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Everyone expects Captain America to be good with kids. And he is, kind of. Give him a kid who can speak in full sentences, who wants to run their fingers along the shield, or be given high fives, and Steve can cope. He can. At least, he knows that kids that age aren’t completely breakable, that he’s not going to accidentally hold them too tight and break their bones.
People used to hand babies to him all the time on the tours, just shove them unthinkingly into his hands like they didn’t realise he could crush them. It was terrifying, but he couldn’t say anything. The only time he had, the stage manager had looked at Steve like he’d admitted to wanting to eat babies and told him to suck it up and get on with it.
The modern world isn’t much better, people ask all the time if he can hold their babies for photos, and Steve still doesn’t know how to say no without offending them. It’s easier when Tony’s with him. Tony loves holding babies, will push Steve out of the way to take a baby, and it’s—.
The first time it happened, Steve had stood there in shock as Tony hoisted the baby in his arms, cuddling him close and laughing as the kid grabbed at his sunglasses. Steve hadn’t heard Tony laugh like that before, and he was spellbound. Tony kisses their cheeks and lets them gnaw on his fingers, doesn’t mind when they drool on his expensive suits, and Steve—Steve just doesn’t know what to do with that.
And kids love Tony, they enjoy Steve, but Tony’s practically a god to them. Whenever they get asked to visit children’s hospitals or orphanages, Tony’s the first one to sign up, usually turning his wide eyes on Steve until Steve agrees to accompany him. It’s ridiculous, really, Steve could easily get out of it every time, but he feels bad saying no to the kids.
Plus, Steve gets to see Tony kneeling on the floor with the kids building something out of the blocks they have, he gets to see Tony with a toddler on his hip because the kid had reached his arms up and said “up?” in a soft voice. It leaves him with a tight feeling in his chest that he’s too scared to identify.
Steve can sit and paint with the older kids, can answer their questions and read stories in a hesitatingly slow voice, but he doesn’t have the ease that Tony has. Never will. Half the time he goes with Tony to these things, he spends staring at Tony and wondering how Tony does it. He could make a joke about the kids being on the same mental level, but that would diminish the very real connection Tony manages to make with the kids.
They’re on another visit to the local children’s hospital, and it’s going fine, generally. No one’s shoved a baby in his arms, anyway, and he’s comfortable sitting at a low table and doing art with the older kids. Looking up from his half finished outline of The Hulk for the kids to colour in, Steve realises Tony’s not in the room anymore. Quickly finishing it up and putting it on the table for the kids to attack, Steve stands up and walks over to one of the volunteers.
“Ma’am? Do you know where Mr Stark went?”
“To the PICU,” she says and, noticing the frown on Steve’s face, she smiles. “The pediatric intensive care unit,” she continues. “It’s two floors up.”
“Oh,” Steve says. “Would you mind if I—”
“We can handle these kids,” she says, raising an eyebrow. “You can go find him.”
Steve offers her a sheepish smile before he heads out in search of Tony. When he gets off the elevator, he can make out Tony’s voice underneath the general noise of the hospital, and he follows the sound until he sees him behind the glass in the PICU.
Tony’s got the smallest baby Steve has ever seen cradled in his arms as he sits on a rocking chair, his head ducked as he smiles down at the kid, running one finger along the baby’s cheek. All Steve can do is stare through the glass, suddenly feeling like even one wrong move out here will cause irreparable damage to someone. He watches as Tony rocks the baby, trying not to listen to the murmured words Tony’s saying to it—him, if the blue knitted cap is an indicator, though Steve is well aware it might not be—and it’s just overwhelming.
Swallowing around the sudden lump in his throat, Steve takes a step back and bumps into someone he didn’t realise was behind him. “Sorry,” he says, before noticing they’re watching Tony as well. “Is that—”
“My son Tony Stark is cradling? Yes,” the woman says, glancing over at him. “Oh, I didn’t—it’s very nice to meet you Captain.”
“Steve, please,” Steve says, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. “Are you, I mean—”
“I’m Katie,” she says with a smile. “He was born with a heart defect,” she says, nodding towards her son as she wraps her arms around herself. “He’ll be fine, but no one ever prepares you for your kid having to have operations before he can hold his head up.”
“And, uh, Tony?”
“I asked the nurses,” she says. “They told me he likes to cuddle the babies, give parents like me an hour or so to ourselves. I didn’t—well. I’ve never met a billionaire before, but I didn’t expect him to be like this.”
