Chapter Text
Tony rolled onto his side and his stomach rolled with him. Then kept rolling. “Ugh.” His head pounded, each throb resetting his thoughts to “ow” so he couldn’t put them together enough to figure out where he was, or why he had drunk so much last night. There was a scratch and a shuffle beside him, then a retch. The retch was followed with a groan, and Tony’s head finally cleared enough that he could look around him. He was in a sauna… or something. Wood panelling and a small space. But it wasn’t hot and he was fully dressed. He looked over at the retcher. “Did Captain America just puke?”
Steve groaned again. “I think I have a hangover. Which is impossible, because I can’t get drunk. What happened last night?” Steve sat up and looked around him. “Where are we?”
“I have no idea. The last thing I remember was midday yesterday. The thing with the Doombots. We must have had a party after?”
Steve frowned. “I guess…”
They were both still for a few minutes, and Tony wondered if Steve was also focusing on convincing his organs to stay where they were instead of bashing around smashing into each other like toddlers in Barbie Dream Cars. Steve braced himself and pushed up to his feet. His skin had a distinctly green, sweaty look. “Hungover suits you, Cap.”
“Ugh. Don’t talk. That makes it worse.”
Tony dropped his voice to a whisper. He felt like shit, but at least he was used to it. Steve hadn’t felt this way in years. “I can be very quiet.”
“The volume wasn’t the problem,” Steve quipped back. He steadied on his feet then staggered across the room to open the door. Tony half expected it to be locked, and clearly so did Steve because he tugged it too hard and it swung back and slammed against the far wall. They both groaned then snapped their hands over their eyes at the harsh glow of sunlight.
Tony was starting to get an unpleasant churn in his stomach and it wasn’t the nausea - it was anxiety. There was something… off about this. Tony had been hungover before, a lot, and he knew what it felt like. This wasn’t quite right. This felt more like the hangover you got when you had crashed your Iron Man suit into the Potomac while fighting giant laser ducks the day before. He was painfully well acquainted with that hangover too.
But it didn’t usually come with memory loss and he really couldn’t remember last night, and it seemed, neither could Steve. And that was the really worrying part. If they found alcohol strong enough and administered it fast enough, through an IV for example, they could get Steve drunk - not that he and Bruce had done the math one late night over Chinese takeout or anything - but he wouldn’t be hungover hours later. With the serum, the worst he would get was a raging headache for about ten minutes after he stopped drinking, then he would be fine. There was something wrong here.
Tony pushed himself to his feet, peeking through two fingers to filter the painful light into something manageable and joined Steve at the doorway. “Where are we?”
Steve waited until Tony leaned against the wood frame and blinked out the door. “I have absolutely no idea.”
Tony’s eyes finally adjusted, accepting the light, and his stomach dropped. They were surrounded by woods and perfectly manicured green lawns. In the distance was a group of buildings with matching cedar slat siding. The room they were in wasn’t wood panelled, it was a wooden shed, tools and supplies stacked against the far wall, rakes and shovels hanging from hooks on the walls. “What the fuck?”
Steve stepped outside and looked around, his fingers on the doorframe, gripping tightly enough to whiten, the only sign that he still wasn't feeling himself. Tony, however, found his headache fading already and his balance steadying out. He still felt like shit, but at a level he could deal with. “We are not in New York,” Steve said flatly.
Tony held up a finger and rummaged through his pockets. JARVIS could trace them easily, and likely fill them in on whatever had happened after the debrief yesterday. His phone wasn’t in his pocket, however. All he had was a single, silver key hanging from a comically large wooden keychain with the number “9” drawn ornately on it.
Tony held it up, scowling. “Do you have your phone?”
Steve patted his pockets. “Nope.”
“What the hell is going on?” Tony growled.
Steve reached out and took the key from Tony’s hand. “This looks like a room key. And this -” he gestured towards the spacious grounds outside the door “- looks like a fancy retreat or something.”
“Maybe we were… having a party here? And somehow we got so drunk we passed out… in a garden shed…”
Steve stared at Tony, unamused. “Yes. I’m sure that’s exactly what happened.”
“Well, good then. Mystery solved.” Tony rolled his eyes. “Can you walk? We’d better go see if we can find the others, maybe get some questions answered.”
“I’m fine.” Steve shoved the key in his own pocket, then set off across the grass, only wobbling a little. They made their way towards the largest collection of buildings - what appeared to be a massive main lodge, with several smaller cabins clustered around it like baby chicks. They passed tennis courts and a huge, curving pool. Wherever this was, it was expensive.
