Chapter Text
Sitting in the undercover car with the engine off, Tony silently observed the scene through his binoculars. The suspect was there, about fifty meters away, leaning on the terrace of a café, looking as if he had no worries in the world. He absentmindedly stirred his spoon in a steaming cup of tea, as if the heat of the liquid were enough to mask the bitter cold of this gray morning. From time to time, he would look up, scanning the passersby with a piercing, almost calculating gaze.
Next to Tony, Steve Rogers looked tense. His straight back, clenched jaw, and fingers tapping nervously on the door revealed his obvious discomfort. Working alongside Tony Stark had never been part of his ambitions, let alone one-on-one, stuck in a car for over two hours. The iron man—or rather, the man of words and oversized ego—seemed oblivious to the palpable discomfort, at least on the surface. But nothing really escaped Tony. He lowered his binoculars, placing them carefully on his lap, and turned his head slightly toward Steve.
“I know very well that you don't like me, Rogers,” he said in a calm, almost weary voice. “But Fury has decided that we have to work together on this case. So make an effort, okay?”
Steve didn't answer right away. He just looked away at the windshield, letting out a sigh. Tony rolled his eyes. He wondered, not without irony, what Director Fury had been thinking when he came up with this brilliant idea: pairing the two most incompatible agents in the department on the same case. A recipe for disaster.
After a few minutes of silence punctuated only by the distant sound of traffic, Tony picked up his binoculars again. The suspect, a certain Loki Laufeyson, had just stood up. His long black coat billowed behind him as he slipped into the crowd with almost supernatural ease.
“He's moving,” Tony announced. “Let's follow him.”
Steve started the engine without a word. The car moved slowly, keeping a reasonable distance from their target. Both men knew that the slightest mistake, the slightest sudden movement, could give them away. Loki was no ordinary criminal: he was cunning, elusive, and possessed of an intelligence that neither of them underestimated.
Their mission, however, was clear: find out who killed Agent Phil Coulson. Every lead, without exception, had led them to this man with unnaturally green eyes. And the more they dug, the more the case seemed to be woven with lies and manipulation. When Loki darted into a shopping alley, Tony ordered Steve to stop. They quickly got out of the car after hastily parking it. The streets were busy, filled with onlookers, which made the tailing all the more difficult. Steve caught a glimpse of the black coat disappearing around the corner of a souvenir shop.
“There!” he whispered.
They started running, trying to blend into the crowd, but by the time they reached the intersection, Loki had disappeared. It was as if he had vanished into thin air. Tony clenched his fists.
“Damn it!” he muttered through gritted teeth.
He turned on his heel and stormed back to the car. Steve followed him, frustration mingled with a strange uneasiness. He wanted to say something—a word, a remark, anything to lighten the mood—but he bit his lip and walked in silence.
When they reached the car, Tony slumped into the passenger seat, his eyes fixed on the street ahead.
“This guy's playing with us,” he muttered. “He knew we were there.”
Steve stood beside him and looked at him for a moment. Despite his reservations, he felt a surge of respect for the genius's determination.
“Then we'll find him,” he replied simply.
Tony finally looked up at him, a smirk playing on his lips.
“That sounds like a promise, Captain.”
And, for the first time since the day began, the two shared a brief glance of understanding—fragile, perhaps, but real nonetheless.
As they settled into the car, Steve took his place behind the wheel without saying a word. The silence between him and Tony wasn't heavy—it was electric. Every glance they exchanged, every sigh, conveyed the fatigue of the day, the frustration of having lost their suspect, and that strange rivalry they could never seem to shake.
The engine purred softly, and the car sped down the road toward S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters. Tony stared absently at the road, his arms crossed, while Steve kept his eyes fixed on the traffic, focused on driving—or perhaps just to avoid meeting the billionaire's gaze.
When they finally arrived at the massive gray S.H.I.E.L.D. building, the two men got out without exchanging a word. The lobby was almost empty at that hour, lit only by the cold glow of fluorescent lights. The two agents' footsteps echoed on the tile floor as they made their way to Director Fury's office.
Once in front of the door, Steve knocked twice.
“Come in,” said the Director's deep voice.
Fury looked up from his screen when they entered the room. His fingers tapped impatiently on the desk, but a slight smile was already forming on his face.
“Sirs,” he said calmly. “Have you come to give me your report on the investigation? What progress have you made?”
Steve, standing straight as a soldier, was the first to speak.
“Well, we think we've found the culprit, sir."
Tony, his hands in his pockets, immediately added in his characteristic casual yet provocative tone,
“We've spent the day watching this man's every move. And even if he didn't kill Coulson, believe me, we have enough reason to put him behind bars anyway.”
A smirk appeared on the Director's lips. He looked at them one by one, amused. To tell the truth, he had expected worse. When he had sent them on the mission together, he had mentally prepared himself to have to retrieve one alive and the other in pieces. Yet there they were—tired, certainly, but in one piece.
“Very well,” Fury replied, sitting up straight in his chair. “And your suspect is?”
“Loki Laufeyson,” Steve said firmly.
Fury nodded slowly, thinking for a few seconds before concluding,
“Good. You may go, agents. Get some rest. Tomorrow, we move on to the next phase.”
Steve and Tony exchanged a brief glance before turning on their heels. As they left the office, the air in the hallway suddenly seemed lighter. They went their separate ways without a word: one toward the offices, the other toward the cafeteria.
Steve pushed open the door to his office and let out a sigh of relief. It had been a long day, too long. He took off his jacket and sat down heavily at his desk, staring into space.
That's when Bucky burst into the room, accompanied by Sam Wilson.
“So, how was your day with your little Stark, Stevie?” Bucky asked with a mocking smile as he sat down on the desk.
Steve rolled his eyes.
“Exhausting,” he replied with a sigh. “We spent the whole day following our suspect without finding anything concrete. Have you ever spent a whole day with Stark?”
Sam burst out laughing.
“Nah, man. We haven't had that misfortune yet, Steve.”
