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Chapter Text

It was just as much Tony’s fault as anyone else's. If he hadn’t been so damn distracted by those D cups then he might have been able to cover somebody. Maybe everything would have turned out differently …

As it was, he, like all the other Avengers – even Natasha, and he was so going to call her on it later – couldn’t tear his eyes away from the voluptuous new super-villainess with her plunging neckline and thigh high gold boots. And now it was just him, this stunning creature, and an army of butterfly-themed henchmen occupying 34th Street beneath a giant, hovering cocoon. The rest of his team had collapsed to the pavement, tiny tranquilizer darts dotting their exposed flesh. Thor had been gaping with such enthusiastic appreciation that he’d caught two in the mouth. Hulk had been felled by at least twenty of them arranged like a pointillism masterpiece across his chest. Even Captain America, too smitten to duck behind his shield, had a pair protruding from his jaw. Tony only escaped unscathed by virtue of the tough outer shell he projected to the world … literally.

He felt bad actually, though ever so slightly amused; it wasn’t every day he managed to outlast all the other Avengers on the battlefield, not every day his armor proved to be more reliable than even the thick skin of a god or the agility of a crazy KGB ninja witch. And it certainly wasn’t every day he got to catch Steve snoozing like an overgrown boy scout in his favorite red, white and blue footie pajamas. Adorable.

“We’ve got you surrounded. Surrender, and we will consider leniency,” commanded the woman imperiously, and, wow, her voice did not suit her appearance. In fact, the deep, manly rumble of it quickly snapped Tony back to his senses.

He dropped into a guarded stance and waited, tense, for her to continue.

But she didn’t, just silently fumed for a moment and snatched a walkie talkie from the nearest henchman. “Honey, that’s your cue. Remember? You stride out and give your big ‘no mercy’ speech? You love that speech.”

“Why should I?” demanded a tinny, whining voice over the comm. “You’ve already done all the fun stuff. What’s the point?”

“The point is I worked very hard to get us this gig, and it could be our chance to break into the big time. This is The Avengers we’re talking about!” she argued, hand on her hip, acting much too much like Pepper and apparently unconcerned that Iron Man and the henchmen were privy to the whole conversation.

“I don’t want the big time! The big time’s for chumps like Dr. Doom.”

“But sweetie, we’re doing so well –“

Tony tuned her out when he felt a hand wrap around his ankle, gripping the armor hard. He glanced down to find Steve reaching for him, looking a little green around the gills.

“Iron Man,” he whispered desperately, and Tony knelt to hear better and inspect Steve’s disturbingly dilated pupils. Without meaning to, Tony found himself cupping the un-darted side of Steve’s face and running an armored thumb across his cheek … and really hoping Steve was too out of it to register the tender gesture.

“What is it, Cap? JARVIS call for help!”

“I already have, sir.”

“- you never support me in front of the henchmen!”

“This stuff is strong, we might die if you don’t shut them up and get help,” Steve managed before slipping back into unconsciousness, the thud of his helmet dull against the asphalt.

Suddenly understanding the magnitude of the threat posed by this deceptively inept butterfly cult, Tony propelled himself toward their queen and snagged her with one arm, his free hand pressing a repulsor to her cheek. He, more than most, was against kidnapping as a general rule, but he honestly could not come up with a better plan, didn’t have time to try very hard.

“Get your henchmen out of here, now!” And really, Tony had no idea where this ferocity was coming from, this heart-pounding urgency.

“Okay, but we’ve got to take one of yours as collateral, that’s how this works.” Even as she said it a small company of henchmen broke from their ranks and surrounded Steve, a few more coming to help when they realized just how much he weighed.

“You can’t!” Tony cried, more than half-wishing they’d take Clint instead – he’d probably make such an infuriating prisoner they’d send him back with a conciliatory box of chocolates and a sincere letter of apology.

“Then we’re staying and fighting it out,” she hissed, and, helpless, torn, Tony allowed Steve to be unceremoniously dragged into the cocoon, shield and all.

The piercing, nasal voice, which clearly belonged to the head butterfly, whoever he was, rang out and echoed harshly down the city street as the costumed swarm retreated. “You may have won this round, Iron Man, but I’ll be back for my queen, and you shall feel the cruel sting of The Monarch!” And really, thought Tony bitterly, that high pitched maniacal laugh was not the most intimidating he’d ever heard.

And besides, monarchs don’t sting.

Just as the cocoon floated away, five SHIELD copters roared down from the sky. Tony shoved his unnervingly calm prisoner away and ran to meet Coulson over Natasha’s fallen form.

“They took him! Get me some reinforcements and I’ll go after them!”

“Slow down there, Iron Man,” replied Coulson in his best maybe-it’s-ironic-maybe-it’s-Maybelline tone. “You did a good job just now. You’re finally thinking like a team player.”

“But they …” Tony gestured weakly after the hastily departing cocoon.

“Are members of the Guild of Calamitous Intent, and they won’t harm a hair on Captain America’s head unless you do something stupid like chase after them.” Coulson knelt, plucking darts from Natasha’s back and shoulders. EMTs swarmed on all sides, shuffling Tony out of the way, ignoring him in favor of the wounded.

“The Guild?” Tony could barely bite the words out they were so distasteful. “Since when do we arch glorified trick-or-treaters?”

“We needed the extra revenue source, and the OSI has been having difficulty dealing with The Monarch recently. It was a mutually beneficial contract.” Apparently deciding Natasha was in good hands with the EMTs, Coulson stood and offered an arm to their prisoner with a decidedly wolfish smirk. “If you’ll come this way, Dr. Mrs. The Monarch, we’ll find you some accommodations.”

Tony seethed.

Chapter Text

Steve woke slowly, stretching languidly and yawning. He hadn’t slept so well since 1940. He had, though, dreamt at length about a fluttering horde of butterflies attacking what had once been Gimbel’s and about cool metal fingers brushing his cheek. The butterflies had been frightening in a surreal sort of way, but the touch – and really he shouldn’t be dreaming about Tony that way – had been calming and soft and pleasantly hazy.

