unprompted, and the hologram Tony was playing with flickers out of existence.

"Traitor," Tony hisses, but obediently goes to join the others in the kitchen.

He makes sure to take his time anyway, because otherwise he might get into a habit of being punctual, and that wouldn't be any good. When he enters the room, he sees Steve already sitting at the head of the table, looking sweaty and exuding content exhaustion. Straight from the gym, then.

"Tony, I—" Steve says when Tony sits down. Bruce hasn't arrived yet, and Natasha's helping Clint put the food on the table.

"Apology accepted, let's never talk about it," Tony says from the seat furthest away. Steve agrees reluctantly, but any objections he might have had is diverted by Natasha, who asks him for his plate.

Tony gives her a grateful look, and there's an inkling of a smile on her lips in reply.

The sun's shining, the skies are blue, and all the Captain America fans are out Cap-hunting.

Tony does not approve.

They're on their way back from an Avengers outing – apparently the rest of the team had other stuff to do, so Tony and Steve ended up going back to the tower on their own. Tony was all ready to call Happy, but Steve stopped him, saying, "it's such a beautiful day, why don't we walk?"

And it's ridiculous, but Steve's smile makes Tony put his phone back in his pocket and say, "fine, but I'm buying ice cream on the way."

It starts in the ice cream line. A murmur goes through the other customers, before someone finally asks, "aren't you," and Tony expects to hearTony Stark, but— "Captain America?"

"Uhm, yes," Steve says, rubbing the back of his neck, "that I am, ma'am."

"Wow," the lady who asked says, her eyes big. "Could I get your autograph? I mean, if it's not too much trouble."

"It's no trouble at all," Steve says, and that's the story of how they spend half an hour by an ice cream stand, Tony pushed back on the side lines while people crowd Steve.

It's an unfamiliar feeling, and not a comfortable one at all. At least the ice cream guy is understanding, and feeds Tony cone after cone while he fumes.

The thing is, it doesn't end there. All the way back to the tower, Steve's approached by anyone and everyone, ranging from single mothers pushing around twins in strollers to punky teenagers with red mouths to old men with liver spots dotting their hands as they grip Steve's in theirs and say, "thank you. Thank you."

After they get stopped for the bajillionth time, Steve finally notices Tony's degenerated mood. "I don't know why they keep doing that," he says. He looks uncomfortable, but there's a pleased look in his eyes. "I'm sorry, it's just me, I don't really understand what the big deal is."

"Oh, shut up," Tony snaps. "Don't even pretend, okay?" Steve looks taken aback and uncomprehending, so Tony continues. "It's because you'reCaptain America," he says, voice dripping with scorn. "It's because you single-handedly defeated the Nazis and you're the poster boy for patriotism, and your mere presence is like someone punching you in the face with righteousness and integrity and those good old American values." Tony makes quotations marks at the end, but his movements are quick and forced. "You've become a big name in your absence, and you set an impossible standard for me– for everyone. So, you know, thanks a fucking lot, no wonder you have all these adoring fans." The tower's just a few blocks away now, thankfully, so he speeds up and leaves Steve behind, his nervous tics kept in check by a lifetime of practice.

Tony's ratty gaming couch is as comfortable now as it was 20 years ago, even though Tony's pretty sure the stitching consists of several minor miracles. Tony sinks into it, a satisfied sigh on his lips. He's got a glass of scotch in one hand and his tablet in the other, and there's no one but him and JARVIS on this floor.

He cracks his neck and looks at the TV screen, debates asking JARVIS to turn it on to the porn channel he hates the least – but decides against it. No one around to keep his reputation up for. "Give me the worst thing currently on," he says.

"Certainly, sir," JARVIS says, and Here Comes Honey Boo Boo starts showing.

Tony winces. "Okay, not that bad."

JARVIS switches to an old The Simpsons episode without comment.

Tony sits there for a while, sipping his drink and feeling like he's 20 years old again, psyching himself to become the CEO of Stark Industries, telling himself it was what Howard would've wanted, that if he could see it, he'd be proud of it – of Tony. The old, familiar fabric under him reminds him of late nights spent with Rhodey, flicking the mute button off and on too fast when Rhodey would rather study than pay attention to him, hands still shaking when he heard a cut-off "Maria!" shouted down the dorm hallways.

Tony's fallen off the precipice he's been standing on since he first heard they'd found Captain America alive – a strange swirl of memory and expectation, solidifying into disappointment.

