A Scandal in Latveria, pt. I
After the Manhattan incident, SHIELD wanted files on every super-person on the planet, human, Asgardian or otherwise. Phil Coulson’s vacation time was put on indefinite suspension and he was back in the recruitment business. Portland was going to have to wait.
The Fantastic Four were the first to pop up on Fury’s radar, mostly because they weren’t very subtle in their costume choices. They cooperated, mostly, but for Johnny Storm making smart comments in the Quinjet on the way in and Ben Grimm roaming around the Helicarrier bumping into things. Sue Storm was nice. Phil liked Sue. She made him tea at the Baxter Building and apologized for Reed Richards forgetting every appointment Phil made with him. He assured her that was normal. He spent the next week keeping tabs on Spider-Man and setting up surveillance outside of the home of terminally boring high school student Peter Parker. Phil found himself more acquainted than he never needed to be with the romantic tribulations of teenaged superheroes. At least the Rhino attacking a bank in broad daylight kept the trip from being a total loss.
Then there was Ant-Man and The Wasp, a detour to Wakanda to meet with Black Panther, and then back to New York to find Daredevil stewing in an apartment in Hell’s Kitchen. Hercules was a name he never wanted to hear again, Blade was a non-starter and if the Heroes for Hire lost his number that was more than fine. After each stop, and the occasional trip to the emergency room, Phil pulled his phone from his pocket, checked for word from Portland, and sighed. Come Monday morning there was a new stack of dossiers marked Urgent waiting for him on his computer and his trip would have to wait. Phil never said a word of it to Fury. He went where he was needed and he did as he was told. That was his job, above all else.
This week Phil met Namor, and he found a new arch nemesis in decompression sickness. His vacation could not come quickly enough. Facedown in his rented bed, in some non-descript little port town he couldn’t wait to put in the rearview, his phone rang. It was four o’clock in the afternoon and Phil still had his suit and shoes on, too exhausted to change into anything else. Against his better judgment, he lifted his head to check his pocket and sighed at the lack of caller ID.
“Director Fury.” There was no point in sounding tired. It wouldn’t have gotten him anywhere. “What do you need?”
“Pack your bags, Phil. You’re coming in early.”
--
“So let me see if I get this straight,” Nick Fury said, his good eye trained on the two Avengers seated at his conference table. “You flew a jet into Latverian airspace without SHIELD clearance to investigate Doctor Doom’s involvement in an attack on U.S. soil. After blatantly violating numerous international treaties, and basically taking a piss on any working relationship this administration might have hoped to establish with the Latverian government, you two idiots proceeded to open fire on Doomstadt.”
Tony Stark shrugged from his lounging sprawl at Fury’s table. “Allegedly.”
“Oh, so you allegedly blew up Doomstadt and incurred over a million dollars in property damage?”
“No, that happened, but only after Doom fired first.”
If Fury could have killed Tony with his mind, he probably would have. “Captain Rogers,” he barked instead, turning his attention to the man seated beside Tony, for which Steve immediately sat at attention. “Let me repeat the question, since our friend here doesn’t seem to comprehend what I’m asking: Do you two really expect me to believe this bullshit?”
“That’s exactly what happened. Tony’s telling the truth.” Steve looked up at Fury innocently, his posture impeccably straight. Tony could have sworn he batted his eyes for good measure. “We were in Latveria following up on the attack at UN headquarters when we were fired on by the missile defense systems surrounding Doomstadt. When evasive maneuverers failed, we fired back to defend ourselves. He forced our hand.”
“And you didn’t go over there to start a pissing match?”
“And start an international incident? What would we gain from that?”
After a moment, Fury sighed. “Fine.”
Letting out an indignant noise, Tony sat up. “What? Why do you believe him and not me?”
“Steve’s never hacked into my secured network for a laugh.”
“Are you going to hold that against me forever?”
“You did it twice.”
Tony scoffed. “You just like him better.”
“As a matter of fact, yes, I do like him better.”
At that Tony rolled his eyes and slouched back into his seat. Steve just shrugged.
“So, how is it that after six months of trying to claw each other’s eyes out like pissed off cats, you two up and decide to agree on something for once?” Fury asked. “Because, right now, it’s not winning you any favors with the U.N., who are currently breathing down my neck to hold you two accountable.”
“It all went down exactly as we said,” Steve explained earnestly. “I have no reason to lie, and neither does Tony.”
“And I haven’t actually threatened to kill Steve in at least five months,” Tony stressed. “Give us some credit.”
Fury pinched the bridge of his nose and let out another sigh. “Alright. Assuming I believed you - which remains to be seen, by the way - that’s not your biggest problem. There’s going to be a Congressional hearing on the Latveria incident next week, and you two idiots are being hauled onto the carpet to testify to your involvement. I expect the both of you there with bells on.”
Steve nodded, “Of course,” just as Tony sneered, “Bullshit.”
“Bullshit, indeed. And for the next week you two are in lockdown until further notice. No leaving the city without my go-ahead, no super powers, no armored suits, no nothing. You’re not going to so much as take a piss in the morning without me knowing ten minutes in advance.”
“What about the rest of the team?” Steve asked.
“I’m handling that myself.”
Tony looked patently unimpressed. “That’s cute and all, Nick, but I have a multi-national corporation to run. You might have heard of it? I have a big tower in Manhattan with my name on it. It’s kind of big deal, so you can see how this little overreach of power - and, quite frankly, startling disregard for my civil liberties - might not work so well in real life.”
“No, you don’t,” Fury corrected him. “Your CEO has a company to run, which she has been doing a fine job of since you started playing Cowboys and Indians. So you be sure to let her know that you’ll be missing a few board meetings and trade expos, lest you get a taste of my boot in your ass.”
“But my civil liberties-”
“Which you kissed away the moment you blew up Doomstadt.”
Tony looked to Steve for backup. Steve shrugged again. Tony made a face. Fury looked entirely too pleased with how this meeting was going.
“And just to make sure you stay on the straight and narrow, you will be getting a babysitter,” he said. “I expect you to be on your best behavior for him, because right now, he’s my favorite person in the whole wide world, and he has clearance to shoot you if he has to. So just keep that in mind.”
“That might be a little excessive,” Steve piped up, to which Tony threw his hands up in the air. “Tony and I can keep it together for a few days.”
“I wasn’t talking about you, Rogers.”
By the time they got back to Stark Tower, Phil was already waiting in the lobby.
--
After nearly six months on the road, in and out of motel rooms and rented cars, Stark Tower was like Disneyworld. A scenic view of the city, full-floor guest room with gym access, and the fastest internet connection on the planet. It may not have been a vacation, but it was as close as Phil was going to get on Fury’s dime.
--
“We are officially on lockdown. No leaving the city by plane, train or automobile, under penalty of death and/or dismemberment.” Tony crossed his arms and leaned against the counter. “Sound about right?”
Bouncing a look between the two superheroes standing before him in the common kitchen, Phil lifted his coffee mug for a sip. “Pretty much.”
“I just don’t think this is necessary,” Steve said, using that I’m the grown-up here voice that Tony hated so much. “I’m not going anywhere and neither is Tony. We don’t need an armed chaperone.”
“It’s nothing personal, Steve. And it’s not you Fury’s worried about, it’s Rocket Man over here.”
“Elton John, Phil?” Tony’s disdain could be seen from space. “Really?”
“Really.”
Steve sighed. “Alright. If you think it’s for the best.”
“I don’t, but Fury does. If you want to blow off Congress and risk a political spanking on The Situation Room, knock yourselves out. Frankly, I could use the laugh. But I’ve spent the last week dealing with pissed-off Atlanteans, and right now I’m just glad to not be heaving my lunch over the side of a boat.”
Tony rolled his eyes. Steve gave Phil’s shoulder a consolatory pat.
“Good to have you back, Phil.”
“Good to be back, Captain.”
--
Phil unpacked his suitcase, toed his shoes off at the bedroom doorway, and put up his gun in the bottom dresser drawer. (In a case with a fake bottom and extra ammunition, because it was better to be safe than sorry.) Pulling back the bedroom curtains to the endless stretch of the Manhattan skyline, he sighed. In his pocket, the new thread in his inbox read Hope you have a good trip. Love you. He read it seven times. On the eighth he thumbed back Made it in safe, call me when you get a chance and pressed send. He meant to say Love you, I can’t wait to see you, but it didn’t feel like the right time or place.
There would be chances for that, later.
At least that was Phil kept telling himself.
--
By the time Phil arrived on Monday the residential floors of Stark Tower were empty, and the silence was disconcerting. Thor was still off-planet as he had been during the merry Doom chase, and so off the radar. Bruce Banner was sequestered in Bangladesh since, technically, The Other Guy was on the scene and Bruce wasn’t a priority. Natasha and Clint were the only active duty SHIELD agents on the team and Fury said he was dealing with them personally. Tony was pretty sure that meant they got a Mission Accomplished cake and peach vodka party while he and Steve got the book thrown at them, but he couldn’t prove it. Steve just kept smiling like Tony would eventually go away if he wished hard enough.
It was a quiet vacation. Target practice in the firing range, a work-out here or there in the training gym, and lots of time on the rec room sofa in front of the largest flat-screen television Phil had ever seen. He had over a hundred hours of bad reality programming to catch up on, and no one could take that away from him. Tony flitted around between floors, to and from his offices and the labs, his workshop and the penthouse suite. Steve mostly just kept to himself in his quarters or in the gym, venturing out to partake of the occasional episode of Supernanny or Top Chef. It was nice, because Steve was nice. He had a knack for making people feel comfortable, even when they weren’t. There wasn’t a whole lot of that going around these days.