It took another few minutes of dozing in the dark before he realized with some horror that his dreams were in fact very real memories. He now vividly recalled being shot in the face by tranquilizer darts while distracted, everyone but Tony collapsing and – a blush warmed his face – an affectionate caress, then nothing. He had obviously been moved from the battlefield afterward, but by whom? The pitch black of the room offered no suggestions. He reached to his bedside in search of his shield and found it gone.

Villains then.

He sat straight up, triggering motion activated fluorescent lights which briefly blinded him.

“Oh, hey, he’s awake, check it out,” cried a cheery, nasal voice.

“Who's there?” Steve asked tentatively, eyes straining and stinging in the harsh glare.

“Just us,” replied a different voice hastily. “Oh my god it's really him. This is so sweet. So sweet."

Steve blinked until he could make out two henchmen in enormous butterfly wings, one short and husky the other tall and lanky, standing outside what was clearly his cell.

“Where am I?” Steve stood, taking in his obnoxiously purple surroundings. He fought the urge to pace.

“You’re in the lair of The Monarch. This is 24, I’m 21, and can I just say I’m a huge fan?” the stockier henchman gushed, pulling a set of keys from his utility belt.

“What are you doing? The Monarch will kill us if we let him go!” 24 cried.

“Dude, if we turn him over, they’ll have to give Mrs. The Monarch back.”

“So you can be the big hero and the get the girl? The girl who’s married to your boss?”

“They never have to know it was us!”

Steve glanced back and forth between them as they bickered, unsure what to make of the whole situation. He decided to pace after all.

-------------------------------------------

Meanwhile, back at SHIELD HQ, Tony was pacing too, striding back and forth impatiently while Natasha made a call from her bed in the medical wing.

“Well?”

“It’s ringing, calm down. Oh, hey, Mol, it’s me.”

“Ask her.”

Natasha just glared icily and switched to Russian – probably just to annoy him.

“Clint, how about yours?” Tony turned on his heel to face the next bed where Clint lay, equally absorbed in a long distance conversation. At least his was in a language Tony could eavesdrop fluently in.

“Well yes, I actually do have a reason for calling ... No, I just want to know about a Guild guy, goes by the name of The Monarch ... Yeah, the butterfly one ...” There was an agonizing pause while a lengthy explanation unfurled. Clint’s eyes widened. Then his jaw dropped. “His last three archenemies? Just like that? Okay, I’ll call him ... I won’t tell him I talked to you ... You too ... And Shore Leave? Thank you for the heads up, I mean it.”

Tony was practically vibrating with impatience.

“Well, what about his last three archenemies?”

“They’re dead. He killed them.” Clint’s voice was disbelieving, but his faraway gaze said he took the warning very seriously. “I’ve got to make another call.”

“Banner, tell me you’ve gotten through to someone.” Now Tony whirled on Bruce in the farthest bed.

“Not yet. I haven’t really kept in touch with anybody since ... you know. Dr. Quymn is out of the country, Dr. Schumpmaker went crazy, Professor Fantomos went Guild, and Professor Impossible isn’t taking any calls. I can still give Dr. Sorayama a try though.”

“Thanks, Bruce.” Tony said, genuinely sorry for putting him through what must be a painful reminder of the life he'd been forced to leave behind. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Natasha hanging up and turned back to her. “Anything?”

“Nothing. She keeps up on Guild business as best she can, but she’s not a member. She did say The Monarch’s getting a violent reputation though.”

“I’m not getting through to Sorayama,” Bruce announced, defeated.

Clint was now talking in hushed tones to another old OSI buddy.

Tony gritted his teeth. No one knew what to say.

Thankfully, no one needed to say anything, because Thor chose that moment to step out of the closet.

“I’m afraid my consultation with The Master was most unhelpful, friends.”

“Well what did he say? I thought you said he was all knowing?” Natasha pressed.

“He just kept trying to explain the plot of a movie to me, one I have never seen. It is about a rich white man and a homeless black man who must exchange lives.”

“You mean Trading Places?” Tony asked incredulously. “You’re right, that was most unhelpful.”

“Well,” interrupted Clint, hanging up. “That was Brock Samson. He said he thinks we can take care of it ourselves. We just have to survive long enough for The Monarch to lose interest in us.”

All eyes fell on Tony.

“Thanks guys, for all your help,” he began, suddenly calm. “Stay here and rest up. I think I know what to do.” Hoping he was right, Tony slipped out the door and down the hall to the makeshift interrogation room set up in the nurses’ lounge.

He let himself in to find Fury and Coulson laughing genially with their prisoner as she sucked down a Marlboro.

“I’m taking her back. Her husband’s a goddamn hero-killer, and I refuse to sacrifice Steve so you guys can flirt with a married woman.”

Tony ignored the SHIELD-approved deathglares aimed in his general direction and grabbed the queen butterfly by her arm.

“And put that out, there are oxygen tanks all over this wing.” He frowned disapprovingly when she dropped her butt on the linoleum and ground it out with her heel. “You really are a bad guy aren’t you?”

“Honey, you don’t know the half of it.” Dr. Mrs. The Monarch sneered but rose to accompany him out the door.

“So do you have someone you can call to come pick you up or do we have to follow a million stupid rules governing prisoner exchanges?” Tony asked, guiding her none too gently down the corridor.

“There’s no one I can call. You’re supposed to arrange this directly with The Monarch or through a Guild-sanctioned proxy ...”

“See, this is why I prefer freelancers.” Now it was Tony’s turn to sneer

Chapter Text

Happy was there to meet them curbside, attentively holding the door to the Mulsanne and, unable to help himself, ogling Dr. Mrs. The Monarch as she climbed in.

Tony caught him at it and shot him a loaded glance that warned of imminent unemployment.