It's not a good moment for Steve to come in and say, "I want to talk." Then again, Tony can't really think of a better one, because the suddenness of it prevents him from bolting fast enough.

Tony takes a swallow instead, leaning back. "Well, go ahead, then," he says, and gestures to the open space in front of him. "Do your monolog-slash-lecture thing. Should I have JARVIS make popcorn?"

Steve takes closes his eyes and takes a calming breath, presumably to stop himself from wringing Tony's neck. It's a more familiar sight than it probably should be.

"I want to know what your problem is," he says, opening his eyes to meet Tony's.

"Which one?" Tony asks. "I got 99 of 'em."

"Hilarious," Steve says, deadpan. Tony's not sure if he got it or just thinks Tony's amusing himself – which he is, kind of, but only as a distraction. Besides, if anybody's taking Steve through the finer points of pop culture, it really ought to be him. "The most important thing is that it doesn't weaken the team, but it currently is – I shouldn't be surprised, since you aren't exactly known for your professionalism."

Tony takes a swig of his drink, ignoring the slight sting of Steve's words. He's heard much worse, and it's not like it isn't true. "What problem?" he asks again, quieter.

"Your problem with me." Steve doesn't look like he regrets his earlier jab, but he does look more understanding. It's not a big improvement. Tony absently wonders how the meeting on the Helicarrier would've gone without the Scepter of Making People Batshit. "Look, I get that this is – Howard's fault, or something like that. But you're treating me like I'm— like I've done something horrible, and it isn't fair to either of us. It's not doing the team any better, either."

"The team seems to be just fine," Tony says, remembering Clint and Thor's history lessons, Steve and Natasha's quiet conversations, the sporadic movie nights that end with popcorn stuck in the carpet, "actually, it's doing pretty great. In my house. "

"Which is why this thing of yours is so stupid," Steve says, and Tony snorts, mumbles,

"Wow, Steve, tell us how you really feel."

Steve tenses, and Tony withdraws a little. "Careful there, soldier," he says, finishing his drink and meeting Steve's gaze over the rim. "You look like you're Hulking out."

"That would be your superpower," Steve grouses, but relaxes. "No radiation needed."

Tony laughs sharply, head thrown back, and his eye catches a scotch bottle by the bookshelf, almost hidden behind the video games and bad movies. He steps to refill his glass, and the silence makes itself known, growing heavy. "You haven't done me anything," he says abruptly, standing with his back to Steve for a beat before he turns around to face him.

Steve looks challenging. "Yeah? Because you're acting like I personally told Howard to," and Steve stumbles a bit, knows he's on uneven ground here, "treat you like a non-entity. Which I didn't – Howard waited 30 years to get a kid, and I didn't even know the guy that well in the first place."

"Dad— you didn't?"

"No," Steve says, so emphatic it surprises Tony. "Peggy was the one who knew him. I— coming back and hearing all of this about Howard—" He stops. "It's weird."

"But he talked about you so much," Tony says. He looks down at the liquid in his glass, at the slight tremor in his hands, reminiscent of another time, still making itself known.

"From what I've heard, he didn't," Steve says. "He talked about Captain America."

Tony raises his eyebrows. "Newsflash, Steve, you kind of are Captain America," he says, but Steve's shaking his head.

"Not the— Not the Captain America that lived on, after. I've seen some of the movies, read the comics – honestly, Tony, how can you thinkanybody could be like that?"

"What, perfection personified?" Tony'd have to set his glass down to make air quotes, so he makes his meaning clear through his tone. "Don't tell me you're coming to me for a confidence boost, Steve. You're exactly like the Cap I grew up with."

"Because you've forced me to be! Don't you see – ever since I woke up, everyone's had these towering expectations of me." Steve sighs. "When I first heard of you, that you were Howard's son, I thought you might be different, but..." he trails off. "Well, you know."

Being struck speechless always leaves a bad taste in Tony's mouth, and this time is no different. He takes a gulp of his drink to disguise it.

Steve appears to take his silence as a cue to continue. "It's just so tiring. Hell, of the team, Natasha and Thor are the only ones who really don't expect anything. And you, Tony, I never understand what you want from me. You despise me when you think I'm being 'perfect', and you mock me when I try to make you see I'm not the paragon of virtue you think I am." Steve's quoting Tony, the words sparking a memory of a late night with the team, spent fighting Doombots in New York's streets.

