[Fic] But the Heart - Steve x Tony (+ team and kid!Peter) 3/4
Peter gets distracted by the carousel, even though it's past the fountain, further into the park, and then is bitterly disappointed that it isn't open, yet. Steve finds himself slightly overwhelmed at how early it is, how many hours he has to fill, to keep Peter entertained, though he also thinks it's rather lucky that Peter is decent at occupying himself. After only a brief pout over the carousel, it's back to the fountain, where Steve has to catch him before he flings himself into the watery depths on a quest to touch the shining coins at the bottom. Well, "depths" is a slight exaggeration, but Steve feels a bit like he's just averted a disaster that requires dire wording.
When the water ceases to be fascinating, Peter's off and running toward a couple of men who are playing catch with their dogs. Steve scoops him up before he manages to tackle anything--two or four-legged--and then has an apologetic but ultimately warm conversation with David and his partner-of-seven-years John, while Peter rolls on the grass with Sundance and Butch.
So it goes, Peter exploring everything full-tilt, no-holds-barred and Steve just attempting to keep up and make sure there's a safety net wherever and whenever Peter needs it--which he never quite does, though there are some close calls--especially when Steve glances away for a moment and Peter decides that means he should attempt to climb the monument for Gertrude Stein. It's not unlike working with Tony, actually, something that makes Steve's chest ache a little.
As if summoned by the thought, Steve's phone buzzes and it's Tony.
everything ok?
Texting is still challenging--the small buttons, the hunt for the correct letters, and Steve's sudden anger doesn't make it easier, but he manages, where r u and then feels a little silly about substituting letters for words, because Tony always gives him a disappointed look when he does it.
But he's not particularly happy with Tony at the moment, so.
meeting
It is unlike Tony to forgo capitalization and punctuation, which Steve's always found odd because Tony is not averse to cutting what he considers "unnecessary corners" in all other aspects of his life. It's something from his upbringing, maybe. Not Howard. Steve had to puzzle through enough of the elder Stark's chicken scratch to know Howard had only bare minimum respect for the rules of writing on the best of days. Mrs. Stark, perhaps.
when r u coming back?
There's a much longer pause before Tony answers, during which Peter comes over holding a bright fuchsia Gerbera daisy, and Steve has to locate its origins--it turns out to be a flower kiosk, manned by a soft-hearted woman who refuses Steve's offer to pay for Peter's flower. So, instead, he buys a sunny bunch of yellow carnations, though he feels silly carrying them around afterward.
call you later, is Tony's reply.
By this time the carousel is opened, and Steve pokes at his phone, juggling it in one hand and the flowers in the other, until he figures out how to access the camera. Then he takes a picture of Peter on the bunny-horse-thing--which Steve finds slightly creepy but Peter insisted upon--and sends it to Tony.
we miss u
There's only a slightly long-ish pause this time, before Steve's phone buzzes with Tony's answer.
I'm miss-able. Very miss-able. Also, what is the monkey RIDING? If you've got monster rabbits call Bruce. Giant mutant things united, right? Or Hawkeye. He'd love that. Promise.
liar
Steve doesn't get a reply, but it doesn't matter. He feels lighter, just a little. Tony sounds like himself again. Steve still wants to take him by the shoulders and shake him until he divulges all his secrets, a map of the pitfalls and tiger traps and tripwires of his personality that can open spike-filled cavities of insecurity or blindside a man with hot flashes of rage, but that's pretty much on par for the course. It almost feels homey.
By the time Peter's done with the carousel it's lunchtime. They get hotdogs and sit outside in a little cafe area, both of them eating with a single-minded focus that doesn't allow for much chitchat. Steve's getting better at recognizing Peter's more frequently used signs: "thank you," "you're welcome," "what's that?"--a flick of fingers that usually leads to Peter darting away and flinging himself headlong at something new, which is pretty much everything.
Steve wonders at how sheltered Peter's been, and at how he's managed it. Steve was frozen for seventy years and even he feels well-informed next to the boy's gaping vacuum of knowledge. Even the most common placed things seem to be new to him. He'd cooed curiously over his hotdogs for a good five minutes, taking them apart and putting them back together and then watching raptly as Steve cleaned him off and then demonstrated how to eat one properly.
It also makes him wonder at Peter's bravery. When Steve had first stumbled into this loud, bright, fast land of strangers it had taken him a while to feel comfortable, to venture into new territory, and he considered himself a pretty adaptable guy. But Peter seems completely unafraid of anything, and that makes Steve feel slightly ashamed of the way he still flinches from parts of this new world, occasionally.