Tony spent Monday and Tuesday avoiding the rec room, making his resentment known to anyone within earshot. By Wednesday, lured in by the antics of Kardashians and one or more Jonas brother, he appeared at the doorway before making his slow, begrudging journey toward the sofa. Next to Steve, of course, which Phil just wrote off as one last show of defiance. That night there was Chinese take-out and serious discussion over reruns of House Hunters International and The Real Housewives of New Jersey.
The war, for now, was over.
--
“I’m so sorry I missed you.” Pepper made a disappointed little sound over the phone. “If I’d known you were in town I would’ve rearranged my schedule.”
“It’s alright,” Phil said. He leaned against the railing of the balcony atop the tower, watching the sky change colors, blue to pink. “I’ve been keeping busy. What are you up to?”
“Oh, you know, putting out fires. Stocks took a downturn when this whole Latveria thing broke, so I’ve been making the rounds with the press. With that and the roll-out for next quarter, I’ve been back-and-forth between Beijing and Malibu, dealing with R&D and Legal.” She sighed. “It’s been kind of a mess.”
“I saw you on Wolf Blitzer,” Phil offered. “You looked very convincing.”
“Why, thank you. And if you see Tony, shoot him in the leg for me.”
“Don’t worry. I’ve already thought about it.”
“How awful has he been?”
“Fairly.”
“Don’t listen to him. He loves you very much. He just has a horrible way of showing it.”
He shrugged. “I can handle him. Besides, I think Steve has him on a pretty short leash these days. It’s good for him.”
The line fell quiet. After a moment, Pepper sort-of laughed. “You know, I could’ve gone my whole life without imagining that.”
“Sorry.” Phil wasn’t sure what he was apologizing for. “I’ll be in town until the hearing wraps up on Monday. If you have time, maybe we can meet somewhere for coffee.”
“Sounds great. I’ll see what I can juggle.”
“Great. See you then.”
--
Steve got a call on Thursday morning over breakfast in the gang kitchen, stepping out into the hallway to take it. Tony didn’t seem to notice, alternately thumbing through the paper and scrolling through his tablet between bites of toast. After coming just back to clear his plate from the table, Steve excused himself and disappeared to the training gym to beat a punching bag into submission. He only came out to argue with Tony in the elevator on Phil’s route to the kitchen to refill his coffee cup. Phil pretended not to notice. It was a little too much like watching his parents fight, and that was a flashback he really didn’t need.
On his way back, Steve was the only one left in the elevator this time, hands stuffed into the pockets of his sweat pants, his face a little red. The doors slid shut behind him and Phil cleared his throat. He could have cut the air with a butter knife if he were so inclined.
“Trouble in paradise?” he ventured aloud, if only to break the silence.
Steve sighed and dropped his head back against the wall. “You have no idea.”
Steve and Tony spent the rest of the day making discernible efforts not to be in the same room together. It was way too much like watching his parents fight. Phil stayed in the rec room and tried not to notice that, either.
--
“You’re going.”
“No.”
“You need to go.”
“No, Tony, I can’t.”
“Don’t give me that crap, Steve. This is important to you.”
“Of course it is, but I have other obligations. I can’t just take off.”
“No, you have a curfew, and screw that anyway.”
“You know I won’t be able to get on a plane. Fury has us both grounded.”
“So we’ll drive out tonight and be back in time for the hearing. It’s no big deal.”
“You’re not coming with me.”
“The hell I’m not. Who else is going to make sure you go?”
“You hate funerals.”
“I hate a lot of things, but that doesn’t mean I don’t do them. You need to go, so you’re going.”
“Phil might let me go, but you’re the flight-risk. You won’t be able to get outside county lines without Fury finding out about it.”
“Never mind that. I’ll figure it out. Just pack up and be ready to go.”
“Tony-”
“You really think that, after everything we’ve been through, I’m just going to let you stay home and miss something like this because, what - we’re in trouble? That’s bullshit, and if Fury doesn’t like it, he can come down off his high horse and take it up with me personally.”
After a moment, Steve sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “If we get shot for this, I’m blaming you.”
“You’re not getting shot. And even if you were, you’d live, you prick,” Tony reminded him, something like a smirk curving the corner of his mouth. “I’m the one made of squishy regular person parts.”
Shaking his head, Steve turned to retreat his quarters. “Right. And what would I ever do without you?”
“Be miserable, probably. Now pack. You’re burning daylight.”
Tony probably could have resisted giving Steve’s ass a quick slap as he walked away, but where was the fun in that?
--
When Phil asked JARVIS where Tony and Steve were, he didn’t expect the AI to tell them they were in the garage plotting their escape. It seemed too good to be true, and the AI didn’t even sound all that sorry about ratting them out. Still when he found them in the garage with a mountain of suitcases (nearly all Tony’s), Phil wasn’t surprised.
“What’re you doing?” he asked, even though he already knew the answer.
“Busting out, Hoss,” Tony answered gaily, mashing the contents of at least two suitcases down into submission. “Sorry, but you’ll have to catch up on the rest of Top Chef without us. And don’t give me that face. We’ll be back by Sunday.”
“You know I have the authority to shoot you, right?”
“Phil, don’t be dramatic. It’s really unbecoming of you. Besides, look, we’re only doing this because it’s kind of an emergency. You can’t shoot me for that.”
“Fury says I can.”
At the trunk of Tony’s Audi (the most sensible thing he had to take on a road trip), Steve was packing as though he could avoid Fury’s wrath if he moved fast enough. “Tony, do not put anything else in those suitcases. We only have so much room as it is.”
Tony made a face. Phil wasn’t sure to whom it was directed. Eventually Tony just sighed and gave up on his luggage, stepping over them.
“Alright, look, Phil.” He put an arm around Phil to carefully guide him out of Steve’s earshot. “This isn’t some stupid stunt, okay? One of Steve’s old Army buddies died last night and the funeral’s in South Carolina on Saturday afternoon. It’s half a day’s drive. If we leave right now we make it by Friday night and still have time to get back into town before the hearing.”
Phil shot a glance at Steve then back to Tony. “You’re going to a funeral?”
“Yes.”
“So no powers, suits or explosions?”
“No.”
“Or casinos, brothels or Hedonism?”
“Of course n - wait, Hedonism?”
“There were pictures on TMZ.com,” Phil said. “It was more of you than I ever needed to see.”
“Right. That.” Tony gave Phil a slow, consolatory pat on the back. “None of that, either. Scout’s honor.”
“I’ll still have to come with you.”
“What? No. You stay here, take Fury’s calls, keep this road-trip under your hat, and we’ll be home before bedtime.”
“No.”
“No?”
“I come with, make sure you don’t do anything stupid, and I don’t end up on a spit.”
“Phil, c’mon-”
“Steve?”
Steve’s head popped up from behind the trunk hatch. “Yes?”
“I’m coming with you to make sure Tony doesn’t do anything stupid.”
Shooting a look first to Tony and then to Phil, Steve nodded. “Okay.”
“Why does everyone think I’m going to do something stupid?”
“Tony, don’t argue with the man. Just help me load the car.”
Tony sighed again and kicked his suitcases toward Steve. Phil left to return to his room, retrieving his gun from the dresser and his bag from the closet. He paused to thumb in the next message on the thread in his inbox.
Change of plans. Hitting the road again. Call you later.
+++
Charles Rutherford Saunders was born on a Sunday and died on a Wednesday of cancer-related complications. In 1944, he went by Chuck and fought in France alongside the Howling Commandos after hooking up with them on an ambush of a HYDRA weapons depot. He had a big gap-toothed smile and a Carolina accent he couldn’t shake, even after the year he spent mining coal in Pennsylvania for his father-in-law when he got married. Charles was 96 when he died, but Steve would always remember him as a barrel-chested southern boy with a loud laugh and a firm handshake.
Chuck, like a lot of other things, Steve would never forget.
--
There were only two rules in Tony’s car. One, only Steve got to sit in the front seat, because Phil was “on his list.” Phil didn’t know what list that was, but knowing Tony, he figured it was likely color-coded by offense to its corresponding day of the week. He also figured it was just Tony’s excuse to use the child-proof safety locks at his discretion whenever they stopped at gas stations, just to see the look on Phil’s face. Two, no one touched the radio under penalty of chemical disintegration. Which segued into the unspoken third rule: The driver picked the music, and everybody else either shut up or found a new ride to South Carolina.
These rules began to break down by the time they got into Pennsylvania and Tony’s presets had long-since faded out. Steve fiddled with the stations, switching over to satellite radio and scanning for something to listen to. Tony said nothing. From the backseat, Phil glanced up from his book.
“I thought no one touched the radio.”
“You would be correct,” Tony answered, his face unreadable behind a very large pair of very dark sunglasses.
“Then why does Steve get to touch the radio?”
Steve pulled his hand away from the dash as though burned. “I was just looking.”
“Because, unlike some people I know,” and Tony sounded entirely too happy with himself, “Steve’s not a fascist. He’s taken a staunch anti-fascist stance.”
“Tony, Phil’s not a fascist.”
“But you know who is a fascist? Our friendly Latverian dictator, Victor von Doom.”
“Who fired first,” Steve chimed in.
“Who most definitely fired first.”