"Fuck that Latveria diplomatic immunity shit," Clint had growled into the comm, his arrow embedding itself in a Doombot and taking out three others in the following explosion. "Sometimes I really, really wish we could just kill this guy and get it over with."

"Agreed," Steve had said darkly, and Tony remembers his own exaggerated gasp in response.

"Cap, are you okay? Did Doom switch you out with a lookalike that approves of people not being trialed? Because that didn't sound like the paragon of virtue we all know and— JARVIS, scan that."

Tony's still not saying anything, now, the wood of the bookshelf digging into his back, but Steve seems to be waiting for a response.

"Okay," Tony says finally, aimless. "First off, deny it all you want, but anyone who automatically helps out ducks is pretty virtuous in my book. I don't care about this 'dark, gritty' aspect you talk like you have, because it's not like that Cap persona came out of nowhere."

"I'm not talking about gritty aspects," Steve protests, "I'd just like to be allowed to be human."

"Fair enough," Tony concedes. He considers taking his seat back on the couch, but Steve's sat down in the chair next to it, and that would remind him too much of their earlier fight. "Listen," he says. "I'm sorry, I guess, but you have to understand how dad was – became – about you." Tony swallows and looks down, his voice a rough scrape in his throat. When his words come, they're slow. "It was this eternal competition for dad's attention, and no matter what I built, or what I did, I couldn't ever win, couldn't measure up to the great Captain America. It was— He didn't even have to say anything, he'd just give me this dismissive look when I showed him, tried to remind him that you were gone and I was right there." Tony laughs, a brittle chuckle that sticks on its way out of his chest. "I could never decide what was worse, when he didn't say anything or when he did."

"Tony," Steve starts, but Tony continues. If he looks up now, lets Steve speak, he'll break, take his glass and flee. Steve doesn't deserve that.

"And then he died," Tony says. "And I thought, now it's over." His eyes move up without permission to find Steve, sitting at the edge of his seat like he'd move if he saw the slightest indication he was allowed. "And then they found you. And it's stupid, it really is, because I know I'm pretty fucked up and all that, not exactly news, but you being around just drove the point home. If you'd just be better, dad used to say, and that's all I can think of when I look at you." Tony stops. He turns around to refill his glass, which he'd emptied without noticing, and to hide that terrifying display of honesty. When he turns back, he forces nonchalance clear on his face.

Steve's stood up, though, and is much closer than he was – and, without warning, his arms come up to hug Tony. Tony's stunned, and suddenly, desperately uncomfortable – like his little speech wasn't enough, he thinks bitterly. His arms are still slightly outstretched, frozen in the position they were when he turned, so he awkwardly hugs Steve back with the arm not holding his glass.

He lets himself sink into it, still, just a little. He can't remember the last time he was hugged – it must've been Pepper, he supposes, back when that was still happening, before she realized she deserved much better than he could ever be.

Steve doesn't let go for long minutes – if anything, his arms tighten, and the sheer absurdity of the situation, coupled with the awkwardness growing in the air, makes Tony laugh into Steve's shoulder.

"I thought you were coming here to punch me out, not go all Carebear on me," he says, his words slightly muffled.

"I thought so too, at one point," Steve admits.

"I'm glad you didn't."

Steve finally loosens his grip and leans back to meet Tony's eyes. "Me too," he says.

Tony's pretty sure he's the one who moves first, but Steve's quick on the ball as their lips meet. Somehow, kissing Steve is what drives it home for Tony – Steve kisses with careful enthusiasm and no discernible technique, so normal, and finally, Tony understands what Steve meant. He is, first and foremost, Steve Rogers, a soldier from Brooklyn slowly finding his feet in an unfamiliar age.

The revelation makes Tony pause, and Steve stops too, opening his eyes with a worried expression.

"Sorry, was that—"

"It was fine, perfect," Tony says, and kisses him again. This is probably a horrible idea, he thinks giddily, which is great – all Tony's best ideas are. He takes control of the kiss, properly prepared now, but Steve doesn't let him get away with that for long, sucking on Tony's tongue when he licks into Steve's mouth and making Tony short-circuit a little bit.

"At least this is an area I'm better at you in," Tony stops to say, but he kisses Steve's comeback away. "Lucky for you, I'll be happy to help you practice."

Steve's laugh, too, is smothered against Tony's lips.