Like the people. Steve loves people. He loves them for their failings as much as for their talents. Usually one wasn't nearly as interesting without the other. For instance, Tony's brilliance would not shine as bright if he didn't have the tendency to completely lose himself to the world for days while inventing. Tony's moments of vast compassion wouldn't be nearly as precious if not bracketed by his sarcastic dissension.
Steve tries not to make everything about Tony, but it's hard.
Steve loves people, but he loves them on a one-to-one basis, when he can focus his attention on a single person and learn everything he can about them. The traffic of the park has picked up a great deal since he and Peter arrived, and although the space is open enough that it shouldn't feel crowded, Steve can feel the press of people all around him like a physical force.
And it hadn't always been this way. Steve had been, at one time, just as at home on a busy street, dodging and weaving through foot traffic and cars which--while not as prevalent then--had still had a lot of presence on the city streets. But now everything was so...much. Everyone seemed to be having about six conversations at once with three different people on two different devices while also listening to music and shopping and playing a game. It's difficult to know how to breathe in this century, sometimes, how to move without tripping or bumping into someone.
It's harder, now, to see past that wall of multi-tasking and technology, to the person underneath, where the flaws are made lovely by knowledge of how they form the whole picture.
Or maybe he just misses Tony.
Tony, who brings technology to heel, who walks like he can move the world, rather than the world moving him--and he's often right. Tony, who made this century--not easier per se, but definitely more fun.
Tony, who abandoned a child that was his responsibility to Steve's care with no real promise to come back. But, Steve realizes, he never needed a spoken reassurance from Tony because he's steadily sure, under the vague panic and lingering anger, that Tony will return on his own. That's Tony's big picture, the sketch of lines forming a whole image. Tony might fly, but when it's important, he'll always come back.
Steve just has to wait him out, with the patience he learned in foxholes. Maybe it isn't that dire, but Steve's heart beats harder whenever he's near the other man, and he finds his eyes drawn to Tony every time he enters a room and lingers on him when he leaving, so maybe it is.
In the meantime, he'll try to learn to love this city again. Peter actually makes it easier, with his wide-eyed wonder and seeming endless enjoyment of everything. He certainly keeps Steve on his toes, anyway, with his uncanny ability to hone in on danger. Take, for instance, the alert look he's currently giving the middle distance.
Steve has enough time to notice and straighten before the boy is off like a shot. Steve pauses only to gather up their trash and throw it into the nearest bin, and then he's hot on Peter's trail. The boy is making a break for the street--during lunchtime rush hour and Steve's heart clenches in his chest when he takes that step off the curb that puts him immediately in the path of an oncoming car.
"Peter!"
Steve lunges and misses, and then there's a confusion of honking and screeching wheels and Steve is muttering apologies under his breath, even as he physically knocks an oncoming taxi aside to keep the way clear.
Somehow, they're across the street, and Steve breathes, everything in him prepared to scoop the boy up and yell at him, and then hug him and then possibly yell at him some more. He would do just that if Peter weren't still in motion, darting past trash bin, down a narrow alley.
The bricks scrape Steve's shoulder as he lurches after the flip of brown hair and indignant yell from a small throat, and suddenly Peter is up in the air, both feet off the ground in what is a truly impressive leap which lands him feet first on top of a large man, sending all three of them--the large man, another, older gentleman that the first man had by the arm, and Peter, sprawling onto the street.
Steve...slows for just a moment, trying to make sense of things. Then he's diving into the fray, getting everyone separated, trying to figure out what's happening and to calm everyone down.
The large man slashes at him with an impressive-looking knife, and things become clearer.
Peter bites the fella's knee and he's growling.
The thief or--whatever, bad guy, yells, and then there's a mad scramble, which Steve ends by picking the attacker up by the scruff and tossing him against the wall.
Then Steve sits on him--literally for a time--until the police show up while the man they saved--an older gentleman who owns a barber shop a few blocks away and had just stepped out for lunch--gives his testimony, and to Peter a few sweets that he keeps for the kids that come to his shop and plenty of praise.
Some of the good officers look familiar from his and Tony's earlier trip to the precinct, and some of them send Steve amused little smirks, but for his pride's sake, Steve pretends not to notice.
"Do we need to get you to a hospital, Cap?" one of the coppers asks, making a gesture toward his arm.
Steve looks down and sees a long, thin cut that's bleeding sluggishly. "No, I think I'm okay."