They shared a look that could only be characterized as some kind of psychic high-five or fist-bump. For it, Phil let out a sigh and went back to his book.
--
It was well after dark by the time Steve made Tony stop for the night, after passing three other motels. The Best Western off the frontage road looked the nicest from the highway and Steve insisted they stop there, ignoring Tony’s persistence that he was fine to finish the thirteen-hour drive. Phil made sure to stay out of that debate, as well as the one that followed into the lobby inside.
At the check-in desk, Steve tried to argue that renting two separate rooms was an unnecessary expense, since they were just going to sleep there and then leave the next morning. Apparently six months of monitoring team expenses (and Tony’s tendency toward bouts of what he deemed as reckless spending) had made him into a den-mother and overall party-pooper. Tony rolled his eyes so hard Phil thought he heard a rubber band snap. He stayed out of that, too, and pretended to admire the framed landscape above the complimentary coffee station.
“I can’t take you anywhere, I swear,” Tony said, handing his credit card to the very confused-looking clerk on the other side of the desk. He flashed her a bright smile. “Please ignore him. He still collects loose change in a jar above the fridge. Yes, two rooms please, one for me and one for my friend here. The more expensive the better.”
The clerk’s hand hovered above the credit card reader. “You are serious, right?” she asked, covering her bases.
“Plastic doesn’t lie, honey.”
She processed the payment, printed a receipt and slipped him two key-cards. Phil made motion for his wallet to pay for his own room, but as Tony turned to sail past him, he pressed the second key-card into Phil’s chest.
“Alright, neighbor - you’re 201, we’re 202. If you need anything, just holler.”
Phil didn’t even get a chance to say anything, because Tony and Steve were already bickering out the door to get their things from the car. He followed after, up the stairs with his suitcase to the second floor. Steve and Tony disappeared together behind door 202 with an emphatic click of the lock. Phil felt like he missed a step along the way. Inside his room he set his things in the closet, put on the local news and cleaned his gun. There were no new messages waiting for him, from Portland or anywhere else. By midnight he realized he wasn’t tired yet and sighed. He slipped his shoes and jacket back on and went outside, leaning against the railing to watch the cars drift by on the near-empty highway.
Maybe this was a mistake. He could be in Manhattan right now, eating take-out and watching awful television. Instead he was in a motel in the middle of nowhere with brown stains on the ceiling and two superheroes in the next room. The story didn’t really add up; the two of them acted like they had something to hide, like kids passing notes in class for fear of getting caught by teacher. The posturing and bouts of indignation Phil was used to, because he knew Tony well enough not to take it personally. Steve, though, he couldn’t really get a bead on, and that was weird. Steve didn’t lie; he might not have always been so forthcoming with certain information, but even for all his good intentions, he still wore his feelings on his shirtsleeve. They were shutting him out and it was irritating. It shouldn’t have been, but it was.
The slow creak of hinges meant Phil had company. He turned as Steve slid outside, pulling his jacket on and the door shut behind him. Inside Tony was arguing with somebody on the phone and Steve looked like he had been caught stealing. Phil gave him a nod.
“Looks like nobody’s going to bed early tonight,” he offered affably.
Steve put his hands in his pockets and took up post next to Phil. “Tony doesn’t usually go to bed before four in the morning, so I’m used to it.”
There was something off about the way Steve said it, but Phil let it go. Steve spoke too plainly most of the time, subtly seemingly lost on his generation.
“You didn’t have to do this,” Steve added after a moment, leveling Phil a softened look. “Coming out here.”
Phil shrugged. “I didn’t have anything else to do.” It was only half a lie, but it didn’t bear mentioning.
“I know, but it means a lot.” Steve’s smile was small and just a little sad. “So thank you.”
Modesty would get him nowhere, so Phil just smiled back. “You’re welcome.”
They settled into silence, watching the creep of traffic ahead of them. Phil rocked back and forth on his heels, feeling a little restless. When he couldn’t stand the silence anymore, he sighed.
“This is just a question, so feel free to say no,” he prefaced, “but do you want to grab a beer?”
He had to be gingerly about these things. Steve was still his hero, and they had an alcoholic in the next room arguing about a board of directors meeting. Heaving out a breath he must have been holding, Steve finally sagged.
“God, yes.”
Three blocks down the frontage road was a gas station, a diner, and a little bar called Dirty Murphy’s. The bar was dingy with weird stains on the carpet beneath the pool tables and an unfortunate smell coming out of the men’s room, but the beer was cheap and the place was quiet by the time they got there. Phil sat down at the bar-top and ordered a Corona with two limes. Beside him Steve hemmed and hawed over the dark beer selection until the bartender poured him something so black Phil had never heard of it before. Steve gave her enough cash to cover both their beers plus a substantial tip and clinked his mug against Phil’s bottle.
“So, were you and your friend close?” Phil eventually asked, rolling a mangled lime between his finger and thumb. “Back in the day?”
Steve looked confused for a split second, then finally nodded. “Yeah. Chuck and I served together for a while when the Commandos were making our way through some HYDRA manufacturing plants. He had a wife and a new baby at home at the time, back in Pennsylvania. He was a great guy. Mean at poker. Always the first to give you the shirt off his back if you needed it.”
Trailing off, he cleared his throat. Steve always remembered stuff like that, like the war was yesterday. Sometimes Phil forgot that for Steve it was and felt a little bad for it, turning away to take a long pull from his beer.
“I’m sorry. He sounded like a good friend.”
“He was.” Steve nodded and took a drink, his eyes drifting toward the repeated ESPN game highlights on the flat screen above the bar. There was nothing more to be said of it. Ultimately Steve sighed. “I feel bad.”
“Why?”
“Sitting here, having a beer when I told Tony I was going for a walk to clear my head.”
“It’s mostly true,” Phil offered. “We did walk here before we started drinking, if that helps.”
Steve shrugged. “I know. I still don’t feel right having to lie just because I needed a drink.”
“You don’t have to lie, and you shouldn’t feel bad. Tony’s an adult. He has to make his own decisions, and sometimes he has to live with the consequences.”
“This is different.”
“I guess I didn’t realize you guys had gotten so close.” When Steve didn’t say anything, Phil turned his eyes to the television to join Steve’s, watching baseball stats roll by on the bottom of the screen. “Good for him, though. You know, that he’s working on it.”
“Yeah.”
They settled into the silence of the slowly emptying bar, people pulling on their coats and wandering out into the night. Another beer and Steve paid both their tabs again, getting up to leave with a pat of Phil’s shoulder and something like a smile. Phil found himself back in his room before closing time, out of his shoes and jacket and into some sweats and a t-shirt. The next room was silent; he wasn’t sure what he would have heard if it hadn’t been. He checked his phone twice and fell asleep counting the brown speckles on the ceiling.
--
Up by nine o’clock, Phil showered and changed, poking his head out to see if anyone else was awake. When no one at 201 answered his knock, he walked two blocks in the other direction down the frontage road for three cups of coffee and a box of donuts. By the time he came back there was still no movement at base camp. He knocked again, expecting Steve and receiving a face of barely functioning Tony Stark instead. Apparently naked, his eyes bleary and hair a mess, the bed-sheet dragged over from the bed and tied off around his chest. Phil didn’t even blink.
“Morning, princess,” he said flatly, holding up the offered provisions. “I figured you weren’t awake yet.”
Behind Tony, Phil could see Steve rushing back and forth across the room, trying to finish dressing himself with one hand and mash one of Tony’s suitcases closed with the other. The bed was a mess of Tony-stuff: Ties, jackets and various electronic devices. The single bed, Phil noticed belatedly. Tony seemed to arrive at the same conclusion and pulled the door closed behind him. It got stuck on his bed-sheet train; he yanked it free indignantly before clearing his throat and turning his attention back to Phil.
“Right. Sorry. Late night. Overslept,” he explained quickly, accepting the donuts from Phil. “Hey, these are for me, right?”
“The glazed are for Steve,” Phil stressed. “Those are his favorite.”
“Awesome.” There was that smile again, like he was selling ice to Eskimos. “Yeah, so, Steve’s putting his face on, or, you know. Whatever. So give us five minutes and we’ll be right down, alright?”
Five minutes later Steve was coming down the stairs to the parking lot, two bags in hand, looking completely panicked and wearing last night’s clothes. Tony was nowhere to be found. Phil just stuck a cup of coffee out in Steve’s general direction and kept his commentary to himself.
“Sorry, Phil. Late night, overslept,” Steve repeated, packing the car. “Tony’s coming down right now.”
Right now turned into another fifteen minutes. Eventually Tony wandered down with the donuts, hair coiffed, looking far too put-together for the state Phil first found him in.
“Are we ready to go, kids?”
Steve was still pressing his sleep-mussed hair back into place. Phil rolled his eyes.
--
Lunch came in the form of steak burritos from a truck-stop on the Carolina border. This wasn’t the first time Phil had been crammed into a booth with Tony in some shabby little fast food joint, watching him devour cheap, greasy food. Back in the early days of the Avengers Initiative, amid all the recon missions and psych reports, he had the honor of being dragged to food trucks and Chinese restaurants all over Southern California. Tony loved fast food like some people loved their pets: It was sometimes awkward to be around, and he insisted on sharing it with others.
Steve came in with a jingle of the sleigh bells tied to the front door, finding them in the back corner booth. He brushed the seat clean and sat down next to Tony, one long leg hanging over the edge of the too-small bench. Poking at his offered burrito with a fork, he made a face and pushed his plate back.