“Very funny,” Steve muttered, unable to suppress a smile.
Bucky stretched out in his chair, looking satisfied.
“So who's your suspect?”
“Loki Laufeyson,” Steve replied, opening his laptop. “A dangerous, manipulative guy... and apparently elusive.”
Sam whistled through his teeth.
“Well, good luck, Captain.”
Steve nodded and immediately immersed himself in the agency's files, searching for everything he could find on Loki. A photo appeared on the screen: black hair, piercing eyes, a smile that spoke volumes about his arrogance. Steve felt a shiver run down his spine. This man was no ordinary criminal.
Meanwhile, on the other side of HQ, Tony had made his way to the cafeteria, drawn by the sweet smell of freshly ground coffee. Rhodes and Pepper were already seated at a table, cups in hand, engaged in a lively conversation about the latest decisions of the World Council.
“Well, look who finally decided to show up,” Rhodey said, raising a hand toward him.
Tony grabbed a coffee on his way over, sat down heavily next to Pepper, and brought the cup to his lips with a satisfied sigh.
“If anyone says the word ‘spy’ to me one more time, I swear I'll quit this job,” he grumbled.
Pepper gave him an amused look.
“Bad day?”
“Let's just say... eventful. Rogers is as stiff as a board, and Loki is playing hide-and-seek in the alleys like it's an Olympic sport.”
Rhodes chuckled softly.
“What did you expect? This isn't a company outing, Stark.”
“Maybe not, but a little cooperation wouldn't have hurt,” Tony replied, sipping his coffee.
Pepper put her hand on his arm.
“At least you're back alive, that's something.”
Tony looked at her for a moment, a sincere smile stretching across his lips.
“Alive, yes. But something tells me this is only the beginning, Pepper. Loki isn't done with us yet.”
He leaned back in his chair, his eyes fixed on the dark liquid in his cup. For the first time in a long time, the genius looked serious. Very serious.
The three of them eventually returned to their respective offices. The HQ had slowly emptied over the course of the hours, and calm was beginning to reign in the corridors. The keyboards fell silent, the lights dimmed one by one, leaving behind only the distant hum of the security systems and the discreet whirring of the air conditioning.
When the day ended, Steve was, as usual, one of the last to leave. Rigorous to the end, he had taken the time to tidy up each file and file each mission note. This need for order came from his years of service—and, perhaps, from his way of distancing himself from the chaos of the world.
That evening, however, he wasn't the only one working late. At the other end of the hallway, in an office that was still lit up, Tony Stark was typing away on his laptop, a half-empty cup of coffee within reach. The genius didn't seem to notice the time, immersed as he was in a steady stream of data and analysis. Steve watched him for a moment through the glass, wondering how someone could be so annoying... and so fascinating at the same time.
He shook his head, turned off the light in his office, and headed for the parking lot. His motorcycle was waiting patiently under the dim light of a streetlamp. He had just put on his helmet when a familiar voice rang out behind him.
“Rogers!”
Steve turned around. Tony was approaching quickly, his jacket slightly open, flapping in the wind.
“Did you find any information on Laufeyson?” he asked, hands in his pockets.
Steve stared at him for a moment before answering, his professional tone contrasting with the fatigue visible on his face.
“Yeah. He's got a long rap sheet: drug trafficking, embezzlement, association with criminal groups... the list goes on. And the strangest thing is, he always gets away with it. None of the convictions really stick. It's like someone's watching over him.”
Tony nodded slowly, looking thoughtful.
“That fits with what I found,” he said after a moment.
“And what's that?” Steve asked, intrigued.
Tony crossed his arms, a slight ironic smile stretching his lips.
“Laufeyson isn't just a criminal, Rogers. He's the adoptive brother of one of our colleagues.”
Steve frowned, trying to process the information.
“Whose brother?”
“Thor Odinson's,” Tony replied simply.
Silence fell between them. Steve stood frozen, surprised. The idea seemed almost absurd—Thor, the exemplary agent, loyal and upright, closely linked to a man like Loki Laufeyson? It took him a moment to believe it.
“Are you kidding?”
“Unfortunately, no,” Tony replied. “According to internal files, they grew up together. Thor never talks about him, and I'm starting to understand why."
Steve nodded slowly, thoughtfully. He glanced at his watch. It was already late at night, and he could feel fatigue weighing on his shoulders.
“Let's talk about this tomorrow,” he said calmly. “I still have a long drive to Brooklyn.” Tony nodded and smiled mischievously.
“As you wish, Captain. Try not to dream about me too much, okay?”
Steve rolled his eyes, annoyed and amused at the same time.
“Good night, Stark.”
“See you tomorrow, Rogers!” Tony called out with a slight laugh before heading to his car.
Steve sighed, a discreet smile forming despite himself under his moto helmet. He straddled his motorcycle and started the engine, the familiar roar gently bringing him back to reality. He hit the road, the city lights flashing by around him. The cool night air whipped his face, but his thoughts remained trapped in the conversation he had just had.
He didn't like to admit it, but Tony Stark unsettled him. Not just because of his arrogance or his sharp wit—but because behind that mask of confidence, there was something deeply human, even wounded. And Steve, despite himself, felt sincere admiration for this man he claimed to dislike.
As he approached the street leading to his apartment in Brooklyn, he slowed down, hesitating. His mind was too agitated to go straight home. He needed to talk to someone, to get it off his chest, before these thoughts consumed him.
Without thinking too much about it, he turned around and headed for a small building a few blocks away. He turned off the engine in front of a familiar door and knocked softly. A few seconds later, Bucky Barnes appeared, a tired smile on his lips.
“Steve? What are you doing here at this hour?”
Steve smiled a little sheepishly.
“I needed to talk.”
Bucky raised an eyebrow, then motioned for him to come in.
“Let me guess... it has something to do with Stark?”
Steve just laughed softly before sitting down on the couch.
“Yeah... you could say that.”
Bucky sat down across from him, arms crossed.