"You come with me," the barbershop owner--Mr. Bobkov--interrupts imperiously. "I have first aide kit in shop. My sons will know what to do."
"Oh, no, that's fine. It's not..."
"You come with me," the shop owner insists and does an about-face, heading back toward, presumably, his business.
Peter takes the wrist of Steve's uninjured arm in a gentle two-handed grip and the looks up at him with sad, pleading eyes.
"Yes, I know that look," Steve says, trying to ward against the soft feeling that wells up inside him. "You're not fooling me this time. You just do this to get your way."
"Come now!" Mr. Bobkov snaps without even turning around.
Steve sighs. Peter grins. The police that are lingering to watch the show try to hide smiles.
"You need a rescue, Cap?" one of them drawls. "Old men and little kids too much for you?"
It's probably no surprise to anyone that Steve finds himself sitting in a barber shop chair while one of Mr. Bobkov's sons--a cheerful man who looks about forty and is getting a little thin on top--tends to his arm. Peter has commandeered the next chair over, and is watching Mr. Bobkov cut hair with an intensity that apparently amuses the shop proprietor to no end.
"Should I cut your hair, little one, eh?" he offers, pointing the scissors at Peter. "On the house, for such a brave little małpka."
Mr. Bobkov has already tried to offer Steve money as a reward, and when that didn't work, a distant cousin's hand in marriage, or partial ownership of the shop. Steve's turned it all down politely, but Peter's eyes light up so brightly at the suggestion, Steve can already feel his resolve fading.
"I only cut boy hair, usually. But for you, I will try. Something pretty, yes?"
Steve blinks. "Peter's a boy."
Mr. Bobkov looks surprised, and his current customer gives a rusty, but warm, laugh. "All the more need for a haircut, then."
Well, that settles it.
"You want my regular?" Mr. Bobkov asks, and when Peter gives a vigorous shake of his head, the old man scoffs. "What, am I not good enough for you?
Another of Mr. Bobkov's sons pokes his head out from the back with a laugh. "He just has good taste, tata."
"Bah!" Mr. Bobkov points to a few low tables in the waiting area that have a scattering of magazines on them. "Go pick something out, then. Bring me picture."
Steve, now bandaged thoroughly, thanks Mr. Bobkov's (elder?) son, goes to help Peter pick something, although the boy seems to know what he's looking for, and before Steve even reaches his side he's holding up a magazine with a triumphant cry.
"Tony!"
It takes a moment for Steve to register what Peter's said, mostly caught up in confirming that, indeed, the magazine shows Tony, slick and charismatic, on the cover.
"That is Tony," Steve agrees. Then, "Wait, what?"
"Tony," Peter says decisively and takes the magazine back to Mr. Bobkov as Steve gapes after him.
"This is what you want? This is too fancy. Mr. Fancy-Pants Money-Man. Are you sure?"
Peter's expression is stern. "Tony."
"All right, małpka, all right. Do not bite me, okay?"
Steve's phone buzzes.
"Peter knows your name!" he says in a rush, by way of greeting.
"You're hurt?" is the sharp answer back, although not so much an answer as an overriding question.
"What?"
"What did you say?" And then, because no one could ever accuse Tony of being the soul of patience, he doesn't wait before plowing on. "Never mind. You're hurt? What happened?"
"It's nothing. How did you find out?"
"I have eyes everywhere."
That's probably the terrifying truth, but Steve's not about to let a little inconvenience like a knife wound and Tony's overthrow of the world's satellite systems derail his own discovery. "Shouldn't you know what happened, then? Listen, that's not important. Here." Steve fiddles until he puts the phone on speaker. "Say something."
"Something," Tony says, apparently reverting to a total age of five.
Peter brightens. "Tony!"
"Spider-monkey?" Tony sounds astonished--and perhaps not in a happy way. Steve is going to find some way to reach through the phone and throttle him if he upsets Peter. But then, his tone gentles. "Are you being good for Steve?"
"Uh-huh," Peter says solemnly, nodding.
"No squirming!" Mr. Bobkov snaps, smacking Peter on the head lightly with his comb.
Peter gulps and sits up straight, eyes big. Steve pats his shoulder with an apologetic look and takes the phone off speaker.
"What are you doing to him?" Tony demands.
"He's getting a haircut."
"First terror-rabbits and then a haircut? Are you trying to traumatize the kid?"
"He wanted to ride the bunny. The hair is his idea, too. He's strong-willed. I don't think I could make him do anything he didn't want to."
"Like you."