“What do you have against burritos?” Tony paused to chew, feigning affront. “They’re a perfect food. They come in a tube. NASA couldn’t have done it better if they tried.”
“No thanks, I’ll wait until we get into town.”
Tony stabbed Steve’s burrito with his fork, dragging it over to his plate instead. Steve rolled his eyes.
“Anyway, the car’s fueled up and ready whenever you are.”
“It’s only a few more hours until we get into town.” Phil was busy arranging his napkins and plastic silverware in a neat pile on his plate, stacking his to-go on top to hold everything down. “Any idea on what happens when we get there?”
Steve dug a piece of paper from of his back-pocket, unfolding it and smoothing out the creases. “The service will be held at the First Presbyterian Church on Rendell Avenue at one o’clock, then he’s being buried at Brickmeyer Cemetery. I looked the directions up on my phone already, so.”
“Are you sure you’re okay to do this?” Phil asked. The sharp look Tony gave him made him think to rephrase it. “It’s just kind of complicated, I guess, since you’re you and - all of that.”
Steve shrugged. “I’m fine. I mean, it’s not easy. Chuck moved on like everybody else did, but I really can’t afford to dwell on that right now.”
“I doubt we’d be out here at all if he couldn’t handle it.” Tony wiped his mouth off with his napkin and pushed away his half-finished burrito. “Steve’s not exactly a wilting flower, Phil.”
“I wasn’t implying anything.”
“It’s just I think it’s kind of a shitty thing to say, that’s all.”
“I was just asking.”
“It’s fine,” Steve said, trying to run interference, “really.”
“We should get back on the road.”
Tony made motion to stand. Steve slid out of the booth to let him pass, heaving out a sigh and watching Tony walk out of the truck-stop like he was considering violence. Phil kept his mouth shut about that, like most things, and returned to his book in the backseat without another word.
--
Another hour down a winding country highway and Steve was playing with the radio again. Something familiar fuzzed in and out of tune. Phil sat up.
“Can you leave it here, please?”
In the driver’s seat, Tony began going into some kind of auditory anaphylaxis. “Elton John, Phil? Seriously?”
“I like Elton John.”
“And I like root canals. Oh wait, no I don’t.”
“It’s fine,” Steve cut in.
“My car, my rules.”
“You know I can still shoot you, right?” Phil reminded him. “At this point, I don’t think I’d feel that bad about it.”
“You know, you didn’t have to come with us, Phil. In fact, I’m really not sure why you’re here.”
“And you don’t have to act like an ass, but that hasn’t stopped you yet, either.”
“You could get out and walk if you don’t like it.”
“Be nice, Tony.” Steve’s voice was firm, edging on angry, but Tony didn’t seem to notice.
“It’s my car. We talked about this. It’s my car and it’s my rules, and my rules dictate that this is an Elton John-free space.”
“Just leave it.”
“Steve, tell him he’s being irrational and he can’t mess with my stuff.”
“Tony.”
The look on Steve’s face could have cut glass. For it Tony’s jaw clicked shut. Phil bounced a look between them and stayed quiet. There was a vein in Steve’s temple that neither of them had ever remember seeing before, now throbbing like it was about to burst. After a moment, Tony tried to break the silence.
“Steve-”
“You know what?” Steve snapped, jabbing a finger at Tony. “Shut up. Just shut up. You’ve been acting like an asshole since we got back from Latveria and I’m sick of it.”
“Yeah, I know but-”
“No, Tony. You don’t get to act like this, especially not to Phil. He’s my friend, and in case you haven’t noticed, I don’t have many of those anymore.”
A sudden loud bang broke Steve’s tirade, followed by a heavy thump-thump-thump. Tony quietly pulled over to the shoulder and parked the car, clearing his throat in a cough. Steve put a hand across his forehead, took a deep breath, and collected himself.
“What just happened?”
“Flat tire. The pressure sensor in the dash was going off, but.” Tony coughed again. “So, yeah, it just, you know - went.”
“Tell me you have a spare so I can change it.”
“Yes.”
“And a jack?”
Tony silently drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. Steve sighed. Phil slid down and tried his best not to stare directly into the vortex of quiet, simmering hate deepening between the front seats.
“Well, I don’t drive myself very often so,” Tony shrugged. “I guess it didn’t seem like a priority?”
“You’re kidding me.”
“Look, it’s a bad habit, I know. We can discuss my growing list of character defects later. Right now we’ll just call a truck and have them come fix it, okay?”
Another sigh and Steve shook his head as he yanked the door open, climbing out and slamming it behind him. He walked ten yards off the roadside to stand in the field edging the highway, staring into the tree-line as though it held some secret to not throttling Tony. After calling for the truck, Tony and Phil waited outside, arms crossed, looking thoroughly scolded. It took thirty minutes for the silence to become unbearable, and Phil found himself feeling itchy about the entire thing.
“Why did you come?” he asked. Tony made a face. He didn’t care. “Look, I get it: Steve’s your friend, too. But you seem to be having a worse time than he is, if that were even possible, and you’ve been shitting on me since I hit the door. So I’m just wondering why you came along at all.”
Tony looked like he wanted to be angry, but stopped himself; as though he traveled ten seconds into the future to see where it got him. Instead he shook his head and brought his arms tighter to himself. “I’m here for Steve, Phil. I don’t know what else to tell you.”
“Think of something.”
Eventually, Tony sighed. “Look, there’s a lot going on here you don’t know about. I mean, how could you? You’ve been MIA with Fury’s recruitment program this whole time. Things between me and Steve, they’ve changed, alright? In a big, scary, what-the-fuck-am-I-doing kind of way - which, consequently, brings me here.” All the honesty was making him squirm, which Phil took as a good sign. “But he needed this. He needed to just do something for himself for once, because he’s so busy carrying all of our burdens that completely forgets the part where he matters. That’s it, that’s the big secret.”
“That’s actually - well, that’s really nice.” Phil almost felt bad for saying anything at all, but not enough to apologize. This was still Tony, and he still had it coming. “It’s good that he has people that care about him like that.”
“Yeah, well. Some of us more than others.”
The pointed way that Tony said that took the both of them by surprise. Phil’s equally pointed question was deferred, stalled by the sound of tires crunching into the gravel behind them as the service truck slowed to a stop. By then Steve had calmed down enough to make the walk back to the car, and the look Tony shot at Phil was a threat and a plea rolled into one. Within the hour they were on the road again, and rode in silence the rest of the way into town.
--
“So, there’s good news and bad news,” Steve said, coming out of the motel lobby with two key-cards in one hand, a receipt in the other. “Apparently there’s two weddings in town this weekend and they’re all booked up.”
Leaning against the driver’s side door, Tony looked unenthused. “What’s the good news?”
“We just got the last room.”
“And the bad news?”
“There are only two beds.”
“Awesome.”
“If you’d like to drive twenty minutes down the highway for another motel, be my guest.”
Steve went out of his way to ignore Tony as he set about unpacking the car, bringing their bags to door 421. At the car Phil and Tony exchanged glances but said nothing, following behind. Inside the room was dressed up in patterned drapes and throws, all red, white and blue with little stars and puffy-cheeked children with faces like rag dolls. Phil slid out of his jacket and shoes, setting down his suitcase in the corner and trying not to stare directly at any of the decor. Steve was busy making a bed on the sofa as Tony plopped down on one of the mattresses, testing the springs hesitantly.
“Well, this is...quant,” Tony grumbled to himself, wiping his hands on his pants. “I mean, I haven’t spent a lot of time in a Red state since the Bush administration, but, you know, it’s nice to see how the other half…whatever.”
Steve didn’t even notice. Phil was trying to look busy as he hunted through his bag for something to change into. It wasn’t even eight o’clock yet and it was already going to be a long night.
“I’ll take the sofa for the night,” Steve said to no one in particular.
Tony ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “Steve.”
“It’s fine.”
“It’s not that.”
“We should probably turn in early tonight. It’s been a long day.”
“Steve.”
Tony got up. Steve walked past the bed like Tony wasn’t there, going to the bathroom to finish putting up his tooth brush, mouth wash, whatever else he had in his travel bag. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Tony shook his head. Phil considered driving that extra twenty minutes to find the next motel, or just sleeping in the car. It couldn’t have been any worse than being trapped in the room with superheroes embroiled in a domestic dispute, and there wasn’t enough in his suitcase to spend the entire night rummaging through it.
“Look, it’s not that,” Tony called from the room. “It’s a moot point, Steve. The jig’s up.”
Steve stepped out of the bathroom. “You told him?”
“Kind of. I don’t know.” Tony sighed again and made a non-committal gesture in the air. “I didn’t really have to. You know we kind of suck at this, right?”
Steve’s jaw ticked the way it always did when he was considering doing something drastic. Instead he grabbed his coat from the sofa, making his way to the door. “I’m going out.”
The door slammed behind him so hard that the cheap framed art rattled on the walls. After a moment, Phil cleared his throat.
“Well, this might have been the second most awkward night I’ve spent in a motel.”
“Should I ask what the first was?” Tony asked, back to massaging the point between his eyes.
“Probably not. Doctor Strange was there. It was just a bad time.”
“Right.” Clapping his hands together, Tony put on a good face. “Phil?”
“Yeah?”
“You feel like going out?”
Going out with Tony Stark usually meant getting trashed in Monte Carlo or doing cocaine with twin Ukrainian lingerie models. It would likely end with Tony drinking some down-home little watering hole out of a liquor license and Steve hating both of them for the foreseeable future. Despite his better judgment, Phil couldn’t get out the door fast enough.