“Keep your eyes on the road, Happy.”

“Of course sir,” and Happy had the grace to look embarrassed.

Once they were off Tony broke the silence as rudely as he possibly could, which was very rudely.

“So what exactly is your doctorate in?” He was already preparing his smarmy smirk for when she confessed it was an unearned, Guild-given title. At most he expected a useless degree in entomology.

“Mechanical engineering,” she bristled, obviously used to answering that question.

“What?” Tony was physically taken aback, futilely trying to reconcile super-villainess with could-have-been-his-classmate.

“I’m not just eye candy, you know. I built that fucking cocoon, Mr. Stark.” She magically produced a pack of cigarettes from somewhere in her skintight costume and fished one out. “Got a light?”

“Don’t smoke in my car.”

“And this will go a lot easier if you stop treating me like this is my fault! You’re the one who grabbed me.”

“Fair enough, wait, mechanical engineering? What are you doing in the Guild?”

“Exactly what you’re doing in the Avengers. I’m achieving scientific breakthroughs every day and I’m having the time of my life putting them to use.” Still agitated, she tried to take a drag on her unlit cigarette and, disappointed, shoved it back in the pack.

Tony had to wrestle with that for a moment. He couldn’t really refute her assertion; for all the trouble it got him into, he did enjoy being an Avenger and the mix of discovery and danger that entailed. He wouldn’t admit it out loud though.

“Okay, but there are plenty of other protagonists in the sea. Why us?” he finally asked.

“Because of you.”

“Me?” He just couldn’t win with this chick. Every other word rumbling out of her mouth was leaving him gaping and questioning the laws of the universe. “Why me?”

“Well, you’re a lot like The Monarch’s old archenemy.”

“One of the ones he’s murdered?”

“No, Rusty Venture.”

“From the old cartoon?”

“Yeah. You’re a super-scientist with severe daddy issues, more ego than you know what to do with, a substance dependency and an unstoppable bodyguard who's probably really your boyfriend. The only difference is you’re a success.”

“Daddy issues? Are you serious? And he’s not really my bodyguard …”

“Oh for god’s sake I know you’re Iron Man. I meant Captain America.”

“I need a drink.”

--------------------------------------------------------

Steve had given up pacing, instead just watching Henchmen 21 and 24 argue, then make each other laugh, then argue, then make each other laugh, then argue again. They made a lot of pop culture references that he couldn’t follow, and they had long ago been sidetracked from their debate over letting him out, but their rhythm reminded him of the radio comedies he and his mother used to listen to after dinner, and he got drawn in.

He was just as startled as they were when a company of henchman approached and informed them that Steve had been summoned to the throne room.

With resignation he allowed himself to be shackled at the wrists and led down the corridor at dart-gunpoint. He was taken up six levels in a high speed elevator and shoved unceremoniously into a circular control room, clearly the nerve center of the lair.

A slender man with sharp features – wow eyebrows – and a tall crown, costumed in black and orange sat upon a central throne. At his feet rested a large, round shield, emblazoned with a stylized butterfly insignia on a gold ground. The paint job looked suspiciously fresh.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Captain America.” The Monarch steepled his fingers and grinned maniacally. “Sleep well?”

“Yes, thank you.” Steve kept his voice level, surreptitiously taking in his surroundings. The place was crawling with busy minions, all of them equipped with dart guns and heavy utility belts, all of them stealing glances at him.

“Don’t get smart with me, Captain. You’re what we in the villain business like to call a big ass bargaining chip, and I am prepared to keep you until all of my demands are met.”

“And my shield?”

“Oh, you mean my shield? No, I’m keeping that forever.” The Monarch cackled, low and evil in the back of his throat.

“So what are your demands?”

“Oh, the usual things: Money, a glowing recommendation from your bosses strongly suggesting I should get to arch Dr. Venture again, a Winnebago with burgundy interior, some new software for the control room, maybe a satellite … Oh, and Iron Man’s armor.”

“You won’t get that,” said Steve, surprised how bitter he sounded. He knew perfectly well that Tony wouldn’t give up the armor for anything or anyone, not even for one of his teammates. He knew he’d never be as important to Tony as that armor. But knowing it didn’t make it sting any less. “And don’t you want your wife back?”

“Please, she’s hardly a damsel in distress. She’s probably on her way back here with classified information as we speak. Hell, she could probably seduce that idiot Tony Stark out of his armor in five minutes flat.” Clearly sensing he had struck a nerve, The Monarch’s grin turned positively devious. “Either I get that nice shiny armor to go with my fancy new shield or I kill you. It’s really a win-win for me.”

“I guess you'll have to kill me then.”

Chapter Text

"Nice place." Dr. Mrs. The Monarch swept into the mansion like she owned it, high heeled strides taking her down the stairs and into the lab after Tony. She circled the workbenches examining gadgets and circuitry and half-built machines with a discerning eye while her reluctant host made straight for the row of floor-to-ceiling cases enshrining his collection of armor.

Dummy noticed the newcomer right away and zoomed across the room to inspect her thoroughly, top to bottom.

"Not you too!" Tony grumbled, catching sight of the betrayal. Even inanimate objects he'd designed himself had fallen victim to her feminine wiles. "I'd like to apologize for my lecherous co-workers and half-wit robot. Our contract doesn't have some kind of ironclad sexual harassment clause, does it?"

"Actually it does, but don't worry. I dress this way for a reason."

"You like the attention?" Tony keyed in the password for the Mark IV and stepped inside the case as the suit cracked open for him.

"It gives me an extra edge against my male protagonists. The straight ones anyway." She shrugged delicately and smirked, petting Dummy until his gears whirred happily.

"For the last time, Cap is not my boyfriend," Tony moaned, longing for another drink. Was he really so obvious? Had someone tattooed 'giant mancrush on Steve Rogers' across his forehead while he wasn't looking? "JARVIS, do you think there's something going on between us?"