They went through the front doors of the main lodge and found a long front desk with a sleek, black countertop and pristine computer screens in a row. It was like someone had taken the Four Seasons and tucked it into rustic, Vermont-wood-cabin, wrapping paper. A man in a crisp, black suit was standing behind the counter managing to look both busy and completely at their disposal at the same time.
Steve stepped up and shot the man a pained smile.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Stark,” the man said. “How can I help you?” Steve flinched in surprise and shot Tony a look. Why did the man think that Steve was Tony?
“Uh, yes. Good afternoon.” Steve slid Tony another look, and Tony could read it easily. Something weird was going on here, and when weird things were going on, it was usually best to play your cards close to your chest. “I was just wondering... if there were any messages for me?” While Steve stammered through an attempt to get information, Tony trawled the pamphlet display at the end of the counter.
There were no messages, apparently, but the man helpfully informed them that their booking at the spa tomorrow had been confirmed and that breakfast would be served soon. Steve’s skin shifted a few shades greener at the mention of food, and Tony grabbed his sleeve, thanked the man, and dragged Steve away to a quiet corner. He shoved the flyers he’d grabbed into Steve’s hands and hovered nervously while he flipped through them.
“Serenity Oasis,” Steve read out. “Nestled in idyllic, rustic Vermont, our charming, full-service resort is the perfect place to revive, rejuvenate, and reconnect.” Steve’s eyes scanned the page. ‘This is a couples resort.”
“Yes. Yes, it is. Why are we at a couples resort, Steve?” He pulled one of the pages free. “This place is so serious you need a marriage license to even get in. It’s exclusive, it’s expensive, and it caters to people who want to reconnect.”
Steve’s frown deepened as he flipped through pages, then his hands dropped and he stared out the window. “Why can’t I remember what happened? How did we get here so fast - the concierge knows me… but with your name. Ugh.” Steve dropped his face into his hand and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Tony could see the headache throbbing behind Steve’s eyes because it was alternating beats with his own.
“Well, we’ve got a key. Video game logic says the next step is finding out what it opens.” Looking at the map on the back of one of the brochures, they determined there were two options. The main lodge had three floors of rooms and then there were cabins you could rent scattered around the grounds. Since they were already in the lodge, they tried the rooms here first. But the key didn’t open room number “9” (or “6” just in case it was upside down) so they went back outside and wandered around until they found cabin “9”.
“Wow.” Steve gaze up at the pristine cedar trim. It was two stories with an entire wall of windows, facing the small lake that was nestled against the trees. Tony pushed the key in the lock and it clicked.
“Guess this is it.” He pushed the door open and they both stepped inside. Then stopped. Tony wasn’t sure what he had been expecting, but whatever it was, it wasn’t this. The cabin was beautifully modern and cosy-lumberjack all at the same time, but that wasn’t the thing that kept them frozen in the doorway, it was how lived-in it all was.
Tony’s jacket was tossed over the back of a chair that was pulled away from the table. A few pairs of shoes had been kicked off by the door and Tony recognized half of them as his own and half as Steve’s. There was a jar of organic peanut butter on the counter with a knife balanced on top and half a banana folded in its peel next to it. A few dishes were stacked next to the sink, including Tony’s favourite travel coffee mug. A long console table against the wall had a large blue ceramic bowl on it and inside, clearly visible, were both their wallets, their cell phones, Tony’s car keys and a few receipts.
“I -” Steve cut himself off then stepped into the cabin. He wandered through the rooms, Tony trailing after, and everything was the same, little pieces of life scattered around. “What on earth is going on here? This looks like… we live here. This is our stuff.” Tony watched as Steve stepped in the bathroom and held up his razor, followed by Tony’s toothbrush.
With a huff of frustration, Tony marched back into the front room and rummaged through the bowl until he came up with his cell phone. It was dead, but the charger lay next to it so he plugged it in and leaned against the wall while he waited for it to start up. “Steve this isn’t a normal hangover. For starters, you can’t get a hangover. Plus I know what one feels like, intimately, and it’s not this. Something really fucked up is going on here. Dimensional travel? A setup?”
Steve collapsed in a chair and folded his arms on the table resting his forehead on top of them. “I’m finding it really hard to care about anything but how far I am from my own bed,” Steve whined.
Tony filled a glass of water and set it on the table next to his arm. He patted Steve condescendingly on the head. “Buck up, champ.”