“Come on, spill it, Stevie. What did he do to you now?”
Steve hesitated, looked down for a moment, then whispered,
“It's not what he did to me... it's how I feel.”
The silence that followed was heavy, but not uncomfortable. Bucky stared at him, surprised, before slowly nodding his head.
“Oh... I see.”
And for the first time that day, Steve felt a little lighter.
Bucky remained silent for a moment, watching Steve. He could see the discomfort in his eyes, the hesitation to speak—the same hesitation he had noticed several times in recent weeks, without ever daring to ask the question. He got up to get two beers from the small refrigerator, handed one to Steve, and sat down next to him on the couch.
“So?” he whispered softly. “Talk to me.”
Steve sighed and stared at the floor, the bottle in his hands.
“I don't really know how to explain it, Bucky. It's... complicated.”
“With Stark, everything is complicated,” Bucky said with a small laugh.
Steve smiled slightly, but his gaze remained lost.
“You know, at first, I really hated him. The way he talked, his arrogance, the confidence he always showed... I felt like he took everything lightly, even when the situation was serious.”
“That's so Stark coded,” Bucky replied with a shrug. “It's his way of protecting himself, I think.”
“Yeah, I finally figured that out,” Steve said, nodding slowly. “Underneath all the jokes and his insufferable genius attitude, there's someone... different. Someone more human than he wants to show.”
Bucky looked at him with a slight smile, amused but kind.
“And you started to love him for that?”
Steve looked away, embarrassed.
“I don't know. I... I think so.”
He took a sip of beer before continuing in a lower voice.
“It's silly, isn't it?” I spend all my time telling him he annoys me, playing the perfect soldier, but when he's not there, everything seems... too quiet. Like something's missing."
Bucky leaned back against the sofa, a tender smile on his lips.
“Steve Rogers, in love with a sarcastic billionaire. I never would have seen that one coming.”
Steve gave him a look that was half annoyed, half amused.
“Don't make fun of me.”
“I'm not making fun of you,” Bucky replied, raising his hands in a gesture of peace. “I just... I think you should stop judging yourself. What you're feeling isn't a crime. Stark may be unbearable, but he's got something, that's for sure. And you've always had a knack for getting attached to lost causes.”
Steve laughed softly, his head bowed.
“Thanks for the compliment.”
“It's a compliment,” Bucky insisted. “You see things in people that no one else sees. And frankly, if anyone can break through Tony Stark's shell, it's you.”
Silence fell between them for a moment, but this time it was soothing. The ticking of the clock punctuated their thoughts. Steve felt lighter, as if he had just lifted an invisible weight.
“Do you think I should tell him?” he finally asked, his voice hesitant.
Bucky turned his head toward him, his expression serious.
“Not yet. Not until you're sure how he feels. Tony's complicated. He might shut down, or laugh it off just to avoid feeling too much.”
Steve nodded.
“Yeah, that's what I was afraid of.”
“But,” Bucky continued, "you can show him in other ways. Stay close to him. Be there, like you know how to do. He'll understand eventually. And maybe he, too, is just waiting for someone to see him as more than ‘the genius, the billionaire, the hero’".
Steve smiled. That was exactly what he was thinking, but had never dared to say.
“Thanks, Buck.”
“Always here for you, Stevie. Just like old times.”
The two men gently clinked their bottles in a knowing gesture. The mood softened further, and soon they were talking about other things: the mission, Sam, memories from before the war. But in the back of Steve's mind, the image of Tony remained—his smile, his gaze, that spark that fascinated him.
When he finally left Bucky's apartment, it was already late at night. The moon bathed the streets of Brooklyn in a soft, silent silver glow, like a veil over the sleeping city. The wind rustled the leaves on the trees, and the distant sound of the subway mingled with the quiet rumble of traffic.
Steve slowly descended the steps of the old building, his footsteps echoing faintly on the worn concrete. A damp chill had settled in, typical of New York weekend nights. He took a deep breath, enjoying the calm after the hustle and bustle of HQ. For the first time in several days, he felt at peace. Talking to Bucky had done him good—like a necessary breath of fresh air in a whirlwind of obligations, doubts, and endless missions.
When he reached the sidewalk, he put on his moto helmet and paused for a moment before getting on his motorcycle. The sky was clear, dotted with stars, and a light mist glided over the asphalt like a slow breath. The neon lights of the shops still open cast orange reflections on the closed windows. Everything seemed frozen, suspended in a kind of fragile calm.
He shook his head, then straddled his motorcycle. The engine roared softly, breaking the silence of the street. He started slowly, taking care not to wake the neighbors, and set off down the almost deserted avenues.
The traffic lights flashed by, alternating between red and green in the flickering glow of the streetlights. The leather of his jacket flapped slightly in the wind, and the city stretched out before him, majestic and lonely. Steve loved moments like these: the road, the night, the feeling of being just a man and not a symbol.
A few minutes later, he finally arrived at his street. His building stood there, peaceful, with a light out behind every window. He parked his motorcycle, turned off the engine, and sat for a few seconds, helmet still on his head, listening to the silence.
The night breeze carried the smell of rain and asphalt. Steve looked up at the moon, still high in the sky, and felt a strange warmth wash over him. Maybe it was fatigue, maybe something else.
As he climbed the steps to his building, he thought back to Bucky's words: “Be there for him. He'll understand eventually.”
Those words spun around in his head like a silent promise.
He finally entered his apartment, took off his jacket, and placed his helmet on the sideboard. The place was simple, almost austere—a true reflection of his lifestyle. He turned on a lamp, poured himself a glass of water, and stood leaning against the counter for a moment, staring into space.
Meanwhile, Tony had just arrived home. The car glided silently into the driveway, illuminated by automatic lights, and he turned off the engine with a weary sigh. The silence that followed was almost soothing. He sat behind the wheel for a moment, his hands still on the leather, watching his reflection in the rearview mirror. He looked exhausted, his features drawn from the tension of the day and the weight of thoughts he couldn't shake.