"No sir," the room answered, "but it's clear to everyone that you care very deeply about the Captain. I dare say you wouldn't be this worried if any of the other Avengers were in his predicament."

"Remind me to replace you with Siri when I get back."

"Of course, sir."

Muttering some of the most profane words he could remember (and some more that he invented on the fly), Tony stepped into his armor. He noted his guest's admiring gaze as it snapped shut and sealed around him, the helmet clanking down between them. It was but a small concession for the sheer volume of asshattery he'd had to deal with all day. He stalked across the room and swept the villainess up into his arms.

"Ooh," she phlegmily cooed, running gloved hands across the smooth red and gold of his shoulders appreciatively. "Do you ever carry Captain America like this?"

Feeling braver behind the mask, feeling inexplicably and against all empirical evidence like he could trust this woman, and feeling he'd had quite enough of her lip, Tony decided to come clean.

"Okay, so I like him, maybe even love him, that doesn't mean I'm going to do anything about it. He's the definition of old school, and he's way too good for me besides, so lay off the knife twisting. I get it, you found my one weakness, you're such an awesomely clever super villain, and your shit tastes like Ghiradelli. Congratulations, Madame Butterfly."

"So there is some fight in you." Dr. Mrs. The Monarch grinned, sliding the tips of her fingers around the glow of the arc reactor saucily.

"By the way, when we hit altitude, you're gonna be freezing in that outfit."

---------

"Pssst. Hey, over here."

Steve rolled off his cot and met Henchman 21 at the cell bars. 21 made sure there was no one else in the hallway, then furtively slipped a key into the lock and swung the gate wide.

Steve didn't budge, eyeing his jailer warily.

"Come on, we've only got a couple minutes while 24's getting coffee."

"How do I know I can trust you?"

"What am I going to do, trick you into getting locked in some other cell? Try to get you to buy a timeshare in Boca? Come on, SHIELD could be torturing Mrs. The Monarch right now."

Almost against his will, Steve's feet carried him out into the hallway. The thought of his shield - the world's entire supply of vibranium - in the hands of a certifiably crazy butterfly tried to hold him back, but the thought of freedom - and saving the taxpayers a great deal of ransom money - propelled him forward.

"Don't worry," he said as they dashed toward the elevator. "They won't torture anyone. I mean, they have permission from the government, which kind of makes me question the adminstration, but it's not the best way to get accurate intel."

"Well we still have to hurry. The Monarch's already negotiating with some guy who looks like Mace Windu with an eyepatch, and last I saw they were both pretty pissed."

The elevator whisked them down several flights this time, dropping them in a small motorpool which appeared to house only a single butterfly themed car and the mangled wreck of a powder blue Stanza. They crossed the room, and 21 opened a hatch to the moonlit green of the Sheep Meadow.

Steve slipped out onto the grass and turned expectantly, but his guide hung back.

"Aren't you coming with me?"

"Can't you get back from here?"

"I can, but won't it go better for you if your boss thinks I took you by force?"

"Will I get to meet the Avengers?"

"Probably."

"I'm in!"

And so they fled across the field toward Avenger Mansion in fits and starts, 21 having to stop every now and then to catch his breath. When they were a safe distance away from the cocoon, they slowed to a walk.

"Thank you, by the way, for all your help."

"No problem. This is awesome, actually, getting to rescue Captain America. It's like I'm in a comic book or something." 21 beamed.

"You seem like a nice guy, how'd you end up a henchman?"

"I was kidnapped from my eighth grade trip to Washington DC, and it's steady work as long as The Monarch's not in jail or anything. Hey, what's Iron Man like?"

"He's ... complicated."

"I'm surprised he didn't come save you right away. I mean, aren't you guys like best friends or something?"

Steve pondered that for a moment. If best friends meant someone who could tell you the unvarnished truth, then yes. If best friends meant someone who wouldn't push your buttons just because he could, then no. If best friends meant someone who brushed your cheek tenderly when you were lying injured on the pavement, then yes ... but Steve didn't think that was the proper definition.

"I don't really know," he admitted. "We work well together, but he can be infuriating. I like him a lot, but part of me doesn't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing how I feel."

21's masked gaze turned positively quizzical. Steve blushed under the stare without really knowing why.

"Holy shit. You like him, don't you?"

"I don't know what you mean," Steve mumbled, knowing exactly what 21 meant.

"Do you think he's cute?"

"Tony's a very handsome guy, but that doesn't mean that I ... I'm attracted to him." But now that the thought had been implanted, certain knots in his stomach at inoppotune moments made sense, certain flutters in his chest and half-remembered dreams fell into context. His heart was beating faster just thinking about the possibility that he might, in fact, have those kinds of feelings, and Central Park was swimming around him just thinking about the possbility that he might have those kinds of feelings for a man.

"Dude, you totally are," 21 was gleeful in his absolute certainty, overjoyed that he had apparently discovered something that no one else knew about America's favorite son. "Those girls at ComiCon were right!"

Steve was so distraught he didn't even notice the faint streak of repulsor blue that split the sky on its way to the cocoon.

Chapter Text

"You know, Central Park isn't the most inconspicuous spot in the world," Tony said as he set his charge down on a high, thick tree limb just beyond the shadow of the cocoon. "It's not even the most inconspicuous spot in New York. 911's gonna be off the hook all night."

"The cops don't get involved in Guild business," Dr. Mrs. The Monarch replied, pulling out her smokes once again. "Light me up."

"Possibly the only upside to this whole fiasco I suppose," he mused, firing up a palm repulsor till it was just hot enough to get her going.

"Thanks, and yeah, you guys have probably killed more cops than the whole Guild put together."

Tony chose to ignore the barb. Maybe monarchs could sting.

She took a long drag, visibly relaxing, and leaned against the trunk to make room for her captor to alight.

"You've got a plan, right? You're not just gonna barge in demanding your boy in blue back are you?"