Steve groaned but downed the water then grimaced. Tony’s phone had finally charged enough to turn on so he flicked through it, checking his notifications. But there were none, and the little exclamation point at the top of the screen made him frown. “No service? Tony Stark never doesn’t have service.” He poked the phone for a while. “Jesus Christ, they have a jammer here, covering the whole resort. That no phones, no internet, no outside contact thing in the pamphlet wasn’t a joke. I guess we can’t ‘reconnect’ if we’re too busy connecting with Twitter.”
“Why are we here?!” Steve burst out then groaned again. Tony tried and failed to hold back his chuckle. There was always something cruelly satisfying about seeing Captain America humanized.
“Do you think any of the others are here? Maybe we should -” Tony cut off, staring at his phone. No. No that couldn’t be right. No service, it couldn’t update, but then why… “Steve?”
“Mmm?”
“What’s the date, today?”
“Uh, May 18th? 19th?”
“I -” Tony gave his phone a little shake as if that would make sense of what he was seeing.
“Tony?” Steve stood and walked over to him, snapping into Captain America mode so fast it made Tony reel back. He handed Steve the phone silently and watched all the blood drain out of his face. “September fourth?! That’s not possible!”
“It must be confused. It can’t connect. If it can’t connect, you can just change the date to anything and it’ll accept it.” But Steve was already tearing through the cabin, pulling out every piece of paper he could get his hands on and throwing it into the middle of the kitchen table. Tony shuffled through them, searching for clues, but looked up when he heard Steve make a strange, strangled noise. He was clutching a piece of paper so hard it was crumpled and bent. Tony eased his hands off it, taking it away.
It was an invoice from the resort. And it was dated at the top, August 31st. It was for the entire month of August. There were charges listed for couple massages, candle lit dinners, room service, pay-per-view movies, tennis lessons; it went on and on. “We’ve been here for a month…”
Steve held up another piece of paper from a folder that had been in the bedroom. The folder had a cheery picture of the main lodge on it. He handed the paper to Tony - a photocopy of their marriage license. “Oh my god.” Steve sat down hard.
Tony pawed through the rest of the folder - driving directions, schedules of activities, He had a sudden thought and dropped the folder to scramble for his wallet. He pulled out his driver's license.
Anthony Edward Rogers Stark
“I changed my name.”
“You what?”
“I changed my name. On my fucking driver’s license.”
Steve leapt up and went through the same dance.
Steven Grant Rogers Stark
“Oh my god.” They stared at each other for a long time, in complete shock. “Wait a minute.” Steve frowned at his open wallet. “Why is it Rogers Stark and not Stark Rogers?”
“Really? That’s what you get hooked on? I’d tell you, but I can’t fucking remember changing my name in the first place!”
“This can’t be real,” Steve said, looking increasingly panicked, the green tinge to his skin deepening.
Tony reached out and grabbed Steve’s hand. He snatched it back, but Tony shot him a look and grabbed it again, holding it up to show him. “You have a new ring.” Steve stared at it wide-eyed, then dropped his gaze to Tony’s hand.
“You don’t.”
Tony looked at his own hands; they were bare. “Hmm.” He scrubbed his hands over his face. “This would be a great time to wake up.”
Steve sat down heavily again. “It’s been months. Have I - have we time traveled? Again…”
The pain in his voice was agonizing. Of course, Steve had been rocketed forward in time once before, that wasn’t going to make this any easier for him. “No. We clearly live here. How could someone set that up?”
Steve stood suddenly and took another turn around the cabin. “You’re right.” He leaned on the doorway. “Those are your clothes, your mug, my hair by the sink. It’s too - too cosy to be fake. We have been here for a month. But we don’t remember. Or anything at all since late May.”
“What happened in May?” Tony offered. “Maybe there was something… a villain?”
“Nothing sticks out.” Steve shook his head, eyes fixed on the floor. “Yesterday - or you know - we were fighting the Doombots, everything went fine, and then we went for a debriefing, and then… nothing…”
“Same.” Tony’s eyes fell on his phone again. “No internet, but I’ll still have pictures. Hold on.” He opened the gallery app and started flicking through. He felt Steve shift behind him, watching over his shoulder. “On your head, if you see something you don’t like,” Tony said cheekily. “I don’t remember if I’ve taken anything risque in the last few months.”
“Har har. I think I’ll survive.”
Tony scrolled down to May and started there. There were pictures of Iron Man blueprints, some close ups of material labels so he wouldn’t forget. One of Bruce laughing while he ate noodles out of a paper takeout container. Then a run of the other members of the tower: Nat, Clint, Steve, Thor. A few of him and Pepper and some nice views of his last trip to Malibu to visit her.