“Yeah,” Steve says softly, turning back to look at Tony. “No one ever does.”
*
Steve tries to get better with babies, he really does. It doesn’t seem like people are going to stop handing them to him anytime soon so he tries to learn not handle them like they’re bombs. But he’s still so big, and they’re so small, and as soon as they start crying he freezes up and doesn’t know what to do.
He’s down at SI to sign off on a merchandising contract Tony’s set up for him, with proceeds going to various charities, when he hears a commotion from outside Tony’s office. Scribbling his name on the contracts, he pokes his head out the door and finds Tony cuddling a baby, a woman hovering over him.
“The head,” she says. “Mr Stark—”
“You’re acting like I’ve never held a baby before,” Tony says in a sing-song voice. “Relax, Cynthia, I’ve probably held more babies than you.”
“Uh, Tony?” Steve says. “I’m done with the—”
“Come look,” Tony interrupts. “Cynthia and her wife had a baby.”
“I’m good,” Steve says. “I can see it from here.”
“Him,” Tony says, walking over to Steve, still cradling the baby in his arms. “Adam. Look, Steve, look how tiny his hands are.”
“Very, uh, small,” Steve says, looking down at Adam. “Tony, I don’t—”
“There’s nothing to be scared of,” Tony says. “He’s just a baby.”
Tony’s pressed up right alongside him, and Steve feels ridiculous. He’s faced off against Nazis, and Gods, and whatever that thing was that came up from the sewers last month but—. Fuck, he’s terrified. “I’m not—it’s not that,” he says, even though it is. “Babies, they don't like me. I’m too big, I guess, they always cry and I don’t know what to do with them.”
“Babies cry, Steve,” Tony says, looking at him, his face way too close for Steve to be comfortable. “That’s what they do. And anyway, I’ve seen the photo ops, babies like you.”
“For the two seconds it took to have the photo taken,” Steve says, huffing out a laugh. “Then they just kept crying.”
“Well, Adam likes you,” Tony says, looking back down at the baby, leaning against Steve’s side. “Don’t you, kiddo? Christ, how do they make them this small? Look at his nose, it’s obnoxiously cute. Cynthia you’re going to have to keep this kid out of the office, I’ll end up giving him anything he wants.”
“Oh like you don’t sneak down to daycare and get all the kids hyped on sugar anyway,” Cynthia says with a fond smile.
“Spurious allegations,” Tony says as he hands Adam back to her. “Disgraceful behaviour from one of my most treasured engineers.”
“Sure, Mr Stark,” Cynthia says, propping Adam up against her shoulder. “I’ll be sure to work on that.”
“Get out of here,” Tony says, smiling as she does just that, Adam’s chubby cheek resting on her shoulder. “What were you saying before, Steve?”
“Just that I’d finished signing the contracts.”
“Oh,” Tony says. “Okay, great. Hey, you want to get lunch?”
“I could eat,” Steve says cautiously, not entirely sure what’s happening but happy to go along with Tony’s whims. It’s not like he’s got anything else to do today.
“That’s—yeah, okay,” Tony says, tentatively smiling at him. “Lunch. You and me.”
“Wait,” Steve says, his brain suddenly catching up. “Did you mean it as a date?”
“Do you want me to mean it as a date?”
“Yes,” Steve says quickly, probably too quickly if he’s being honest about it. “I—yes.”
“Then it’s a date.”
*
The problem with dating another superhero is that your dates inevitably eventually get interrupted by something terrible. And so it goes that they’re having burgers at a diner, being what Clint would call ‘incredibly gross’, when Steve hears an explosion a few blocks away. By the time he’s turned to Tony, the suit is already crawling up Tony’s body, and Steve throws some cash on the table before they head out.
It’s chaos, the fire department is working on getting the flames out, and Steve can see people injured and confused in the crowd. “Iron Man, you help the fire department with search and rescue,” Steve says through the comms. “I’m going to do what I can down here.”
“Roger that, Rogers,” Tony says.
“Still not funny,” Steve sighs as he moves through the crowd, trying to urge people to get to a safe distance. There's no indication of what caused the explosion, and since there isn’t anyone running around trying to cause more chaos, Steve’s going to chalk it up to a horrible accident until he gets more information. Noticing how many people are bleeding, Steve shrugs his shirt off and starts tearing it into pieces, bandaging up what he can with what he has until the paramedics are able to get through the crowds.