Finally, he got out of the vehicle and crossed the garage before entering the house. The familiar warmth of his home enveloped him immediately, contrasting with the coldness of the night. He took off his uniform jacket and placed it on the back of the sofa before calling out:
“Peter?”
A voice answered immediately from the kitchen:
“Already here, Mr. Stark!”
Tony smiled.
“Already here, Peter? I thought you were spending the evening at Ned's?”
The young man appeared in the doorway, an apron tied around his waist and his hair slightly tousled.
“Yeah... I changed my mind. Ned had to work on an assignment, so I came home. Plus, I wanted to be here to help you. You looked exhausted this morning.”
Tony raised an eyebrow, amused.
“And did you go to the store like I asked?”
Peter proudly held up the empty shopping bag, still sitting on the counter.
“Of course! I even put the groceries away, emptied the dishwasher, and...” He made a theatrical gesture toward the oven. “Prepared dinner. You can go take a relaxing bath, boss. The gratin will be ready in twenty minutes.”
Tony couldn't help but smile.
“Thanks, Pete... you're a good kid.”
He walked over and ruffled his hair affectionately, to Peter's protesting laughter.
“Hey, my hair!”
“Your hair is perfect,” Tony assured him as he walked away toward the hallway.
In the bathroom, he ran a hot bath, letting the steam fill the room with a light mist. When he finally slipped in, he felt his muscles relax immediately. He closed his eyes, his head resting against the edge of the tub, and let his mind wander.
The day came back to him in fragments: the spy, Fury, the tension in the car, then... Steve.
Always Steve.
He saw his focused face again, his blue eyes fixed on the road, the way he frowned slightly when he was thinking. Tony sighed, an almost sad smile on his lips. It wasn't the first time this had happened to him. For a while now, he had found himself thinking about Steve more often than he wanted to. But this time it was different. It wasn't the usual game of seduction and provocation that he loved so much. It was deeper, more real... and more frightening.
He plunged his hands into the water for a moment, trying to shake off these thoughts, but they always came back.
You're screwed, Stark, he thought. Completely screwed.
He stood there for a long time, listening to the lapping of the water and the distant sounds of Peter in the kitchen. For once, the house didn't feel empty.
The next morning, Tony got up later than usual. Peter was already ready, dressed in slightly oversized suit pants and a carefully ironed white shirt.
“You're stressed about your first day, admit it,” Tony said with a smirk, a cup of coffee in his hand.
“Maybe a little,” Peter replied with a nervous laugh. “It's S.H.I.E.L.D., after all, not just a high school internship...”
“Don't worry, you're in good hands. Rhodey will take good care of you. And if anyone gives you trouble, just say you're my son. That alone will scare most people off.”
“Oh, great, the authority argument,” Peter joked.
Tony burst out laughing, put down his cup, and grabbed his keys.
“Come on, hop in, smarty pants. We'll be right on time if we avoid traffic.”
They left the house together, chatting about this and that on the way. Peter talked about his hopes for the internship and his ideas for projects, while Tony listened distractedly, his mind still clouded by his thoughts from the night before.
When they arrived at HQ, they passed through security and crossed the large, light-filled lobby. Several agents greeted them as they passed. Tony, true to form, responded with a nod or a humorous remark. Peter, on the other hand, had his eyes wide open, impressed by the size of the facilities.
“It's even bigger than I imagined,” he whispered.
“Wait until you see the cafeteria,” Tony replied with a smile. “They serve coffee that's almost drinkable.”
Meanwhile, on the second floor, Steve was already sitting at his desk. Bucky had dropped him off earlier before rushing off to another mission. The Captain had spent the early hours of the morning reviewing reports and absentmindedly doodling on a sticky note: a little man with a disproportionately large shield.
He was waiting for Sam Wilson, his colleague and friend, and Bruce Banner, his other colleague, with whom he was supposed to return to the crime scene to gather new clues. But his mind wasn't quite there. Part of him was still stuck on the previous day's conversation with Bucky.
When he suddenly heard a familiar voice echoing in the hallway, his heart leapt.
“Peter, your office is at the end of the hall on the right. Don't mess with Rhodey too much, he might recruit you for one of his crazy projects,” Tony joked, guiding his son through the offices.
Steve discreetly looked up. He saw Tony walking down the glass hallway, as energetic as ever, accompanied by a young man he guessed was Peter. The brown-haired man was laughing, one hand on the boy's shoulder, and his smile lit up the entire space for a moment.
Steve felt a strange shiver run down his neck. He forced himself to look away, pretending to concentrate on his notes, but his heart was beating a little faster.
Great, he thought, all I have to do is hear his voice and I lose all composure.
Tony, meanwhile, glanced furtively toward the Captain's office as he walked past. Their eyes met for a split second—just long enough for time to seem to stand still. Then Tony pulled himself together, patted his son on the shoulder, and continued on his way to his office with a slight smile on his lips.
After what seemed like an eternity, Steve was finally joined by Sam Wilson and Bruce Banner. All three had been ordered to go to Agent Coulson's crime scene to conduct a new investigation. Steve, though impatient, kept his cool. He was desperate to find a solid lead—something that would prove beyond a doubt that Loki Laufeyson was behind the murder.
The drive to the apartment was silent. Bruce, sitting in the back, was reviewing the autopsy report on his tablet, while Sam drove, his eyes fixed on the road. Steve watched the streets roll by through the window, lost in thought.
When they arrived, the apartment door was still sealed, but the seals already bore the marks of the previous visit by the forensic teams. The air inside was heavy, saturated with an acrid smell of dust, metal, and disinfectant. Steve took a deep breath before putting on his gloves.
“Come on, let's focus. Look for anything the first investigators might have missed. The smallest fiber, the slightest trace could bring us closer to him.”
Sam nodded and immediately set to work, inspecting the living room area while Bruce knelt near the body, still symbolically marked by a chalk outline. The three men worked silently, each absorbed in his task.