Then he slowed down as they started getting weird. A shot of him and Steve standing behind a podium at what was clearly a press conference. Someone else had taken the shot from beside the stage. Tony was leaning over the podium speaking into the microphone but smiling up at Steve who was giving him his “affectionate exasperation” look. A look he’d seen directed towards the others tons of times, but never towards himself.
Next was a mix of normal every day Tony pictures, peppered in with pictures of place settings, flowers, and phone numbers for caterers. There was a gap with nothing and then a massive collection of what were very obviously wedding photos. Steve and Tony standing at the altar in crisp white suits, with Rhodey on one side and Nat on the other. Dancing… drinking… laughing… cutting the cake… A selfie of Pepper and Bruce - which made it clear that it was Pepper who had stolen his phone and appointed herself photographer.
Before Tony finished working his way through them, the lump that had settled in his stomach getting heavier and heavier with each picture, Steve stopped him, saying his name softly. Tony looked up and realized Steve wasn’t watching anymore, he had his wallet open in his hand again and was staring down at it. He was holding a photo that he must have pulled out of one of the empty credit card slots. It was rumpled and creased but clear.
It was a close shot, and looked more professional than the ones Pepper had taken. Tony was laughing, a drink in his hand held up close to his mouth, but forgotten in his mirth. Steve had his arm around Tony’s shoulders, tugging him close, his lips pressed against Tony’s cheek, but you could see he was smiling too. Fuck, they looked so happy together.
Tony took the picture, holding it delicately between two fingers. “How… did we forget this?”
“I don’t know.” Steve sounded awful.
“This looks so real. Why would we throw a real event for a cover story?”
“I have no idea.”
Tony pushed up to his feet, suddenly full of frantic energy. He brushed past Steve and paced across the room. “This is so fucked up.” He turned sharply and marched into the bedroom as if it would hold the answers. The bedside table drawers were mostly empty, but on one side was Tony’s reading glasses, balanced on a book, and on the other side was Steve’s e-reader and a half-full glass of water. Oh god, they’d been sleeping togeth- beside each other. In the same bed. They’d been sleeping in the same bed.
Tony shoved his glasses aside and lifted the book, but instead of flipping through it like he intended, his eye was caught by what was underneath. A simple chain pooled on the table - titanium, not silver or gold - and a wedding band hooked on it, two-tone, with a band of shiny bright silver in the middle of two sections of burnished, dark grey. He did have a ring.
Steve appeared in the doorway, and Tony held up a hand to stop him. “Sorry. I know this is like - I know we’re sharing a small space, but can I have a minute? Do you mind?” He was deeply aware that he was kicking Steve out of what was clearly his own bedroom.
“Sure. Yeah. Of course. Can I take a shower? I still feel a bit like I was pulled through the hangover bush backwards.”
“Of course. Go right ahead. I’ll be in here.” They both sounded weird, overly formal and polite. They never talked like this, but Tony couldn’t seem to find normal in the face of learning that he and Steve were apparently happily married and vacationing at a couples retreat. And had lost their memories for no apparent reason.
He tipped down onto the bed, burrowing his face in the soft sheets and took a few breaths. He’d been telling himself he wasn’t that bad because he seemed so much less affected than Steve, but now that he wasn’t staring at Steve’s pale, sweaty skin, he realized how shitty he felt too. His stomach was still a hot, churning mess of acid and his head pounded with every beat of his heart. His joints ached like he’d run a marathon and there was a particular spot in the middle of this lower back that twinged sharply every few minutes. He felt old, and tired, and sick, and stupid, because he couldn’t remember. He hated it when his mind failed him. There’d been times when all he had was his mind - he didn’t know what to do when it didn’t work right.
And this whole thing with Steve. He realized he was still holding his phone and his wallet, so he flipped through the rest of the pictures. There were a few more wedding shots, then they petered out and went mostly back to normal, though it seemed that there were more of Steve than there used to be. There was a gap of a few days, then a couple pictures from the resort - Steve glaring at him while he held a tennis racket, a dinner plate with filet mignon and green beans, a sharp-dressed man leaning towards the camera and winking. Who was that?
The pictures ran out, offering no answers, so Tony turned to his wallet. He had his credit cards, all still labelled as just “Tony Stark,” a few hundreds, a picture of him and Pepper, and the newspaper cutting of him and DUM-E he had saved for almost twenty years.
Tony pawed through the rest of the gum wrappers and loyalty cards, looking for any other clue, and there, at the bottom of the long section for bills was a scrap of paper, creased and worn like it had been in the for a long time. It had only two words written on it, in Steve’s smooth, curved handwriting. Tony’s heart clenched. They really were married.
“Love,
Steve”