Part II
The Fantastic Four were the first to pop up on Fury’s radar, mostly because they weren’t very subtle in their costume choices. They cooperated, mostly, but for Johnny Storm making smart comments in the Quinjet on the way in and Ben Grimm roaming around the Helicarrier bumping into things. Sue Storm was nice. Phil liked Sue. She made him tea at the Baxter Building and apologized for Reed Richards forgetting every appointment Phil made with him. He assured her that was normal. He spent the next week keeping tabs on Spider-Man and setting up surveillance outside of the home of terminally boring high school student Peter Parker. Phil found himself more acquainted than he never needed to be with the romantic tribulations of teenaged superheroes. At least the Rhino attacking a bank in broad daylight kept the trip from being a total loss.
Then there was Ant-Man and The Wasp, a detour to Wakanda to meet with Black Panther, and then back to New York to find Daredevil stewing in an apartment in Hell’s Kitchen. Hercules was a name he never wanted to hear again, Blade was a non-starter and if the Heroes for Hire lost his number that was more than fine. After each stop, and the occasional trip to the emergency room, Phil pulled his phone from his pocket, checked for word from Portland, and sighed. Come Monday morning there was a new stack of dossiers marked Urgent waiting for him on his computer and his trip would have to wait. Phil never said a word of it to Fury. He went where he was needed and he did as he was told. That was his job, above all else.
This week Phil met Namor, and he found a new arch nemesis in decompression sickness. His vacation could not come quickly enough. Facedown in his rented bed, in some non-descript little port town he couldn’t wait to put in the rearview, his phone rang. It was four o’clock in the afternoon and Phil still had his suit and shoes on, too exhausted to change into anything else. Against his better judgment, he lifted his head to check his pocket and sighed at the lack of caller ID.
“Director Fury.” There was no point in sounding tired. It wouldn’t have gotten him anywhere. “What do you need?”
“Pack your bags, Phil. You’re coming in early.”
--
“So let me see if I get this straight,” Nick Fury said, his good eye trained on the two Avengers seated at his conference table. “You flew a jet into Latverian airspace without SHIELD clearance to investigate Doctor Doom’s involvement in an attack on U.S. soil. After blatantly violating numerous international treaties, and basically taking a piss on any working relationship this administration might have hoped to establish with the Latverian government, you two idiots proceeded to open fire on Doomstadt.”
Tony Stark shrugged from his lounging sprawl at Fury’s table. “Allegedly.”
“Oh, so you allegedly blew up Doomstadt and incurred over a million dollars in property damage?”
“No, that happened, but only after Doom fired first.”
If Fury could have killed Tony with his mind, he probably would have. “Captain Rogers,” he barked instead, turning his attention to the man seated beside Tony, for which Steve immediately sat at attention. “Let me repeat the question, since our friend here doesn’t seem to comprehend what I’m asking: Do you two really expect me to believe this bullshit?”
“That’s exactly what happened. Tony’s telling the truth.” Steve looked up at Fury innocently, his posture impeccably straight. Tony could have sworn he batted his eyes for good measure. “We were in Latveria following up on the attack at UN headquarters when we were fired on by the missile defense systems surrounding Doomstadt. When evasive maneuverers failed, we fired back to defend ourselves. He forced our hand.”
“And you didn’t go over there to start a pissing match?”
“And start an international incident? What would we gain from that?”
After a moment, Fury sighed. “Fine.”
Letting out an indignant noise, Tony sat up. “What? Why do you believe him and not me?”
“Steve’s never hacked into my secured network for a laugh.”
“Are you going to hold that against me forever?”
“You did it twice.”
Tony scoffed. “You just like him better.”
“As a matter of fact, yes, I do like him better.”
At that Tony rolled his eyes and slouched back into his seat. Steve just shrugged.
“So, how is it that after six months of trying to claw each other’s eyes out like pissed off cats, you two up and decide to agree on something for once?” Fury asked. “Because, right now, it’s not winning you any favors with the U.N., who are currently breathing down my neck to hold you two accountable.”
“It all went down exactly as we said,” Steve explained earnestly. “I have no reason to lie, and neither does Tony.”
“And I haven’t actually threatened to kill Steve in at least five months,” Tony stressed. “Give us some credit.”
Fury pinched the bridge of his nose and let out another sigh. “Alright. Assuming I believed you - which remains to be seen, by the way - that’s not your biggest problem. There’s going to be a Congressional hearing on the Latveria incident next week, and you two idiots are being hauled onto the carpet to testify to your involvement. I expect the both of you there with bells on.”
Steve nodded, “Of course,” just as Tony sneered, “Bullshit.”
“Bullshit, indeed. And for the next week you two are in lockdown until further notice. No leaving the city without my go-ahead, no super powers, no armored suits, no nothing. You’re not going to so much as take a piss in the morning without me knowing ten minutes in advance.”
“What about the rest of the team?” Steve asked.
“I’m handling that myself.”
Tony looked patently unimpressed. “That’s cute and all, Nick, but I have a multi-national corporation to run. You might have heard of it? I have a big tower in Manhattan with my name on it. It’s kind of big deal, so you can see how this little overreach of power - and, quite frankly, startling disregard for my civil liberties - might not work so well in real life.”
“No, you don’t,” Fury corrected him. “Your CEO has a company to run, which she has been doing a fine job of since you started playing Cowboys and Indians. So you be sure to let her know that you’ll be missing a few board meetings and trade expos, lest you get a taste of my boot in your ass.”
“But my civil liberties-”
“Which you kissed away the moment you blew up Doomstadt.”
Tony looked to Steve for backup. Steve shrugged again. Tony made a face. Fury looked entirely too pleased with how this meeting was going.
“And just to make sure you stay on the straight and narrow, you will be getting a babysitter,” he said. “I expect you to be on your best behavior for him, because right now, he’s my favorite person in the whole wide world, and he has clearance to shoot you if he has to. So just keep that in mind.”
“That might be a little excessive,” Steve piped up, to which Tony threw his hands up in the air. “Tony and I can keep it together for a few days.”
“I wasn’t talking about you, Rogers.”
By the time they got back to Stark Tower, Phil was already waiting in the lobby.
--
After nearly six months on the road, in and out of motel rooms and rented cars, Stark Tower was like Disneyworld. A scenic view of the city, full-floor guest room with gym access, and the fastest internet connection on the planet. It may not have been a vacation, but it was as close as Phil was going to get on Fury’s dime.
--
“We are officially on lockdown. No leaving the city by plane, train or automobile, under penalty of death and/or dismemberment.” Tony crossed his arms and leaned against the counter. “Sound about right?”
Bouncing a look between the two superheroes standing before him in the common kitchen, Phil lifted his coffee mug for a sip. “Pretty much.”
“I just don’t think this is necessary,” Steve said, using that I’m the grown-up here voice that Tony hated so much. “I’m not going anywhere and neither is Tony. We don’t need an armed chaperone.”
“It’s nothing personal, Steve. And it’s not you Fury’s worried about, it’s Rocket Man over here.”
“Elton John, Phil?” Tony’s disdain could be seen from space. “Really?”
“Really.”
Steve sighed. “Alright. If you think it’s for the best.”
“I don’t, but Fury does. If you want to blow off Congress and risk a political spanking on The Situation Room, knock yourselves out. Frankly, I could use the laugh. But I’ve spent the last week dealing with pissed-off Atlanteans, and right now I’m just glad to not be heaving my lunch over the side of a boat.”
Tony rolled his eyes. Steve gave Phil’s shoulder a consolatory pat.
“Good to have you back, Phil.”
“Good to be back, Captain.”
--
Phil unpacked his suitcase, toed his shoes off at the bedroom doorway, and put up his gun in the bottom dresser drawer. (In a case with a fake bottom and extra ammunition, because it was better to be safe than sorry.) Pulling back the bedroom curtains to the endless stretch of the Manhattan skyline, he sighed. In his pocket, the new thread in his inbox read Hope you have a good trip. Love you. He read it seven times. On the eighth he thumbed back Made it in safe, call me when you get a chance and pressed send. He meant to say Love you, I can’t wait to see you, but it didn’t feel like the right time or place.
There would be chances for that, later.
At least that was Phil kept telling himself.
--
By the time Phil arrived on Monday the residential floors of Stark Tower were empty, and the silence was disconcerting. Thor was still off-planet as he had been during the merry Doom chase, and so off the radar. Bruce Banner was sequestered in Bangladesh since, technically, The Other Guy was on the scene and Bruce wasn’t a priority. Natasha and Clint were the only active duty SHIELD agents on the team and Fury said he was dealing with them personally. Tony was pretty sure that meant they got a Mission Accomplished cake and peach vodka party while he and Steve got the book thrown at them, but he couldn’t prove it. Steve just kept smiling like Tony would eventually go away if he wished hard enough.
It was a quiet vacation. Target practice in the firing range, a work-out here or there in the training gym, and lots of time on the rec room sofa in front of the largest flat-screen television Phil had ever seen. He had over a hundred hours of bad reality programming to catch up on, and no one could take that away from him. Tony flitted around between floors, to and from his offices and the labs, his workshop and the penthouse suite. Steve mostly just kept to himself in his quarters or in the gym, venturing out to partake of the occasional episode of Supernanny or Top Chef. It was nice, because Steve was nice. He had a knack for making people feel comfortable, even when they weren’t. There wasn’t a whole lot of that going around these days.