The minutes passed, punctuated by the sharp sound of tweezers and the rustling of plastic bags being opened and closed.
Suddenly, Sam's voice rang out:
“Bruce! I think I've found something! Bring me a bag so I can put it in!”
Banner looked up from his portable microscope and approached. He handed Sam a small labeled bag before bending down to take a closer look.
“What is it?”
“It looks like a piece of torn fabric... dark blue, maybe a piece of a jacket. There's residue on it, probably dried blood.”
“Perfect,” Bruce replied, focused. “We'll analyze it in the lab.”
Meanwhile, Steve had crouched down near the half-open window. Something caught his attention: several jet-black hairs stuck in the cracked parquet frame. He carefully picked them up with tweezers and placed them in a sterile bag before standing up.
“I found something else. Hair. If it belongs to Loki, we'll finally have concrete confirmation.”
He handed the bag to Bruce, his eyes shining with icy determination.
“I really hope this hair belongs to that son of a bitch.”
Bruce slowly looked up at him, his gaze calm.
“Calm down, Steve. We have to stay rational. We can't afford to jump to conclusions.”
“I know,” Steve replied, clenching his jaw. “But Coulson deserved better than this.”
A heavy silence followed. Even Sam, usually so talkative, remained silent for a moment. The memory of their missing colleague hung in the room like a ghost.
Finally, Bruce closed his briefcase, carefully lining up the samples inside.
“We've got what we need. I think we're done here.”
Steve nodded, still absorbed by the crime scene, before taking one last look around.
“Okay. Let's go back.”
They left the apartment, the door slamming shut behind them. In the hallway, Sam sighed.
“That guy, Laufeyson, he left traces, I'm sure of it. He thinks he's smarter than us, but no one stays that way forever.”
“Let's hope so,” Steve replied quietly, his hands in his pockets.
Back at HQ, everyone resumed their roles. Bruce headed straight for the lab, where Stephen Strange was already waiting, focused on a state-of-the-art microscope.
“Finally, you're here, Banner,” Strange said without looking up. “I've already prepared the slides for the previous samples.”
“Perfect, I have some new material to analyze. Hair, textile fibers, and probably biological traces. If we're lucky, we'll have a DNA profile by the end of the day.”
“If we're lucky,” Strange repeated curtly, clearly more interested in science than patience.
They both set to work, one checking chemical reactions, the other comparing the results to S.H.I.E.L.D.'s databases.
Meanwhile, Steve took the elevator to the basement, heading for the archives. The air was cooler there, almost dusty. The corridors were lined with metal shelves filled with files organized by year, name, and case.
He walked quickly, his file under his arm, his brow furrowed. He wanted to understand how Loki Laufeyson had managed to slip through the cracks for so long. His crimes always seemed to end with a lack of evidence, witnesses disappearing, or files mysteriously corrupted.
When he entered the large archive room, he didn't immediately notice the familiar figure already bent over a pile of files.
“Rogers?” said an amused voice.
Steve jumped slightly before looking up.
“Stark? What are you doing here?”
Tony looked up, a smirk on his face, his shirt slightly wrinkled and his sleeves rolled up.
“Same as you, Captain. Looking for answers.”
He patted a pile of dusty files before adding, in a more serious tone:
“Laufeyson isn't just a common criminal. This guy has connections everywhere. I found references to money transfers, classified files, even the names of agents who disappeared mysteriously.”
Steve crossed his arms, intrigued.
“You mean he's not working alone?”
“Exactly. And if I'm right... someone within S.H.I.E.L.D. itself could be covering for him.”
The blond man remained silent, watching Tony with a mixture of annoyance and admiration that he could no longer hide. The genius, meanwhile, had already plunged back into his papers, his face lit by the bluish screen of an old terminal.
The tension between them was almost palpable—a mixture of energy, mistrust, and something else, more subtle, more dangerous.
They spent more than two hours in the archives, immersed in a sea of yellowed files and classified reports. The pages piled up on the table, punctuating the silence with their sighs and the rustling of paper. Tony tapped away at an old terminal, consulting digital files, while Steve, focused, methodically arranged documents in chronological order.
Despite the many connections they had managed to establish between the cases, nothing seemed to truly link them by a common motive. The victims, the locations, and the contexts differed each time. The only common thread was a vague motive: revenge, power, or simple chaos—nothing concrete. Steve frowned as he looked through a file.
“Look at this,” he whispered. “Each case was closed due to lack of evidence, but always after the intervention of a certain ‘unknown agent’ in the report.”
Tony looked up, pen between his teeth, intrigued.
“Do you think there's an accomplice?”
“Maybe... or someone high up who's covering their tracks.”
The silence that followed was charged with a new, almost electric tension. The neon light above them crackled, casting a pale light on their tired faces. Tony dropped his pen and stretched, his eyes red from fatigue.
“I can't take it anymore,” he whispered. “If I see one more autopsy report, I swear I'll burn the server.”
Steve smiled slightly, amused in spite of himself.
“You say that now, but tomorrow you'll be reading another one.”
“Maybe...” Tony admitted, putting the files back in their original box. “But right now, I need something other than a screen and lukewarm coffee.”
They worked in silence for a few more minutes until Steve closed the last box and carefully placed it on the metal shelf. The sound of the cardboard echoed faintly in the room.
As he was about to leave, Tony turned to him, hesitant. He looked as if he was about to say something, but changed his mind for a moment, as if he had to convince himself. Then he took a step forward and gently grabbed Steve's wrist.
“Rogers... wait.”
The blond turned around, surprised by the touch. Their eyes met, and for a second, the world seemed to freeze around them.
“Would you... like to come over to my place for a drink after work?” Tony finally asked, his voice lower, almost nervous. “So we can make some more progress on the investigation, of course.”
Steve stood frozen, his eyes sliding from the hand holding his wrist to Tony's face. The idea took him by surprise, and yet he felt his heart beat a little faster.
“Why not...” he replied simply, in a tone he hoped was neutral.
Tony let go of him immediately, a satisfied smile on his lips.