"Are you kidding? Cap's the one with the plans. I just improvise until inspiration strikes." He actually had a plan this time, but he wasn't about to spell it out for her. It certainly wasn't the most heroic plan he had ever come up with ... Steve would have hated it. "About how high up on the cocoon is the bridge?"

"Just over half way up, four stories below the windows."

"You're awfully cooperative. Should I be suspicious?" Tony brought himself up to his - the armor's - full height and struck an intimidating pose. Unfortunately Dr. Mrs. The Monarch was paying no attention to him, her eyes downcast and a deep, smoky sigh on her lips.

"It's not a trap. It's obviuos you don't want to be our archenemy, so I think we should just get this over with as quick as we can. It's just ..." She blinked rapidly as if hiding evidence of tears. "I was really looking forward to arching you. Sorry we're not what you're looking for."

"Do you understand why I don't want to fight Guild guys? There's nothing at stake. This is a hobby for you people, but it's real life for me. Do you realize that if Captain America dies tonight it won't be to save a single life, to protect a speck of property, to right a single wrong? It'll be because you and your husband get your kicks dressing up and picking fights. If one of these days you actually want to take over the world or go on a killing spree, yes I'll be there to stop you. But I can't fake it."

"Well I can't argue with that." Dr. Mrs. The Monarch tossed her butt to the ground and sidled up to Tony. "Just take me home." She threw an arm around his shoulder, ready to be lifted again.

Instead Tony slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her flush against him, her hips pressed tightly to his and her free hand snaking up to clasp his neck for support.

"And this is how I carry Captain America, by the way."

------------

"What's wrong?" 21 asked, backtracking to where Steve had stumbled to a halt.

"..." Steve's mouth hung open, ready to speak words that just weren't coming. His eyes seemed stuck between gears, staring off into the middle distance as he reeled from the almost physical blow of his little epiphany. "Everything's wrong!" He fell to one knee in the grass, memories flashing before him ... He and Tony taking the new convertible out for a spin, he and Tony splitting a milkshake because Tony whined about the caloric content, pulling Tony from the rubble of some adventure or another, embracing Tony when he got back from a business trip, Tony explaining the inner workings of hs latest invention in jargon that Steve was pretty sure he was making up as he went along ... Tony parting a fine silk shirt to show Steve the arc reactor ... Just little memories he had tucked away and cherished, never sure why they were so important to him ... until now.

It was true. He liked Tony Stark. That way. How could he not have known this? This was earth-shattering information! He reached back for his shield, just to have something familiar to hold on to, but once again found it missing. His hand lingered where it would have been for a moment before falling back to his side.

"What's so wrong about it?" 21 pressed.

"I like dames!" snapped Steve, quickly getting sick of his rescuer's talkative nature.

"So?"

"Tony's not a dame! I mean, yeah, he's a little effeminate, but ... I'm not weak like that."

"Why does liking a guy make you weak?"

"I don't know, it just does!" Steve shot to his feet, but couldn't make them move. It was his own heart he was trying to outrun, so there was nowhere to go.

"So if one of your fellow soldiers was gay, which they're totally allowed to be nowadays, you would think less of him?" 21 looked betrayed, even wounded, as he took a half step back.

"Of course not, it's just ..."

"Then why would you think less of yourself?"

Steve didn't have an answer for that.

"I can never tell him," he whispered instead. "What if he thinks less of me? Tony thinks little enough of me as it is."

"Is he always there for you when you need him?"

"Yeah, but ..."

"Has he ever bashed gay people in front of you?"

"No, quite the opposite ..." Steve's voice rose in pitch and volume.

"Then what are you afraid of?"

"I don't know!" Steve was practically shouting now, hands spread palms up in impotent rage.

21, unmoved by Steve's anger, simply sighed.

"I, too, have a love that must go unspoken," the henchman waxed dramatic, gesturing expansively, masked face falling into sympathetic lines.

"Yeah, but yours is normal."

"Dude, mine is the hottest woman on earth, but she sings baritone and is totally married to a supervillian who would not only fire me, but light me on fire if he knew. You don't think I wonder what's wrong with me sometimes? But the point is you don't have any control over it. There's nothing you can do about who you like, and right now we have bigger fish to fry, like really huge fish."

"You're right," Steve agreed, not feeling better exactly, just finally capable of going through the motions of getting home. He ran on autopilot, Tony's name still ringing in his ears, heart still pounding like it hadn't since the war.

"Dude hold up, I've got a wicked cramp!" floated faintly behind him on the breeze.

Chapter Text

One good repulsor blast and a tank missile later, Tony was staring down The Mighty Monarch through a gaping wound in the cocoon's hull.

"So, Iron Man, you have returned for your precious teammate ... Well tough nuggets! I just got off the phone with Fury and he did not make me happy."

"Does this make you happy?" Putting his hasty, unheroic plan into action Tony fisted a gauntlet in Dr. Mrs. The Monarch's gossamer wings ... and unceremoniously pushed her out into the emptiness below him.

Much to his disappointment, neither The Monarch nor his wife made a peep. She dangled by the flimsiest of fabrics, already beginning to rip, and Tony could practically hear her eyes rolling.

"Ah, Mr. Stark, I see you like to play by the rules about as much as I do ... But come on, we both know you won't let her fall." The Monarch pulled a gold shield from its place at his feet, rising to cross the control room at a leisurely pace.

"For once it would be nice if you actually worried about me!" Mrs. The Monarch shouted.

"But sweetie, I'm respecting your independence! I thought you liked that."

"We'll discuss this later, just tell him what you really want so we can go to bed!" One wing ripped clean off her shoulders, but still she barely noticed, arms crossed impatiently beneath her ample bosom.

Tony had to give her credit for guts.

"Fine," The Monarch conceded. "I'll skip to the next part." He cleared his throat theatrically. "All I want is your armor, Iron Man, and you can put Old Glory back on the flagpole where he belongs."