Tony spent Monday and Tuesday avoiding the rec room, making his resentment known to anyone within earshot. By Wednesday, lured in by the antics of Kardashians and one or more Jonas brother, he appeared at the doorway before making his slow, begrudging journey toward the sofa. Next to Steve, of course, which Phil just wrote off as one last show of defiance. That night there was Chinese take-out and serious discussion over reruns of House Hunters International and The Real Housewives of New Jersey.
The war, for now, was over.
--
“I’m so sorry I missed you.” Pepper made a disappointed little sound over the phone. “If I’d known you were in town I would’ve rearranged my schedule.”
“It’s alright,” Phil said. He leaned against the railing of the balcony atop the tower, watching the sky change colors, blue to pink. “I’ve been keeping busy. What are you up to?”
“Oh, you know, putting out fires. Stocks took a downturn when this whole Latveria thing broke, so I’ve been making the rounds with the press. With that and the roll-out for next quarter, I’ve been back-and-forth between Beijing and Malibu, dealing with R&D and Legal.” She sighed. “It’s been kind of a mess.”
“I saw you on Wolf Blitzer,” Phil offered. “You looked very convincing.”
“Why, thank you. And if you see Tony, shoot him in the leg for me.”
“Don’t worry. I’ve already thought about it.”
“How awful has he been?”
“Fairly.”
“Don’t listen to him. He loves you very much. He just has a horrible way of showing it.”
He shrugged. “I can handle him. Besides, I think Steve has him on a pretty short leash these days. It’s good for him.”
The line fell quiet. After a moment, Pepper sort-of laughed. “You know, I could’ve gone my whole life without imagining that.”
“Sorry.” Phil wasn’t sure what he was apologizing for. “I’ll be in town until the hearing wraps up on Monday. If you have time, maybe we can meet somewhere for coffee.”
“Sounds great. I’ll see what I can juggle.”
“Great. See you then.”
--
Steve got a call on Thursday morning over breakfast in the gang kitchen, stepping out into the hallway to take it. Tony didn’t seem to notice, alternately thumbing through the paper and scrolling through his tablet between bites of toast. After coming just back to clear his plate from the table, Steve excused himself and disappeared to the training gym to beat a punching bag into submission. He only came out to argue with Tony in the elevator on Phil’s route to the kitchen to refill his coffee cup. Phil pretended not to notice. It was a little too much like watching his parents fight, and that was a flashback he really didn’t need.
On his way back, Steve was the only one left in the elevator this time, hands stuffed into the pockets of his sweat pants, his face a little red. The doors slid shut behind him and Phil cleared his throat. He could have cut the air with a butter knife if he were so inclined.
“Trouble in paradise?” he ventured aloud, if only to break the silence.
Steve sighed and dropped his head back against the wall. “You have no idea.”
Steve and Tony spent the rest of the day making discernible efforts not to be in the same room together. It was way too much like watching his parents fight. Phil stayed in the rec room and tried not to notice that, either.
--
“You’re going.”
“No.”
“You need to go.”
“No, Tony, I can’t.”
“Don’t give me that crap, Steve. This is important to you.”
“Of course it is, but I have other obligations. I can’t just take off.”
“No, you have a curfew, and screw that anyway.”
“You know I won’t be able to get on a plane. Fury has us both grounded.”
“So we’ll drive out tonight and be back in time for the hearing. It’s no big deal.”
“You’re not coming with me.”
“The hell I’m not. Who else is going to make sure you go?”
“You hate funerals.”
“I hate a lot of things, but that doesn’t mean I don’t do them. You need to go, so you’re going.”
“Phil might let me go, but you’re the flight-risk. You won’t be able to get outside county lines without Fury finding out about it.”
“Never mind that. I’ll figure it out. Just pack up and be ready to go.”
“Tony-”
“You really think that, after everything we’ve been through, I’m just going to let you stay home and miss something like this because, what - we’re in trouble? That’s bullshit, and if Fury doesn’t like it, he can come down off his high horse and take it up with me personally.”
After a moment, Steve sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “If we get shot for this, I’m blaming you.”
“You’re not getting shot. And even if you were, you’d live, you prick,” Tony reminded him, something like a smirk curving the corner of his mouth. “I’m the one made of squishy regular person parts.”
Shaking his head, Steve turned to retreat his quarters. “Right. And what would I ever do without you?”
“Be miserable, probably. Now pack. You’re burning daylight.”
Tony probably could have resisted giving Steve’s ass a quick slap as he walked away, but where was the fun in that?
--
When Phil asked JARVIS where Tony and Steve were, he didn’t expect the AI to tell them they were in the garage plotting their escape. It seemed too good to be true, and the AI didn’t even sound all that sorry about ratting them out. Still when he found them in the garage with a mountain of suitcases (nearly all Tony’s), Phil wasn’t surprised.
“What’re you doing?” he asked, even though he already knew the answer.
“Busting out, Hoss,” Tony answered gaily, mashing the contents of at least two suitcases down into submission. “Sorry, but you’ll have to catch up on the rest of Top Chef without us. And don’t give me that face. We’ll be back by Sunday.”
“You know I have the authority to shoot you, right?”
“Phil, don’t be dramatic. It’s really unbecoming of you. Besides, look, we’re only doing this because it’s kind of an emergency. You can’t shoot me for that.”
“Fury says I can.”
At the trunk of Tony’s Audi (the most sensible thing he had to take on a road trip), Steve was packing as though he could avoid Fury’s wrath if he moved fast enough. “Tony, do not put anything else in those suitcases. We only have so much room as it is.”
Tony made a face. Phil wasn’t sure to whom it was directed. Eventually Tony just sighed and gave up on his luggage, stepping over them.
“Alright, look, Phil.” He put an arm around Phil to carefully guide him out of Steve’s earshot. “This isn’t some stupid stunt, okay? One of Steve’s old Army buddies died last night and the funeral’s in South Carolina on Saturday afternoon. It’s half a day’s drive. If we leave right now we make it by Friday night and still have time to get back into town before the hearing.”
Phil shot a glance at Steve then back to Tony. “You’re going to a funeral?”
“Yes.”
“So no powers, suits or explosions?”
“No.”
“Or casinos, brothels or Hedonism?”
“Of course n - wait, Hedonism?”
“There were pictures on TMZ.com,” Phil said. “It was more of you than I ever needed to see.”
“Right. That.” Tony gave Phil a slow, consolatory pat on the back. “None of that, either. Scout’s honor.”
“I’ll still have to come with you.”
“What? No. You stay here, take Fury’s calls, keep this road-trip under your hat, and we’ll be home before bedtime.”
“No.”
“No?”
“I come with, make sure you don’t do anything stupid, and I don’t end up on a spit.”
“Phil, c’mon-”
“Steve?”
Steve’s head popped up from behind the trunk hatch. “Yes?”
“I’m coming with you to make sure Tony doesn’t do anything stupid.”
Shooting a look first to Tony and then to Phil, Steve nodded. “Okay.”
“Why does everyone think I’m going to do something stupid?”
“Tony, don’t argue with the man. Just help me load the car.”
Tony sighed again and kicked his suitcases toward Steve. Phil left to return to his room, retrieving his gun from the dresser and his bag from the closet. He paused to thumb in the next message on the thread in his inbox.
Change of plans. Hitting the road again. Call you later.
+++
Charles Rutherford Saunders was born on a Sunday and died on a Wednesday of cancer-related complications. In 1944, he went by Chuck and fought in France alongside the Howling Commandos after hooking up with them on an ambush of a HYDRA weapons depot. He had a big gap-toothed smile and a Carolina accent he couldn’t shake, even after the year he spent mining coal in Pennsylvania for his father-in-law when he got married. Charles was 96 when he died, but Steve would always remember him as a barrel-chested southern boy with a loud laugh and a firm handshake.
Chuck, like a lot of other things, Steve would never forget.
--
There were only two rules in Tony’s car. One, only Steve got to sit in the front seat, because Phil was “on his list.” Phil didn’t know what list that was, but knowing Tony, he figured it was likely color-coded by offense to its corresponding day of the week. He also figured it was just Tony’s excuse to use the child-proof safety locks at his discretion whenever they stopped at gas stations, just to see the look on Phil’s face. Two, no one touched the radio under penalty of chemical disintegration. Which segued into the unspoken third rule: The driver picked the music, and everybody else either shut up or found a new ride to South Carolina.
These rules began to break down by the time they got into Pennsylvania and Tony’s presets had long-since faded out. Steve fiddled with the stations, switching over to satellite radio and scanning for something to listen to. Tony said nothing. From the backseat, Phil glanced up from his book.
“I thought no one touched the radio.”
“You would be correct,” Tony answered, his face unreadable behind a very large pair of very dark sunglasses.
“Then why does Steve get to touch the radio?”
Steve pulled his hand away from the dash as though burned. “I was just looking.”
“Because, unlike some people I know,” and Tony sounded entirely too happy with himself, “Steve’s not a fascist. He’s taken a staunch anti-fascist stance.”
“Tony, Phil’s not a fascist.”
“But you know who is a fascist? Our friendly Latverian dictator, Victor von Doom.”
“Who fired first,” Steve chimed in.
“Who most definitely fired first.”
They shared a look that could only be characterized as some kind of psychic high-five or fist-bump. For it, Phil let out a sigh and went back to his book.