“Great! I'll send you the address later.”
He put his jacket back on, as if afraid to linger any longer, then left the room with a soft rustle.
Steve stood motionless for a moment, staring at the door through which Tony had just disappeared. Then he sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair.
“Damn... why did I say yes?”
He finally went back to his desk, trying to convince himself that it was just a business meeting. Nothing more. Yet deep down, he knew that was probably not true.
Tony, meanwhile, had returned to his floor. He sat down at his desk, pretending to be interested in the screen in front of him, but his eyes kept drifting to the other side of the room, where Steve had gone back to work, focused. The blond man had a calmness, a rigor that contrasted with Tony's own inner chaos. And the more he looked at him, the more he felt drawn to what he couldn't have.
“Tony...” said a voice behind him.
He jumped slightly. Pepper had just arrived, a file under her arm and that half-amused smile she reserved for his moments of distraction.
“Focus on your work instead of staring at your Captain, Mr. Stark.”
Tony rolled his eyes, a guilty smile on his lips.
“I wasn't staring at him. I was admiring perfection, nuance.”
“Oh, perfection, huh?” Pepper repeated teasingly.
“And for your information, I invited him to my place tonight,” he announced in a falsely detached tone as he put away a file.
Pepper's eyes widened before she burst out laughing.
“Seriously? Well done, Tony, you finally carried your balls!”
Tony burst out laughing too.
“Yeah, or I just made a huge mistake. We'll see.”
She patted him on the shoulder before walking away, not without giving him a final knowing wink. Lunchtime arrived. Rhodey showed up just as Tony was finishing a report, followed by Peter, who looked delighted with his morning.
“Lunch break, Tony,” Rhodey ordered authoritatively.
“Even geniuses need to eat.”
“Yes, sir,” Tony replied with an amused smile.
The three of them headed to the HQ cafeteria, where the hustle and bustle was in full swing. Agents were talking quietly, others were laughing, and some were still reviewing reports while gulping down their coffee.
At a table a little off to the side, Steve sat with Bucky, Sam, Natasha, and Clint. The group seemed relaxed, although the conversation, as was often the case, quickly veered toward the subject that made the Captain blush.
“So, how's it going with that arrogant guy named Anthony Stark?” Natasha asked, poking at her salad.
Steve rolled his eyes.
“Natasha, can we talk about something other than Stark, please?”
“No,” she replied with a big smile.
“And by the way, you seem nervous today... is there something you want to tell us?”
Steve hesitated for a moment, then said calmly,
“He invited me to his place tonight.”
Silence fell around the table. Then Bucky nearly choked on his drink.
“He did what?!”
Natasha and Clint exchanged a knowing glance before high-fiving each other, laughing hysterically. Sam, meanwhile, simply smiled, amused by the scene.
“And... what did you say?” he asked curiously.
“I said yes. But it's purely professional,” Steve clarified immediately, a little too quickly. “No need to get any ideas.”
Bucky burst out laughing and put his arm around his shoulders.
“Yeah, right, Cap. Professional... Like all those times you stutter when he talks to you.”
Steve shook his head, a tight smile on his lips.
“You guys are impossible.”
“And you're in love,” Natasha concluded with a laugh.
Steve chose to remain silent, a slight blush rising to his cheeks. He took a bite of his sandwich, hoping the discussion would end there, but he knew full well that it had only just begun.
Tony, meanwhile, had eyes only for the blond sitting a little further away. From this distance, he could almost hear Steve's clear laughter, a sound he shouldn't have noticed—and yet it struck him right in the heart.
The captain was laughing at something Bucky had just said, his head tilted back slightly, a sincere sparkle in his eyes. That laugh, simple and frank, resonated in the brunet's chest like a melody he wanted to hear over and over again. He looked away, pretending to be interested in his tray, but Pepper didn't fail to notice the slight dreamy smile he was trying to hide behind a sip of coffee.
“So, Peter, is everything going well at Tony's?” she asked, to fill the conversation while Tony was lost in his thoughts.
The young man looked up, his eternal smile on his lips.
“Yeah! It's going great,” he replied proudly. “He's a bit messy, but... he's cool. And we're working on a project together, which is awesome.”
“Messy, huh?” Pepper murmured amusedly. “That's new.”
“Hey!” Tony protested without looking up. “I'm not messy, I'm... creatively organized. There's a big difference.”
Rhodey, sitting across from him, looked up from his plate and raised an eyebrow.
“Creatively organized? Is that what you call your cooking after ‘trying’ to make pancakes last Sunday?”
Peter burst out laughing, and so did Pepper. Tony raised his hands in surrender.
“It was a scientific experiment. And for your information, Peter ate them.”
“Because I was hungry, not because they were good,” the teenager said with a laugh.
The group burst out laughing, but Rhodey, noticing Tony's gaze drifting back to Steve's table, leaned in slightly.
“So, tell me, Stark. What are you planning to do with Rogers tonight?”
The question startled Tony. His gaze reluctantly left the blond man.
“Why? Am I not allowed to spend an evening with a colleague?” he asked with a feigned air of indifference.
Rhodey raised his eyebrows.
"With colleagues? Is that what you want?”
Before Tony could answer, Peter, intrigued, interjected:
“Is Captain Rogers coming over?”
Tony froze for half a second before deciding to lay his cards on the table.
“Yes, he is, Pete.”
The young man gave a small, knowing smile.
“To work on the investigation, right?”
Tony took a bite of his cheeseburger and replied in a calm, almost dreamy voice:
“Partly, yes... but I'd like to show him that he matters to me, even though I act like an idiot around him most of the time.”
Silence fell over the table for a second, broken only by the buzz of the cafeteria. Rhodey slowly raised his eyebrows, half amused, half serious. Pepper laughed softly, then reached out and ruffled the brown-haired man's hair affectionately.
“That's good, Tony. For once, maybe you'll stop running away from your feelings.”
Tony rolled his eyes, but a sincere smile appeared on his lips.