"And you. When are you coming back?" In the long silence that follows his question, Steve shifts and moves toward the windows that make up the front of the store. "Tony, if you don't come back, Peter's going to be disappointed, and if you break this kid's heart..."
"Yeah?" and there's a hard bite to Tony's words, even though his tone is quiet. "What'll you do, then?"
"I don't have to do anything," Steve says, his voice deliberately light but his conviction felt down to his bones. "Because you're not the type of person to do that."
"Really."
"Yep."
"How can you know?"
"Are you going to prove me wrong?"
"I might. You have no idea what I--"
They both pause as a wailing ambulance cuts down the street in front of the barber shop. It takes Steve a few moments to realize the sound is echoed through the phone at almost the same moment from Tony's location.
"...where are you?"
Steve steps closer to the windows and, after a moment of searching, even on the busy street, spots Tony across the road, standing still among the window shoppers of a boutique selling hand blow glass. Tony gives a sheepish little wave, and Steve returns it with more enthusiasm.
"Did you run down here from...where ever your meeting was?"
"You were hurt!" Tony says, and Steve can see his stifled flailing even at a distance.
Steve feels warm to his toes. "Yes yes."
"Don't mock me."
"I'm not! I'm...enjoying your eccentricities."
"Oooo, big words. "
"I know some, it's true."
"Well, I don't. I haven't had coffee in nearly two hours because Pep is a slave-driver and I don't know when I last slept. She made me shave."
"Mm," Steve hums, trying to pack all his sympathy into the sound, because Tony is on a roll and unlikely to let him get much in edgewise.
"And put me in a suit!" It's true. A sleek gray thing that almost looks silver in the sunlight. "That harridan."
"Big words," Steve murmurs.
"Oh shut it, Rogers."
"You should come over." Like they're arranging a play date, rather than Steve just trying to coax Tony across the street. "You can take off your jacket and tie and we'll use small words and get some coffee."
There's another long pause, but Steve's got Tony in his sights now and if the other man tries to run, Steve's not entirely sure he won't give chase. Let Peter have a go. The kid is fast.
But Tony doesn't try to get away. His voice is low but intent, like what he has to say is important, but he can't make himself speak up even so. "I don't want to be him."
Steve almost asks who, but then he knows. Howard. And Steve doesn't know what to say, because this is a subject they've studiously avoided for the sake of team unity and so they don't get into brawls which--with Tony in the armor, anyway--are fairly well matched and tend to do embarrassing amounts of property damage. Fury yells at them and while he thinks Tony might revel in it a little, it never fails to make Steve feel like a chastised ten-year-old.
It's difficult, because Steve liked Howard, even counted him--if not a friend--then a friendly work acquaintance at least, which in the War meant a brother-in-arms, someone you could rely upon to not get you killed, which was damned important during those dark days. But Tony is a friend, Steve thinks--hopes--and maybe something more possibly someday, and he definitely trusts Tony to have his back in battle.
So there's the Howard that Steve remembers and respects, and the Howard that Tony remembers and that Steve wants to punch in the face just from the little he has pieced together. Both responses seem to garner equal hostility from Tony.
"You lost your temper once. I don't think that makes you--anything. It happens. I don't think it traumatized Peter in any lasting way."
"Sure," Tony says, his voice still soft enough that Steve has to strain to hear him. "It's just the once. Then just twice. Only a handful of times. And if I hit him? What if he breaks something important? It'd be understandable, then, right? He's an inquisitive kid, so he needs to learn boundaries. How many times is okay? Three times? Four? What if he ends up in the hospital--it just goes a little too far. But I've had a long day and stock prices dipped and my shareholders won't shut up about profit dividends. Is it forgivable then?"
"Stop it," Steve says, all the warmth draining out of the day. He knows--he understands more than Tony maybe thinks he does, because his father died in an industrial accident but before then--before then it was screaming in the kitchen, precious china plates, passed down from mother to daughter for generations, breaking on the walls.
Steve hears Tony swallow. "I don't trust myself. I..."
"So trust me," Steve finds himself saying, his voice gaining strength as he continues, "I wouldn't let you do that. Become that."
Then he holds his breath, listening to Tony breathe.
"Yeah, okay."
Steve watches Tony cross the street, that same walk that makes people get out of his way and be happy for it, that has always drawn his eye, always made Steve slightly envious. The bell on the door chimes, and then they're facing each other, just slightly too close.
Tony looks good, beard cleanly trimmed again, hair gleaming, eyes bright behind yellow lenses. Only the slight pallor and faint wariness in his eyes hints that he might be anything but in complete control. He glances up and a smirk--not nearly as wide as usual--hooks a corner of his mouth.