Tony hovered, stunned. He had always thought himself logical, able to make hard decisions about things others found debilitatingly emotional ... but to choose between letting Steve die or placing the Mark IV in the hands of a lunatic even The Guild wanted to get rid of? His mind briefly went blank with the sheer weight of The Monarch's demand.

More fabric tore, tearing the silence with it.

"I think I'd rather settle this the old fashioned way," he finally decided, hurling the dangling supervillainess into the cocoon, where she collided with five henchmen. Before she had righted herself, Tony was on her husband, fists flying ... and shedding harmlessly to either side of that shield. "Oh shit."

"Oh shit is right, Tin Man! You messed with the wrong butterfly!" The Monarch, laughing raucously, took immediate action, pushing back and striking out with the shield, catching the armor in the head, neck and chest before Tony could get a hold of it and try to yank it right off its straps.

The Monarch screamed girlishly as he was jerked back and forth like a rag doll, but he kept his grip and took a kick to the stomach with little more than an 'oof.'

"NOW POOKUMS!!!" he shouted, breathless, just as he wrested the shield free and drove it hard into the armor's left eyeslit.

Tony reeled back just in time to catch Dr. Mrs. The Monarch darting under his arm to place a small, black cylinder right above his heart.

"What the ..."

There was a short series of electronic beeps and boops ... then the armor went dead, dragging Tony to the floor with it.

"JARVIS?" he gasped as the lights of his helmet display flickered out one by one. "JARVIS!"

"No one's going to save you," The Monarch cackled, placing a curled-toe boot over the arc reactor in triumph. "You belong to me now. You and Captain America." He threw his crowned head back and laughed like the supervillain he was.

"Ahem."

"Yes dear?"

"Don't you have anything else to say?"

"Oh right. Great job, honey. I always knew you're little gadget thingy would do the trick. Keep up the good work."

"Next time don't make me remind you."

Tony struggled to lift an arm, his head, a leg, anything while they bickered, but the suit wouldn't budge without working hydraulics. He ground his teeth and panted with effort, but there was nothing he could do.

"Now let's get him out of this thing and get it painted gold! Wait!" The Monarch raised a prominent eyebrow, "What's he wearing under there?"

"Dior Homme. Don't worry, he's decent."

Above him, the villainess pulled a remote control from her - apparently bottomless - uniform and punched a button. To Tony's utter horror the suit yielded at her command, rendering him once again a playboy billionaire philanthropist ... who relied on his armor in exactly this type of situation.

----------

"JARVIS? Anybody home?" Steve called out, helping a gasping 21 into the foyer.

"Oh, dear," the walls answered. "I'm afraid Mr. Stark has gone to rescue you."

Crushing a palm to his forehead, Steve tamped down the little burst of affection in his chest at the thought of Tony taking on The Monarch single-handedly for him. Thankfully, it was quickly replaced with a slow-burning frustration with Tony for taking on The Monarch single-handedly for him.

"Can you tell him to come back?"

"I cannot, Captain. I've just now lost all communications with the Mark IV. I fear Mr. Stark may be in serious trouble."

21 looked as if he was about to speak, but clamped his jaw shut at the look Steve shot him.

"Well, can you get anyone else on the horn for me? The butterflies took my comm." This was, strangely, exactly what Steve needed to take his mind off other worries. This was still a mission. He could handle a mission.

"Certainly, Captain." After the briefest of pauses Natasha's face appeared on a free-floating projection screen beside the door, the white of a hospital johnny at her throat.

"Rogers! Are you all right?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. A bit woozy after the tranqs, but not wounded. You?"

"We're all fine. Is Stark with you?" Clint and Bruce crowded into view behind her as she spoke.

"No. Apparently he tried to save me. Now Jarvis can't even get in touch with him."

"And he took our only prisoner back!" Clint interjected. "Too bad, too, I was kind of hoping to interrogate her myself."

"We're suiting up, we got the go ahead to leave medical. Meet you at the cocoon in a few minutes?" Natasha glanced questioningly at 21, who was doing a little dance of fanboy joy behind Steve, but she didn't say anything more.

"Will do."

"And Steve?" Bruce pulled Natasha's comm closer to himself, his face filling the screen. "Don't be mad at Tony. We were told The Monarch killed his last three archenemies, so he was worried. We all were."

"Yeah, but it wasn't me The Monarch was after ... It was the armor. And my shield. And now he's got them both. I'll see you there." He signed off with a nod.

Reaching again for his shield, and again finding it missing, Steve realized he needed something to keep the darts off. Even cardboard would be better than nothing. He cast about the spotless, modernly unfurnished foyer.

Then he remembered another of his silly, cherished memories ... Tony, in the lab, shoving aside a pile of robot bits to unintentionally reveal a somewhat flattened aluminum replica of the signature shield, Tony explaining what a super collider was and why it had to be perfectly level ... How that little hunk of metal had quite literally saved his life. Well it might just save his life again.

Steve dragged 21, who was still under some kind of Avenger-induced spell, bodily down the stairs and into the lab.

"Dummy, find the shield!" he ordered, skipping the last two steps and veering for the workbench where he'd last seen it. It was gone. He wrenched open cabinets and upended tables in his haste, tearing through heaps of scrap, stacks of hard drives and papers that Pepper probably wanted Tony to sign.

"This thing?" 21 asked holding it aloft on the other side of the room.

"Yes!" Steve dashed over, his face falling as soon as he realized there was no grip or handle of any kind on this shield.

"And you didn't have to call me 'dummy.'"

"Huh? Oh no, sorry, not you." Steve couldn't help but smile, despite the dire situation. "That's the robot's name ... or at least that's the only thing I've ever heard Tony call it. But how am I going to carry this?"

He turned his head at a tap on his arm to find Dummy offering him a fat roll of duct tape.