“Tsss. You three always dramatize everything. It's just a drink, that's all.” Peter shook his head, amused, then picked up another French fry from his plate.
“Yeah, right. And I'm Iron Man.”
“Watch it, kid,” Tony said with a smile. “If you want more cheeseburgers, don't mess with me too much.”
They all burst out laughing. Yet deep down, Tony felt that familiar anxiety—that mixture of excitement and fear that always accompanied important things. He wanted to believe it was just a simple business meeting, but he knew full well he was lying. His eyes fell on Steve again, without him realizing it. The blond was now talking to Natasha, a serious look on his face, and the sun filtering through the window brought out every golden highlight in his hair.
Tony felt his heart sink slightly.
He's screwed.
Pepper noticed immediately and gave him a discreet nudge.
"You know, Tony... you've got that look. The one you get when you've already lost the game before you've even played."
He gave her a feigned look of offense.
"You mean the look of an irresistibly romantic and tragic man?"
“No, the look of a lovesick idiot,” she corrected him tenderly.
Rhodey stifled a laugh, Peter shook his head silently. Tony chose to ignore the remark, biting into his burger with exaggerated slowness. But the smile on his lips betrayed that he knew very well they were right. And as the conversation resumed around him, he couldn't help but take one last look at the blond man. Steve was laughing again at something Sam had just said, and Tony, despite himself, felt that laughter pierce the room like an invisible arrow that struck him straight in the heart.
The end of the day came sooner than expected.
The offices were slowly emptying, the setting sun casting a golden glow on the windows of HQ, heralding the night. In the laboratory, Bruce and Strange were still busy working over microscopes and carefully sealed samples. The two scientists had almost finished analyzing the evidence collected at the crime scene: the hair found, textile fibers, and a strange bluish powder residue that appeared to come from an unknown material.
“If the results confirm what I think,” Strange murmured as he consulted a chart, “we may be able to prove that Laufeyson manipulated the crime scene remotely.”
“This guy's smarter than we thought,” Bruce replied with a sigh. “But we'll get him in the end.”
Meanwhile, Steve, upstairs, couldn't concentrate. He was trying to reread a report, but his eyes skimmed over the lines without retaining a single word. His heart was beating a little too fast, his hands fidgeting nervously with a pen. It wasn't the investigation that had him in this state—it was Tony Stark. Soon, he would be spending the evening at his house, and even though it was supposed to be strictly professional, the blond knew he was having a hard time convincing himself.
When he finally went down to the parking lot, night had fallen. The air was mild, filled with that metallic smell typical of big cities after rain. Tony was waiting for him, leaning against his car, hands in his pockets. Peter was already sitting inside, headphones on.
“So, you didn't run away, huh?” Tony said with an amused smile.
“No, I didn't see the point,” Steve replied with a small laugh.
The blond man straddled his motorcycle, adjusted his moto helmet, then said to Tony in a light tone,
“Lead the way, Stark. I'm following you.”
The brunet nodded, got behind the wheel, and started the engine. The roar of the motorcycle engine followed immediately. On the way, Tony glanced several times in the rearview mirror: Steve was following at a steady distance, focused, the headlights of his motorcycle lighting up the road behind him. A strange feeling rose in Stark's chest—a mixture of excitement and warmth that he hadn't felt in a long time.
When they arrived in front of the house, Steve stood still for a moment. Tony's modern, sleek home stood out in the night like a fortress of glass and steel, yet strangely welcoming. He found himself smiling.
Large, imposing, but not cold... like him, he thought.
They parked in the driveway. Steve took off his moto helmet, ran a hand through his hair, and watched Tony get out of the car. Peter, already accustomed to his adoptive father's comings and goings, greeted them quickly before disappearing inside.
“Come in, make yourself at home,” Tony said with a slightly nervous smile.
Steve followed him, intrigued. The interior was nothing extravagant. Simple furniture, a few abstract paintings, soft lighting. None of the technological extravagance he had expected. It was a real home, warm, almost intimate. The blond couldn't help but smile slightly as he observed the details: a photo of Peter and Tony, an old screwdriver on a coffee table, a forgotten cup on a countertop.
“Would you like something to drink?” Tony asked. “I have wine, beer, whiskey... or coffee if you still have some work to do afterwards.”
“A beer will be fine,” Steve replied.
Tony nodded and disappeared into the kitchen for a moment before returning with two bottles of beer. He handed one to Steve, then sat down opposite him on the sofa.
“Here you go.” “Thanks, Stark.”
“Oh no, call me Tony, please. ‘Stark’ sounds like we're still at the office.”
Steve let out a small laugh before raising the glass to his lips.
“Okay, Tony.”
A short silence followed. It wasn't awkward, but it was heavy. They looked at each other for a moment, each trying to guess what the other was thinking.
Then Steve finally broke the bubble.
“You wanted to talk about the investigation, right?”
Tony sat up, a little taken aback. “Yes, well... yes. That's what I meant, obviously.”
He grabbed a tablet from the coffee table, turned it on, and displayed several photos of evidence.
“Banner and Strange found some interesting stuff. This black hair here—it definitely belongs to Laufeyson. DNA confirmed. But look at this,” he said, zooming in on a sample image.
“A blue powder was found at the scene. According to Strange, it's a rare compound, of... let's say not entirely human origin.”
“Not human?” Steve repeated, frowning.
“No. Something hybrid. He thinks Loki uses some kind of catalyst to mask his DNA when he acts. Which would explain why he always escapes the police.” Steve nodded slowly, setting down his glass.
“And this powder, do we know where it comes from?”
“Not yet. But if we find its trail, we'll track him down.”
The two men talked at length, studying every detail: suspicious movements, silent witnesses, inconsistencies in the reports. Little by little, their concentration made them forget their initial nervousness.
Tony let himself speak freely, his tone becoming passionate and lively again—as it always did when he was working on a complex problem. Steve watched him with quiet admiration, fascinated by the way the brunet's genius expressed itself so effortlessly.