It calms down, mostly, once people realise it’s not an attack, and the crowd starts to thin out, putting their phones away and leaving. Steve takes a breath and looks around at the small crowd that remains, the injured being treated, trying to tamp down on the adrenaline still running through his body in anticipation of a fight that never really came.
“Hey, Cap?” Tony’s voice echoes in his ear.
“Iron Man? Are you okay?”
“Peachy,” Tony says through the comms. “But I need some help round the back of the block.”
Instead of answering, Steve sets off on a run, rounding the corner of the block in record time only to see Tony surrounded by a bunch of kids of varying ages. “Uh—Tony?”
“Oh good,” Tony says, walking over and placing a baby in Steve’s hands. “Here, I need to get out of the suit.”
Steve watches as the nanites crawl up Tony’s body and back into the casing until he’s standing there in the same jeans and t-shirt he’d been wearing at lunch. Holding the baby at arms length in front of him, Steve raises his eyebrows at Tony. “Take her,” he says, trying to find the right grip strength to not hurt her. “Tony—”
“Can’t,” Tony says as he crouches down and picks up a car seat with a baby in it. “Unless you want the really tiny baby.”
“What—where did these kids come from?”
“Daycare in the building,” Tony says. “Flew them out when the firefighters couldn’t get to them. Steve will you just—on your hip, you can balance her on your hip.”
“That seems dangerous,” Steve says, holding the baby a little closer to his chest. “Tony, I don’t—I could hurt her. I’m too strong.”
Tony’s face softens and he takes a few steps towards Steve, sliding the car seat handle to the crook of his elbow. “Hi,” he says in a soft voice to the baby, who gives him a gummy grin in return. “How about we show Steve here how to get you comfortable?”
“I really don’t think—”
“You’re fine,” Tony says, adjusting Steve’s arm until he’s holding her against his side, her legs kicking him in excitement. “There, see, you’re good, she’s safe.”
“But what if—”
“You’re really scared of babies aren’t you?”
“You know how strong I am,” Steve says miserably. “I don’t want to—they’re so fragile, Tony, all it would take is one moment of being careless and—”
“But you won’t be,” Tony says, pushing up on his tip toes and kissing Steve, brushing his fingers against Steve’s cheek. “I know you, Steve, and you’d sooner hurt yourself than hurt anyone else.”
“Tony—”
“And besides,” Tony says, running a hand down the baby’s back. “Like all sensible people, she seems to be very comfortable in your arms.”
Steve feels his skin heat up, and he rolls his eyes in surrender. “Come on, then,” he says, reaching a hand out for one of the slightly older kids to take. “We need to find your parents.”
*
“You know,” Tony says, his head resting on Steve’s chest. “You looked really hot holding a baby.”
“Tony—”
“Once you stopped looking at her like she was going to explode, anyway.”
Steve laughs, trailing his fingers along Tony’s back. “I guess she wasn’t so bad. Glad we found her parents quickly, though.”
“Not ready for kids, huh?”
“I—what?” Steve freezes, staring up at the ceiling. “We, I mean—”
“Wow,” Tony says, pushing himself up and looking at Steve. “And here I thought I’d be the one with all the commitment fears.”
“No,” Steve says, relaxing a little. “It’s not that, I—I’m committed. To you, I mean. I love you, you know that.”
“I do, but it’s nice to hear it.”
Steve smiles at Tony, before he pulls him on top, enjoying the comforting feel of Tony’s body against his. “So,” he says, hands running along Tony’s skin. “You want kids?”
“I mean, I like kids, you knew that before we got involved. Never really had anyone to think about having kids with, but—”
“You are aware neither of us can get pregnant, right?”
“I know,” Tony says, leaning down and brushing his mouth over Steve’s lips. “But we can still practice.”
“Your biology is missing a few vital components here, but sure, we can practice,” he says before catching Tony’s mouth in a deep kiss, one hand coming up to cup the back of Tony’s head. Steve’s never going to get tired of the taste of Tony, the soft play of their mouths against each other, the way that Tony always sinks into the kiss like it’s everything he’s ever needed.
When they break the kiss, Tony’s looking at him, curiosity in his eyes. “Steve?”
“Yeah?”
“The kids thing? I—one day, right?”
“Yeah,” Steve says eventually, kissing Tony softly. “One day.”