"Dummy, you're a genius!" Steve snatched the tape and yanked a strip free with his teeth. "21, go start one of the bikes up, the keys should be in it," he managed around the sticky, silver, heavensent substance.

"Yes, sir!"

Chapter Text

"Wait ..." 21 paused a step from the garage.

"What is it?" Steve looked up, already half duct taped to his impromtu shield.

"It just hit me. We're going about this all wrong. Today went way too well. The surprise attack, the dividing and conquering ... It's got Dr. Mrs. The Monarch written all over it. We can't just run in there guns blazing. She's probably got this arch sewn up tight. I know you're worried, but we have to stop and think of every possible angle."

Steve drew a blank, and it showed.

"Well, let's start with the basics. Are you seriously going to leave the house without a communicator?"

Steve blushed faintly at his own oversight.

"You must really be in love if you can't even think that straight when he's in trouble."

The blush flared to full-on crimson.

--------

Tony stood with as much dignity as he could muster while The Monarch and his wife ran their villainous hands across the Mark IV, poking and prodding. The Monarch even dinged it with Cap's shield just to hear the musical ring of the metal.

Then inspiration struck.

"How are you planning to power your little Iron Butterfly routine?" he asked with a feigned quaver of fear on his voice.

"The same way you do." Dr. Mrs. The Monarch glanced meaningfully at the spot where the connection to the armor had pierced and singed his shirt in a perfect circle.

"Gonna kill Cap unless I fork it over?"

"You know me so well." She stood and sauntered up to him, a dangerous glint in her eye.

"Here." He opened his shirt and, with a twist and a click, removed the reactor core, completely disarming her. "Just, please don't hurt Steve." He could sense the loss of power immediately, the constant, comforting hum of electricity going silent. But the buffer battery he'd installed after the last few heart attacks worked like a charm, granting him the time he would need to execute the much more heroic, much more desperate plan he'd just come up with. For effect, he gasped and went down on one knee, clutching the reactor housing as if in pain while handing her the core.

All around them henchmen shrugged and went back to their duties, chalking it up to another anticlimactic arch.

The Monarch was already preparing to get into his new toy, cackling as he stripped off his boots and laid the shield on the fuschia floor.

-------------

"There is another thing we'll need if The Monarch wants the armor ..." 21 prompted as Steve fished a spare comm out from under an upended box of digital micrometers.

"You're right! Tony's going to need a weapon." Steve was already casting about the wreckage of the lab for a ray gun of some sort. Tony must have made something like that over the years.

21 sighed.

"Maybe something a little more important? To his health?"

"Oh God ..." Steve hadn't even considered that. "JARVIS, does Tony keep a spare reactor anywhere?"

"Not to my knowledge, Captain."

"Dammit!" Steve snapped, forgiving himself the small profanity in light of the seriousness of his dilemma. If Tony needed the arc reactor, he needed it right away.

"However, there are a few unfinished prototypes in the locker to your left."

-------------

"Naivete, the mark of a true hero," Dr. Mrs. The Monarch said dismissively as she turned to the armor once more.

As soon as her back was exposed, Tony tackled her to the ground, the arc reactor skittering a few feet away. He snagged the shield as he tumbled past, in one smooth motion bringing its edge down hard to smash the reactor into a tangle of broken glass and snapped wires. He slipped his arm into the shield's leather straps in the brief instant it took everyone to stare at him stunned, then crouched beneath it as a hail of hastily aimed darts came down around him.

As the henchmen fell all over each other, jockeying for a better combat position he sprinted around the edge of the circular room, catching as many minions as possible in the cross-dartfire. The trick worked, but soon enough The Monarch was charging him headlong, his nearness bringing a respite from the rain of tranqs.

Trying to remember everything Steve and Happy had taught him on the mats, Tony braced himself. At the last possible instant he swept one foot behind the other and threw all his weight behind the shield, avoiding The Monarch's fist and twisting to bash the villain's face in, dropping him instantly in a bright spray of badly-broken-nose blood.

Tony would never again rib Steve about relying on defense for a good offense.

-------------

"Don't worry, Captain." JARVIS reassured, calm and collected as ever. "It's really not so different from reassembling your firearm. Just with a bit more welding."

"I was never very good in shop." Steve's jest fell flat, his unease betraying itself. But if it meant Tony might live, then he could do this. He had to do this.

With a deep breath he lowered the goggles JARVIS had insisted he wear. He tore the fake shield from his arm and tossed his gloves to the floor. His hands shook as he slipped each finely tooled, concentric piece into place, seconds ticking away like hours as he painstakingly tried to follow each of JARVIS' instructions.

21 and Dummy watched in wonder as he gave a tug here, a firm press there, minding his strength lest he have to start all over again with another jumble of parts. He had to be precise.

The level of concentration this task required was astounding. It was just how Steve had always pictured deep meditation - a total focus on the tiniest of details ... just a half a turn with the ridiculously miniature screwdriver, not a millimeter more ... don't let a finger touch the copper wire for even the briefest moment or else the skin's natural oils would ruin everything ... It was as much art as science, as relaxing as it was stressful.

The final piece, a delicate filigree cage which would eventually - hopefully - lock into the reactor housing, clicked home.

"Very good, sir. Time for the torch."

------------

Confidence boosted, having to remind himself he had nothing between him and his enemies but a perfectly tailored gray suit - having to remind himself that the clock was ticking fast - he took on a fresh wave of henchmen with a strange sort of joy. Fighting without the armor, with nary a heat seeker to his name, was as exhilirating as it was terrifying, rather like falling back to earth covered in a dangerously thick layer of ice.

And he found himself capable of it, breaking bones with every swift, sure downblock, his elbow and fist finding masks wherever he aimed them. Soon, or perhaps much later, he couldn't tell anymore, he ran out of henchmen to subdue and found himself facing Dr. Mrs. The Monarch

She slid a pair of daggers from her boots with a smile just as sharp as the blades.