"I think you can hang up now, Rogers."
"Um, that's. Right." Steve fumbles the phone, puts it away, and Tony glances around.
"Nice place."
"I didn't really choose..."
"So I may have over-reacted," Tony runs over the end of Steve's sentence in a rush, speaking to Steve's shoulder, head turned away slightly, not making eye contact. "Just a little. So. Sorry."
"It's fine."
"And I can't promise it'll never happen again. I'm not good at this."
"That doesn't get to be your excuse," Steve says, a little harsher than he intended. At Tony's flinch, he takes a breath and says more quietly, "That's the easy way out and we--I don't think either of us knows what we're doing, but we wouldn't be the first or only ones and...easy's never been our way, has it?"
That drags Tony's eyes back to his with a wry look. "No."
"No." Steve held Tony's gaze with determination. "So, no taking any easy outs. Deal?"
Tony straightens his spine and squares his shoulders, chin lifting a little. "Deal."
Steve spits in his palm, offers it, and watches Tony's face transform from collected and slightly distant to horrified in an instant.
"Oh my god, what."
"Shake on it," Steve says sternly, suppressing a grin.
Tony's face screws up in disgusted resolve, but he reaches for Steve's hand.
"Spit first."
"You can't be seri--"
Steve raises an eyebrow, unwavering. It's probably the first time he's been able to interrupt someone with a look. He's been studying Fury.
"I hate you. You suck."
Tony spits in his own palm, and then Steve grabs it before he can chicken out, shaking firmly.
"You. Suck."
Tony tries to snatch his hand away and, finally giving into his laughter, Steve pulls him closer in automatic response, and then Tony is way inside his personal space because of course he isn't going to win an arm wrestle against Steve.
Tony's got his head tilted up, expression suddenly soft, and if Steve just dips his own head, just slightly, he can--
"TONY!"
Peter hits like the tiny tornado he is, shedding little bits of cut hair in his wake. He collides in a small flail of limbs, somehow manages to grab onto them both and buries his face against Tony's hip.
"Well hello, spider-monkey. What happened to you?"
Peter's hair is short-ish and spiked up wildly. Very Tony, Steve thinks privately and smiles to himself.
"Is what he wanted," Mr. Bobkov says with traces of disdain still in his tone.
"Very handsome," Steve says to counteract the negativity, but he needn't have bothered. Peter is talking to Tony in that wordless babble--only now there are some words that Steve recognizes threaded through--signing excitedly all the while.
Tony scoops Peter up and listens with rapt attention. "A fountain--you don't say! Were they very big dogs? Flowers, really? Did you like hot dogs?"
Steve suddenly remembers their flowers--left at their table and probably long gone by now. He hopes someone nice picked them up and they didn't just get thrown away.
He expresses his gratitude to Mr. Bobkov for the haircut and the first aid, offering to pay again and is scoffed at.
"Come back, yeah? Next time you need trim. We call it even."
Steve promises to come back at some point, and then he hastens to follow Peter, who's squirmed out of Tony's arms and is already leading him away, waving and shouting his thanks as he disappears out the door.
The boy insists on going back to the park, where they find their flowers--Peter's one fuchsia daisy in the middle of Steve's bright yellow carnation bundle-- set aside on a bench, slightly wilted but otherwise intact. Steve feels pleased by this evidence of decency and offers them to Tony gallantly, and though the other man snorts and teases him, he still holds the bunch carefully in the crook of one arm as Peter takes him on an impromptu tour.
Tony tosses a coin in the fountain and then gives Peter a handful to fling gleefully into the water, watches as Peter rides the carousel again while chattering about funpark engineering and then declares himself starving. The sun is low enough that the buildings cast long shadows, though that doesn't take much, considering how tall they are, but Steve agrees that they should probably be thinking of food again.
"I know a great Thai place around here. Think Peter would like Thai?"
"We've been eating out all day," Steve protests, slightly horrified now that he thinks about it. "Why don't I cook something at home?"
"You can cook?"
"I can manage pasta."
"I could go for that."
It's as he's scanning back over the park, thinking of subway stations and the quickest way to get home--though he supposes Tony could just call Happy, but Steve thinks Peter might enjoy the subway--that he recognizes where he is.
"Oh--Bryant Park! I know this place!"
There's the public library at one end of the stretch of green with its stately steps and Corinthian columns and two guardian lions. So much has grown up around it that he hadn't even noticed it, not really.