--
It was well after dark by the time Steve made Tony stop for the night, after passing three other motels. The Best Western off the frontage road looked the nicest from the highway and Steve insisted they stop there, ignoring Tony’s persistence that he was fine to finish the thirteen-hour drive. Phil made sure to stay out of that debate, as well as the one that followed into the lobby inside.
At the check-in desk, Steve tried to argue that renting two separate rooms was an unnecessary expense, since they were just going to sleep there and then leave the next morning. Apparently six months of monitoring team expenses (and Tony’s tendency toward bouts of what he deemed as reckless spending) had made him into a den-mother and overall party-pooper. Tony rolled his eyes so hard Phil thought he heard a rubber band snap. He stayed out of that, too, and pretended to admire the framed landscape above the complimentary coffee station.
“I can’t take you anywhere, I swear,” Tony said, handing his credit card to the very confused-looking clerk on the other side of the desk. He flashed her a bright smile. “Please ignore him. He still collects loose change in a jar above the fridge. Yes, two rooms please, one for me and one for my friend here. The more expensive the better.”
The clerk’s hand hovered above the credit card reader. “You are serious, right?” she asked, covering her bases.
“Plastic doesn’t lie, honey.”
She processed the payment, printed a receipt and slipped him two key-cards. Phil made motion for his wallet to pay for his own room, but as Tony turned to sail past him, he pressed the second key-card into Phil’s chest.
“Alright, neighbor - you’re 201, we’re 202. If you need anything, just holler.”
Phil didn’t even get a chance to say anything, because Tony and Steve were already bickering out the door to get their things from the car. He followed after, up the stairs with his suitcase to the second floor. Steve and Tony disappeared together behind door 202 with an emphatic click of the lock. Phil felt like he missed a step along the way. Inside his room he set his things in the closet, put on the local news and cleaned his gun. There were no new messages waiting for him, from Portland or anywhere else. By midnight he realized he wasn’t tired yet and sighed. He slipped his shoes and jacket back on and went outside, leaning against the railing to watch the cars drift by on the near-empty highway.
Maybe this was a mistake. He could be in Manhattan right now, eating take-out and watching awful television. Instead he was in a motel in the middle of nowhere with brown stains on the ceiling and two superheroes in the next room. The story didn’t really add up; the two of them acted like they had something to hide, like kids passing notes in class for fear of getting caught by teacher. The posturing and bouts of indignation Phil was used to, because he knew Tony well enough not to take it personally. Steve, though, he couldn’t really get a bead on, and that was weird. Steve didn’t lie; he might not have always been so forthcoming with certain information, but even for all his good intentions, he still wore his feelings on his shirtsleeve. They were shutting him out and it was irritating. It shouldn’t have been, but it was.
The slow creak of hinges meant Phil had company. He turned as Steve slid outside, pulling his jacket on and the door shut behind him. Inside Tony was arguing with somebody on the phone and Steve looked like he had been caught stealing. Phil gave him a nod.
“Looks like nobody’s going to bed early tonight,” he offered affably.
Steve put his hands in his pockets and took up post next to Phil. “Tony doesn’t usually go to bed before four in the morning, so I’m used to it.”
There was something off about the way Steve said it, but Phil let it go. Steve spoke too plainly most of the time, subtly seemingly lost on his generation.
“You didn’t have to do this,” Steve added after a moment, leveling Phil a softened look. “Coming out here.”
Phil shrugged. “I didn’t have anything else to do.” It was only half a lie, but it didn’t bear mentioning.
“I know, but it means a lot.” Steve’s smile was small and just a little sad. “So thank you.”
Modesty would get him nowhere, so Phil just smiled back. “You’re welcome.”
They settled into silence, watching the creep of traffic ahead of them. Phil rocked back and forth on his heels, feeling a little restless. When he couldn’t stand the silence anymore, he sighed.
“This is just a question, so feel free to say no,” he prefaced, “but do you want to grab a beer?”
He had to be gingerly about these things. Steve was still his hero, and they had an alcoholic in the next room arguing about a board of directors meeting. Heaving out a breath he must have been holding, Steve finally sagged.
“God, yes.”
Three blocks down the frontage road was a gas station, a diner, and a little bar called Dirty Murphy’s. The bar was dingy with weird stains on the carpet beneath the pool tables and an unfortunate smell coming out of the men’s room, but the beer was cheap and the place was quiet by the time they got there. Phil sat down at the bar-top and ordered a Corona with two limes. Beside him Steve hemmed and hawed over the dark beer selection until the bartender poured him something so black Phil had never heard of it before. Steve gave her enough cash to cover both their beers plus a substantial tip and clinked his mug against Phil’s bottle.
“So, were you and your friend close?” Phil eventually asked, rolling a mangled lime between his finger and thumb. “Back in the day?”
Steve looked confused for a split second, then finally nodded. “Yeah. Chuck and I served together for a while when the Commandos were making our way through some HYDRA manufacturing plants. He had a wife and a new baby at home at the time, back in Pennsylvania. He was a great guy. Mean at poker. Always the first to give you the shirt off his back if you needed it.”
Trailing off, he cleared his throat. Steve always remembered stuff like that, like the war was yesterday. Sometimes Phil forgot that for Steve it was and felt a little bad for it, turning away to take a long pull from his beer.
“I’m sorry. He sounded like a good friend.”
“He was.” Steve nodded and took a drink, his eyes drifting toward the repeated ESPN game highlights on the flat screen above the bar. There was nothing more to be said of it. Ultimately Steve sighed. “I feel bad.”
“Why?”
“Sitting here, having a beer when I told Tony I was going for a walk to clear my head.”
“It’s mostly true,” Phil offered. “We did walk here before we started drinking, if that helps.”
Steve shrugged. “I know. I still don’t feel right having to lie just because I needed a drink.”
“You don’t have to lie, and you shouldn’t feel bad. Tony’s an adult. He has to make his own decisions, and sometimes he has to live with the consequences.”
“This is different.”
“I guess I didn’t realize you guys had gotten so close.” When Steve didn’t say anything, Phil turned his eyes to the television to join Steve’s, watching baseball stats roll by on the bottom of the screen. “Good for him, though. You know, that he’s working on it.”
“Yeah.”
They settled into the silence of the slowly emptying bar, people pulling on their coats and wandering out into the night. Another beer and Steve paid both their tabs again, getting up to leave with a pat of Phil’s shoulder and something like a smile. Phil found himself back in his room before closing time, out of his shoes and jacket and into some sweats and a t-shirt. The next room was silent; he wasn’t sure what he would have heard if it hadn’t been. He checked his phone twice and fell asleep counting the brown speckles on the ceiling.
--
Up by nine o’clock, Phil showered and changed, poking his head out to see if anyone else was awake. When no one at 201 answered his knock, he walked two blocks in the other direction down the frontage road for three cups of coffee and a box of donuts. By the time he came back there was still no movement at base camp. He knocked again, expecting Steve and receiving a face of barely functioning Tony Stark instead. Apparently naked, his eyes bleary and hair a mess, the bed-sheet dragged over from the bed and tied off around his chest. Phil didn’t even blink.
“Morning, princess,” he said flatly, holding up the offered provisions. “I figured you weren’t awake yet.”
Behind Tony, Phil could see Steve rushing back and forth across the room, trying to finish dressing himself with one hand and mash one of Tony’s suitcases closed with the other. The bed was a mess of Tony-stuff: Ties, jackets and various electronic devices. The single bed, Phil noticed belatedly. Tony seemed to arrive at the same conclusion and pulled the door closed behind him. It got stuck on his bed-sheet train; he yanked it free indignantly before clearing his throat and turning his attention back to Phil.
“Right. Sorry. Late night. Overslept,” he explained quickly, accepting the donuts from Phil. “Hey, these are for me, right?”
“The glazed are for Steve,” Phil stressed. “Those are his favorite.”
“Awesome.” There was that smile again, like he was selling ice to Eskimos. “Yeah, so, Steve’s putting his face on, or, you know. Whatever. So give us five minutes and we’ll be right down, alright?”
Five minutes later Steve was coming down the stairs to the parking lot, two bags in hand, looking completely panicked and wearing last night’s clothes. Tony was nowhere to be found. Phil just stuck a cup of coffee out in Steve’s general direction and kept his commentary to himself.
“Sorry, Phil. Late night, overslept,” Steve repeated, packing the car. “Tony’s coming down right now.”
Right now turned into another fifteen minutes. Eventually Tony wandered down with the donuts, hair coiffed, looking far too put-together for the state Phil first found him in.
“Are we ready to go, kids?”
Steve was still pressing his sleep-mussed hair back into place. Phil rolled his eyes.
--
Lunch came in the form of steak burritos from a truck-stop on the Carolina border. This wasn’t the first time Phil had been crammed into a booth with Tony in some shabby little fast food joint, watching him devour cheap, greasy food. Back in the early days of the Avengers Initiative, amid all the recon missions and psych reports, he had the honor of being dragged to food trucks and Chinese restaurants all over Southern California. Tony loved fast food like some people loved their pets: It was sometimes awkward to be around, and he insisted on sharing it with others.
Steve came in with a jingle of the sleigh bells tied to the front door, finding them in the back corner booth. He brushed the seat clean and sat down next to Tony, one long leg hanging over the edge of the too-small bench. Poking at his offered burrito with a fork, he made a face and pushed his plate back.
“What do you have against burritos?” Tony paused to chew, feigning affront. “They’re a perfect food. They come in a tube. NASA couldn’t have done it better if they tried.”