Tony leapt backwards, one dagger sliding off the shield, the other sneaking past to slice the air where his cheek had just been.

He blocked to the right, a dagger coming in from the left to take a bite out of his shoulder.

Changing tactics he pushed forward, tossing Dr. Mrs. The Monarch back an arm's length. But she didn't stay there, leaping for a hard downward sweep with both blades. Tony barely got the shield back up in time to keep the wickedly gleaming tips from finding the soft spot behind his collarbone.

"What did I do to piss you off so bad, lady?" he growled, wounded arm shivering under the relentless pressure of her attack. "Did I not sexually objectify you enough today?"

"I've been listening to you whine an bitch all night about how much The Guild sucks. Well y'know what I like about The Guild? They let me wipe the smug-ass grin off douchebags like you!" The daggers sparked as they rode the curve of the shield down, leaving angry red stripes on his thighs as they passed.

Sweating, chest already tightening, Tony's strength begain to flag. The blades were everywhere at once, blurring as they danced around him.

She dropped suddenly into a crouch and kicked his feet out from under him, lunging forward to pin his elbows to the floor with her knees.

Tony's heart was screaming in his chest, his muscles begging for rest, his head pouding with what had to be the rumbling footsteps of death. He tried to move the shield, but it was so big he couldn't maneuver it with his arm trapped beneath her.

She laid a dagger softly against his throat, saying something that Tony couldn't hear over the roar in his ears.

And then she was gone, just like that.

With everything he had left, Tony craned his head up to see her dragging The Monarch's prone form toward a doorway, clearly their escape route. Looking the other way he saw a SHIELD copter pulling up to the hole in the cocoon, his teammates leaping out and rushing to his side. At least that explained the horrifying noise echoing in his skull.

"Tony!" he could faintly hear Bruce shouting. "Tony stay awake!"

Natasha slapped him hard across the cheek, but he didn't even feel it.

"Just gonna ..." Tony choked out, his lungs uncooperative, "... rest my eyes."

It would have been nice to have seen Steve one last time ... but he was safe now. And that was all that mattered.

-------------------

The elevator just wasn't going fast enough.

Steve looked down again at the glowing blue object in his hands. He held it gingerly, as he had on the irresponsibly fast, traffic-weaving ride back to the cocoon. He'd kept it safe this long, it wouldn't do to drop it now.

"What if we're too late?" He was afraid to ask the question of himself, but for some reason he was able to ask 21.

"That wouldn't mean you didn't try your best."

"Thank you 21, for everything. Seriously, if you ever get sick of this henching thing you should look into being a sidekick. You could even be a SHIELD agent."

"And be the comic relief fat guy on your Saturday morning cartoon? No way," 21 declined, though he was clearly tickled by the offer.

Steve wondered vaguely if there really was an Avengers cartoon out there. He wouldn't put it past SHIELD to profit off their images.

"Besides, I have friends here. And someone I love."

"I understand completely."

Finally the doors slid open onto the control room, and Steve was running full tilt toward where the Avengers had gathered, leaping over unconscious henchmen to crash to his knees beside Bruce.

Taking a deep breath, he slid the reactor into its housing and turned it to open the circuit.

No one spoke, the only sound the deep whir of the helicoptor outside.

Nothing happened for a long, painful heartbeat.

Then Tony gasped, sitting bolt upright and smashing his forehead into Steve's.

With no words to express himself, Steve simply scooped the smaller man into a hard embrace.

"What happened, how did you ...?" Tony pulled away and looked down at his chest, a look of wonder spreading across his face. "Where did you get this?"

"I built it." Steve beamed. "Well, JARVIS told me what to do, but I put all the pieces together."

"You mean to tell me you were in my lab doing science while I was here kicking henchman ass with your shield? I don't believe it." It hurt to laugh, but Tony couldn't help it. "We traded places." He leaned forward into Steve's arms once more, so deliriously happy it had to be all the adrenaline coursing through his veins.

"As touching as this is, I think we need to get Tony to a hospital," Bruce interrupted when the hugging had gone on a few moments too long.

"Not the hospital. They don't let me drink," Tony answered matter-of-factly, wobbling to his feet with Steve's help.

"Before we go ..." Steve directed everyone's attention to Henchman 21, who had held back in reverence. "He saved my life and Tony's. I think the least we could do is autograph something for him."

21 fairly glowed with joy as the Avengers nodded and smiled at him.

"Stay right there! Lemme grab my action figures."

-----------------

"You're not mad at me, are you?" Tony asked tentatively the next morning as Steve sidled up to his sickbed with a sack of Egg McMuffins.

"No." Steve smiled. He pulled a sandwich from the bag and handed Tony the rest.

"Just disappointed?"

"Of course not. If I had escaped the first chance I got, none of this would have happened. You shouldn't have needed to come save me."

"If I had just waited for the others, I would've known you'd escaped. I was just so ..." Tony buried whatever he'd been about to say in rich, greasy ham, egg and cheese.

"I was too," Steve confessed. He sat heavily on the edge of the bed, taking the time to watch Tony devour his breakfast, wiping an oily streak across scarlet silk pajamas. He tucked this memory away with all the others.

"You know," Tony mused after a moment, scooching over and motioning for Steve to join him at the head of the bed, "I actually kind of regret tearing up that contract with the Monarchs. Maybe if we hadn't taken it so seriously we could've had a lot of fun arching them."

"Well I made a new friend out of the deal, and we're all safe, so I guess it was fun its own weird way." Steve relaxed against the pillows, then promptly stiffened as Tony relaxed against him. He was definitely going to cherish that memory.

"I might have made a mortal enemy. At least she's hot." Tony sighed, listlessly wrapping up the rest of his sandwich and shoving it back in the bag. "I'm sorry about flying off the handle ... again."

"And I'm sorry about your lab," Steve replied automatically, immediately regretting it.

"What did you do to my lab?"

"Hey, it's Saturday isn't it? Let's see what's on TV."