"It was a big deal, when it reopened." Tony looks at him curiously. "Sorry I--it's just, I know this place." It seems weird, now that he's said it out loud. It had seemed like a big deal when he'd realized it.
But Tony quirks a small smile at him, not his usual mocking, but instead bordering on kind or, at least, understanding. "We can stay longer if you want, Cap."
"No, I--that's fine." Steve manages to smile back. It feels a little shaky, but genuine. "It's not going anywhere."
It's been around longer than he has, and it manages to look at home amidst the towering modern buildings. Steve knows it's probably a little silly, but it makes him feel hope that someday he'll find his calm as well.
Tony's hand settles on the small of his back as they leave the park, Peter's hand gripping his, and Steve thinks that maybe he's well on his way already.
Tony tolerates public transportation for maybe half the journey, but then it's back in the car with Happy, who finds them a farmer's market not too far from Steve's apartment and drops them off. Tony touches everything, and tries to buy at least one of everything until Steve reminds him that since Happy has to chauffer Pepper the rest of the day, they're going to have to carry everything home.
"We could just get a cab. I know that's a novel concept for you since you lived in the era of horse-and-buggy, but it's something we future folk can do if we have the inclination and the money and I have both."
"No, Tony," Steve says as he makes a careful selection of tomatoes under a vendor's watchful eye, not even paying the strictest attention.
"What's this?" Tony picks up something Steve's dropped into his basket.
"Snacks for Peter. I don't really have anything and I thought maybe there should be a selection in the house."
Because he isn't entirely sure what Tony is doing, and he's aware that Tony probably doesn't know, either, but it's pretty obvious that Peter is going to be here to stay--forever if Steve had anything to say about it, even if that thought triggers a nervous flutter in his stomach. Steve just squares his shoulders and plans for the future in small, manageable increments. It's a technique he developed since waking.
"No, I mean, what is this?"
He's holding a little plastic cup with a sealed lid.
Steve blinks, not understanding Tony's disdain. "What? It's applesauce. Kids like applesauce."
"This isn't applesauce," Tony counters, turning the label so that he can read it more clearly. "This is 'organic apple puree with no added preservatives or sugar.'"
"That's good. Those are all good things!"
"This is like eating liquefied existential angst," Tony declares, gathering the cups out of Steve's basket. "I'm going to go find some food that's not going to make our kid cry."
Steve is so distracted by 'our kid' that he lets Tony get away, disappearing into the crowd.
"If he gets you all hyped up on sugar I'm switching his coffee for decaf and then letting him handle you," Steve declares in Peter's direction, moving along to the next stall. It takes him a moment to realize that Peter isn't following. He glances down at the boy to find him stalk still, eyes focused on some point across the street. It's the same look that he gets whenever he's about to run off into danger, and Steve tenses.
"Here," Tony says, dropping a load of things into Steve's basket. "These are better."
Steve moves to intercept should Peter decide to make a break for it, and at the same time glances down at what Tony has brought back.
"Apple pie?"
"Tiny apple pies!" Tony clarifies gleefully. "Everybody gets their own! Or several of their own, as the case may be."
"No."
"But they're full of apple goodness. Way better than that death-by-health-food that you picked out."
"No."
Tony sighs dramatically. "Fine. You are so picky. Hey spider-monkey."
Peter jerks, shakes his head like a dog coming out of water, and looks up.
"Want to go help me find something disgusting you can eat?"
That gets a look caught somewhere between curiosity and skepticism, so Steve crouches down and pats Peter's shoulder.
"Just," Steve sends a glare in Tony's direction and is ignored, "pick out some fruit you like. Fruit's good for you and it tastes good." He punctuates that with a Stern Commander look in Tony's direction.
"Yeah yeah," Tony flicks his hand dismissively, then reaches out for Peter and disappears into the crowd.
Ten minutes later, Steve starts looking for them.
Fifteen minutes later, Steve knows something is wrong. He tries to call Tony. The phone rings once and then goes to voice mail.
Thirty minutes later, after increased, frantic searching reveals nothing, a sleek sedan with blackout windows and government plates pulls up neatly in front of him and Agent Coulson rolls down the window.
"There's been a situation," he says.
"Tony?"
"That's the situation, in part. Director Fury will debrief you."
Steve holds his ground. "Phil."
Coulson's mouth works for a moment, and there's a slight softening around his eyes. "It'll really be better if you hear it from the Director, Captain Rogers."
It's Coulson, so Steve goes.
On to Part 4!