“No thanks, I’ll wait until we get into town.”
Tony stabbed Steve’s burrito with his fork, dragging it over to his plate instead. Steve rolled his eyes.
“Anyway, the car’s fueled up and ready whenever you are.”
“It’s only a few more hours until we get into town.” Phil was busy arranging his napkins and plastic silverware in a neat pile on his plate, stacking his to-go on top to hold everything down. “Any idea on what happens when we get there?”
Steve dug a piece of paper from of his back-pocket, unfolding it and smoothing out the creases. “The service will be held at the First Presbyterian Church on Rendell Avenue at one o’clock, then he’s being buried at Brickmeyer Cemetery. I looked the directions up on my phone already, so.”
“Are you sure you’re okay to do this?” Phil asked. The sharp look Tony gave him made him think to rephrase it. “It’s just kind of complicated, I guess, since you’re you and - all of that.”
Steve shrugged. “I’m fine. I mean, it’s not easy. Chuck moved on like everybody else did, but I really can’t afford to dwell on that right now.”
“I doubt we’d be out here at all if he couldn’t handle it.” Tony wiped his mouth off with his napkin and pushed away his half-finished burrito. “Steve’s not exactly a wilting flower, Phil.”
“I wasn’t implying anything.”
“It’s just I think it’s kind of a shitty thing to say, that’s all.”
“I was just asking.”
“It’s fine,” Steve said, trying to run interference, “really.”
“We should get back on the road.”
Tony made motion to stand. Steve slid out of the booth to let him pass, heaving out a sigh and watching Tony walk out of the truck-stop like he was considering violence. Phil kept his mouth shut about that, like most things, and returned to his book in the backseat without another word.
--
Another hour down a winding country highway and Steve was playing with the radio again. Something familiar fuzzed in and out of tune. Phil sat up.
“Can you leave it here, please?”
In the driver’s seat, Tony began going into some kind of auditory anaphylaxis. “Elton John, Phil? Seriously?”
“I like Elton John.”
“And I like root canals. Oh wait, no I don’t.”
“It’s fine,” Steve cut in.
“My car, my rules.”
“You know I can still shoot you, right?” Phil reminded him. “At this point, I don’t think I’d feel that bad about it.”
“You know, you didn’t have to come with us, Phil. In fact, I’m really not sure why you’re here.”
“And you don’t have to act like an ass, but that hasn’t stopped you yet, either.”
“You could get out and walk if you don’t like it.”
“Be nice, Tony.” Steve’s voice was firm, edging on angry, but Tony didn’t seem to notice.
“It’s my car. We talked about this. It’s my car and it’s my rules, and my rules dictate that this is an Elton John-free space.”
“Just leave it.”
“Steve, tell him he’s being irrational and he can’t mess with my stuff.”
“Tony.”
The look on Steve’s face could have cut glass. For it Tony’s jaw clicked shut. Phil bounced a look between them and stayed quiet. There was a vein in Steve’s temple that neither of them had ever remember seeing before, now throbbing like it was about to burst. After a moment, Tony tried to break the silence.
“Steve-”
“You know what?” Steve snapped, jabbing a finger at Tony. “Shut up. Just shut up. You’ve been acting like an asshole since we got back from Latveria and I’m sick of it.”
“Yeah, I know but-”
“No, Tony. You don’t get to act like this, especially not to Phil. He’s my friend, and in case you haven’t noticed, I don’t have many of those anymore.”
A sudden loud bang broke Steve’s tirade, followed by a heavy thump-thump-thump. Tony quietly pulled over to the shoulder and parked the car, clearing his throat in a cough. Steve put a hand across his forehead, took a deep breath, and collected himself.
“What just happened?”
“Flat tire. The pressure sensor in the dash was going off, but.” Tony coughed again. “So, yeah, it just, you know - went.”
“Tell me you have a spare so I can change it.”
“Yes.”
“And a jack?”
Tony silently drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. Steve sighed. Phil slid down and tried his best not to stare directly into the vortex of quiet, simmering hate deepening between the front seats.
“Well, I don’t drive myself very often so,” Tony shrugged. “I guess it didn’t seem like a priority?”
“You’re kidding me.”
“Look, it’s a bad habit, I know. We can discuss my growing list of character defects later. Right now we’ll just call a truck and have them come fix it, okay?”
Another sigh and Steve shook his head as he yanked the door open, climbing out and slamming it behind him. He walked ten yards off the roadside to stand in the field edging the highway, staring into the tree-line as though it held some secret to not throttling Tony. After calling for the truck, Tony and Phil waited outside, arms crossed, looking thoroughly scolded. It took thirty minutes for the silence to become unbearable, and Phil found himself feeling itchy about the entire thing.
“Why did you come?” he asked. Tony made a face. He didn’t care. “Look, I get it: Steve’s your friend, too. But you seem to be having a worse time than he is, if that were even possible, and you’ve been shitting on me since I hit the door. So I’m just wondering why you came along at all.”
Tony looked like he wanted to be angry, but stopped himself; as though he traveled ten seconds into the future to see where it got him. Instead he shook his head and brought his arms tighter to himself. “I’m here for Steve, Phil. I don’t know what else to tell you.”
“Think of something.”
Eventually, Tony sighed. “Look, there’s a lot going on here you don’t know about. I mean, how could you? You’ve been MIA with Fury’s recruitment program this whole time. Things between me and Steve, they’ve changed, alright? In a big, scary, what-the-fuck-am-I-doing kind of way - which, consequently, brings me here.” All the honesty was making him squirm, which Phil took as a good sign. “But he needed this. He needed to just do something for himself for once, because he’s so busy carrying all of our burdens that completely forgets the part where he matters. That’s it, that’s the big secret.”
“That’s actually - well, that’s really nice.” Phil almost felt bad for saying anything at all, but not enough to apologize. This was still Tony, and he still had it coming. “It’s good that he has people that care about him like that.”
“Yeah, well. Some of us more than others.”
The pointed way that Tony said that took the both of them by surprise. Phil’s equally pointed question was deferred, stalled by the sound of tires crunching into the gravel behind them as the service truck slowed to a stop. By then Steve had calmed down enough to make the walk back to the car, and the look Tony shot at Phil was a threat and a plea rolled into one. Within the hour they were on the road again, and rode in silence the rest of the way into town.
--
“So, there’s good news and bad news,” Steve said, coming out of the motel lobby with two key-cards in one hand, a receipt in the other. “Apparently there’s two weddings in town this weekend and they’re all booked up.”
Leaning against the driver’s side door, Tony looked unenthused. “What’s the good news?”
“We just got the last room.”
“And the bad news?”
“There are only two beds.”
“Awesome.”
“If you’d like to drive twenty minutes down the highway for another motel, be my guest.”
Steve went out of his way to ignore Tony as he set about unpacking the car, bringing their bags to door 421. At the car Phil and Tony exchanged glances but said nothing, following behind. Inside the room was dressed up in patterned drapes and throws, all red, white and blue with little stars and puffy-cheeked children with faces like rag dolls. Phil slid out of his jacket and shoes, setting down his suitcase in the corner and trying not to stare directly at any of the decor. Steve was busy making a bed on the sofa as Tony plopped down on one of the mattresses, testing the springs hesitantly.
“Well, this is...quant,” Tony grumbled to himself, wiping his hands on his pants. “I mean, I haven’t spent a lot of time in a Red state since the Bush administration, but, you know, it’s nice to see how the other half…whatever.”
Steve didn’t even notice. Phil was trying to look busy as he hunted through his bag for something to change into. It wasn’t even eight o’clock yet and it was already going to be a long night.
“I’ll take the sofa for the night,” Steve said to no one in particular.
Tony ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “Steve.”
“It’s fine.”
“It’s not that.”
“We should probably turn in early tonight. It’s been a long day.”
“Steve.”
Tony got up. Steve walked past the bed like Tony wasn’t there, going to the bathroom to finish putting up his tooth brush, mouth wash, whatever else he had in his travel bag. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Tony shook his head. Phil considered driving that extra twenty minutes to find the next motel, or just sleeping in the car. It couldn’t have been any worse than being trapped in the room with superheroes embroiled in a domestic dispute, and there wasn’t enough in his suitcase to spend the entire night rummaging through it.
“Look, it’s not that,” Tony called from the room. “It’s a moot point, Steve. The jig’s up.”
Steve stepped out of the bathroom. “You told him?”
“Kind of. I don’t know.” Tony sighed again and made a non-committal gesture in the air. “I didn’t really have to. You know we kind of suck at this, right?”
Steve’s jaw ticked the way it always did when he was considering doing something drastic. Instead he grabbed his coat from the sofa, making his way to the door. “I’m going out.”
The door slammed behind him so hard that the cheap framed art rattled on the walls. After a moment, Phil cleared his throat.
“Well, this might have been the second most awkward night I’ve spent in a motel.”
“Should I ask what the first was?” Tony asked, back to massaging the point between his eyes.
“Probably not. Doctor Strange was there. It was just a bad time.”
“Right.” Clapping his hands together, Tony put on a good face. “Phil?”
“Yeah?”
“You feel like going out?”
Going out with Tony Stark usually meant getting trashed in Monte Carlo or doing cocaine with twin Ukrainian lingerie models. It would likely end with Tony drinking some down-home little watering hole out of a liquor license and Steve hating both of them for the foreseeable future. Despite his better judgment, Phil couldn’t get out the door fast enough.
Part II