Time flew by without them noticing.
When Steve glanced at his watch, almost two hours had passed. “
I should go,” he said, getting up slowly.
“Already?” replied Tony, a little disappointed.
Steve smiled and nodded.
“We've made good progress tonight. And I think I need to let it all sink in before I get confused.”
Steve grabbed his jacket from the back of the sofa and slowly put it on, glancing one last time at the coffee table where their files lay. He felt as if the room had filled with a strange silence—the kind that seems to hold something important, suspended between two breaths.
Tony got up almost immediately to accompany him, his hands in his pockets, trying to hide the frustration that was tightening his chest. He wasn't the type to be speechless, let alone intimidated... and yet, when faced with Steve, his certainties frayed. Every word he wanted to say got stuck in his throat.
They crossed the living room together, then the entrance hall. The sound of Steve's footsteps on the parquet floor echoed softly, punctuating the silent conversation they didn't dare have. Tony, for his part, was cursing inwardly. Damn it, Stark. You could have said something to him. Just one sentence, a sign, anything.
When they reached the front steps, Steve turned to him, a slight smile playing on his lips.
“Thanks for tonight, Tony. It was... informative.”
“Yeah,” whispered the brunet, returning his smile. “Informative is the word.”
The blond descended the few steps leading to the courtyard, where his motorcycle awaited him, gleaming in the glow of the streetlights. Tony remained leaning against the doorframe, watching his every move—the way he put on his jacket, how his fingers absentmindedly tucked a strand of hair behind his ear.
When Steve grabbed his moto helmet, ready to put it on his head, Tony felt a rush of emotion wash over him. He couldn't let him leave like that, not without saying something.
“Hey, Cap!” he called, striding quickly down the steps.
Steve stopped, moto helmet in hand, one eyebrow slightly raised. Tony paused, hands in his pockets, feigning indifference.
“You know... it's not so bad working with you.”
A silence. Then a smile began to form on the blond man's lips. Tony continued, a little more quietly, almost as if talking to himself:
“Maybe Fury wasn't wrong to put us on the same team after all.”
Steve stood still for a moment, as if hesitating to respond. Then he slowly nodded, a soft gleam in his eyes.
“Maybe not, no.”
The cool night wind blew a strand of blond hair across his eyes. He finally put on his moto helmet, but before lowering the visor, he added in a whisper:
“Good night, Tony.”
“Good night, Steve.”
The roar of the engine broke the calm of the neighborhood. Steve drove away, swallowed up by the road, the headlights of his motorcycle tracing a line of white light in the night.
Tony stood in the driveway for a long time, arms crossed, staring into space. His heart was beating too fast for him to pretend that this was just a professional collaboration.
When the sound of the engine faded into the distance, he let out a sigh.
“Maybe Fury is smarter than I thought,” he murmured, a faint smile playing on his lips.
Then he went inside, closing the door softly behind him. The sharp click of the latch echoed through the silent house, barely breaking the surrounding calm. Tony stood motionless for a few seconds, his back against the door, his eyes closed. He let out a long sigh, running a hand through his hair. Everything suddenly seemed too quiet, too empty without the blond man's presence.
He could still see Steve standing under the streetlights, smiling discreetly before he left. It was silly, but the mere memory of that scene made his heart ache. He kept telling himself it was just work, but he knew very well that it hadn't been for a long time.
After a moment, he regained his composure and called out in a louder voice, as if to chase away the silence:
“Peter? Pizza?”
The sound of a door and hurried footsteps could be heard upstairs.
“Yeah!” replied the boy's cheerful voice before he ran down the stairs.
Peter arrived, phone already in hand, ready to place his order. However, he paused when he saw the pensive look on his adoptive father's face.
“Has the Captain left?” he asked, frowning slightly.
Tony nodded, a small, tired smile playing on his lips.
“Yes, he just left.”
“Did it go well? Did you find any clues or anything?”
Tony hesitated for a moment, then shrugged.
“Let's just say we made some progress... a little. Bruce and Strange found some interesting stuff. We're on the right track.”
“What about you?” Peter added, his tone more teasing.
“You don't seem to have your mind on the investigation.”
The brown-haired man froze for a split second, then smiled slightly.
“You're too observant. Did I teach you how to read people like that?”
“No, it's just obvious,” Peter replied with a small laugh.
He put the phone down on the coffee table and sat down next to him.
“You're still thinking about him, huh?”
“Who?” Tony asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Steve.”
The silence that followed spoke for itself. Tony sighed, a little disarmed.
“He's got that thing, you know? That calmness, that way of looking at you as if you weren't just another agent, but... someone who matters.” Peter smiled softly.
“Yeah. Maybe that's why everyone likes him.”
Tony chuckled softly, trying to hide the turmoil in his voice.
“Yeah, everyone... except me, of course.”
“Sure, ‘except you,’” Peter repeated mockingly.
Tony threw a pillow at him, which sparked a burst of laughter from everyone. The tension evaporated for a moment. Peter picked up the phone again to order the pizzas, while Tony slumped down on the sofa, his eyes fixed on the large bay window overlooking the illuminated city. A few minutes later, Peter sat down next to him, resting his head on his shoulder.
“You know, you have the right to love someone, Tony... Even if it's not planned, even if it's complicated.”
Tony remained silent, his gaze lost in the distant lights.
“I know, Pete. It's just... not that simple.”
“It's never simple. But you've never backed down from anything complicated.”
A sincere smile appeared on the brunet's lips.
“You're getting pretty wise, aren't you?”
“You're one to talk,” Peter said amusedly.
They both burst out laughing. When the pizza arrived, they ate together while watching an old movie, the mood lighter. But even as he laughed and joked with Peter, Tony couldn't help thinking about Steve. About his honest gaze, the way he said his name, the restraint that undoubtedly hid more than he wanted to admit.
And as Peter fell asleep on the couch, his head resting against him, Tony whispered in a barely audible voice:
“You're right, kid. It's not easy... but I think I'm screwed.”