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If there’s one thing Steve Rogers hates most about the twenty-first century, it’s—well, okay, it’s that he missed his chance with Peggy. Obviously. That’s never not going to be number one on his list. But if there’s a second thing he hates most about the twenty-first century, then it has to be the emotional whiplash he gets from the seemingly never-ending list of real-life plot twists he keeps encountering.
You try to do your best, working with the organization established for the sole purpose of protecting the world – an organization Peggy helped form! – and yet you accidentally end up carrying out missions that were actually assigned by undercover HYDRA operatives… alongside other undercover HYDRA operatives you thought were your teammates. You try to hunt down some of those HYDRA bad guys? Whoops! Turns out a couple of them were really SHIELD triple agents the whole time and maybe you owe them an apology or twelve. Or, you have to team up with a self-absorbed rich jackass who hates your guts just as much as you hate his, and before you know it, you end up developing a mutual respect that grows into actual friendship… Aaaand then end up having to fight him to protect your other best friend – who it turns out isn’t dead after all, by the way – only to once again manage to get back to that we’re all friends, yay! point.
…It’s exhausting, okay?
And maybe life wasn’t actually simpler back in the Forties – fine! – but it sure as hell had felt simpler.
There had been plenty of spies in World War Two, and certainly there were celebrities or public officials back then who seemed at first glance like perfectly nice people but who turned out to be corrupt or terrible human beings…
Steve’s not naïve.
He knows this.
…It just wasn’t ever such a major part of his own life—at least, not until after he came out of the ice.
Now, he just can’t seem to escape it.
Literally.
He can’t seem to escape the emotional whiplash even when he’s staying in the new joint-SHIELD/Avengers compound and doing only the most mundane of things.
The light on his desk is out, and Steve’s an old-fashioned guy who doesn’t like to call in maintenance for things he can fix on his own – (After all, why inconvenience someone else when he can just as easily fetch a bulb and swap it out himself?) – so at around eleven in the morning on a Wednesday, he heads over to the third floor copy room, pretty sure he’d seen some spare bulbs in there the last time he was rifling through the attached supply closet.
It’s quiet in this wing of the third floor, since most of the offices and cubicles in this area belong to various STRIKE personnel and Wednesday morning happens to be when pretty much everybody in STRIKE is tied up in some weekly meeting or training exercise. They’ll be starting to trickle out soon enough, but for the moment Steve’s got the entire place practically to himself; he doesn’t pass a single soul on his way through the hall.
There’s a noise as he slips into the copy room, and at first he thinks nothing of it. But a second thud draws his gaze, and the blond realizes the door to the storage closet is slightly ajar.
He continues toward it without really thinking, cranes his neck a bit to try and peer into the smaller room. He hears a muffled grunt, a sharp intake of breath, and maybe his mind is far too innocent for this century, because the first thought that occurs to him is that maybe someone needs help moving one of those heavy boxes of copy paper.
He forgets there’s another, probably more obvious, explanation for those kinds of noises, but it’s eleven a.m. on a workday in the office, and Steve’s not thinking about that. Heck, he’s not even expecting to run into someone else, let alone two someones very much not getting any actual work done.
…He walks in on Darcy Lewis, propped up on one of the storage shelves, her skirt pushed up to her waist and her legs and the arm she’s not using to support herself wrapped around a taller, masculine body.
And oh! For heaven’s sake!
Steve barely manages to hold in the exclamation, only very narrowly avoids unintentionally interrupting and drawing attention to himself by making a noise of surprise or accidentally knocking something over in his haste to back out of the room, but luckily the two individuals are too wrapped up in each other to notice.
And Steve isn’t trying to look – he’s really, genuinely trying to do literally anything else but look, and he turns away as fast as he can, retreats quickly back into the copy room and then hallway! – but the image is still burned into his mind.
He sees it on the backs of his eyelids even as he tries to blink it away. He sees Darcy’s face turned up toward the ceiling, eyes pinched closed and teeth digging into her lip as she clearly tries her best to stay quiet. Steve blinks frantically, lifts a palm to scrape at his face. He sees the man moving jerkily, muscular arms straining as he supports the both of them. And he can’t make out the man’s face, can’t see much at all in the way of recognizable features, what with how the man’s bent forward, his head tilted down as he mouths at Darcy’s neck. Steve gives his head a shake, desperately tries to clear the images from his mind, but they’re still there, nagging at him. He can see the way Darcy’s head tilted back during that brief glimpse he’d had, can see the scar on the man’s jaw as he—
Wait.
And he hadn’t actually seen who the man was, hadn’t processed it in the moment, but Steve’s mind supplies an identification now, because there’s only one person in SHIELD who has a scar like that: Jack Rollins.
As in, very much not the man that Darcy Lewis is married to.
The best friend of the man she’s married to, actually, and for a second Steve is sure he’s mistaken, sure he couldn’t possibly have seen what he thinks he saw, but the image is still burned into his eyelids and now that he’s looking for it, everything about the man is unmistakably Jack and not Brock.
…Oh, fuck.
Even less wanting to get caught outside the room one of his friends is apparently committing adultery in, Steve hightails it back to his own office, plops down behind his desk and drops his hands into his waiting palms.
How could Darcy do this?!
He’d always considered her a good person. She was bold – sometimes uncomfortably so – in the way some modern women seemed to be these days, but she’d always been at her heart a kind, deeply compassionate woman. And she’d loved Brock Rumlow… Steve had been so sure of that, had seen the way the two of them had smiled at each other in meetings, had scarcely seen the two apart since they’d gotten married on Asgard a few weeks back. It had been a small ceremony – very small – and pretty much no one outside of Jane Foster and their immediate families had gone…
No, wait. Jack Rollins had gone, had been Brock’s best man, if Steve’s remembering correctly.
And oh, – sweet Lord! – this was going to devastate Brock. The man lives for his wife, and Steve had never seen him so happy as he’s been the last several months.
Oh, man…
He didn’t know what the other man was going to do, didn’t know how he was survive this. After more than twenty years working undercover to infiltrate HYDRA in SHIELD, the STRIKE Commander had finally settled down – had finally been happy, he’d once confessed over drinks to Steve himself.
Steve doesn’t know how he’s going to tell him.
Or, actually, should he tell him?
He has to do something, of course – he isn’t just going to let this continue on as if it’s okay! – but he isn’t sure what exactly that should be.
And he’s still agonizing over that dilemma an hour later, when Natasha wanders into his office.
She takes one look at him, and he must be still visibly unnerved, because the redhead doesn’t even blink before she closes his door behind her and demands to know what’s going on.
Steve tries to demur, tries to insist that nothing’s wrong, that he’s just got a terrible headache all of the sudden. He doesn’t want to gossip, doesn’t think Rumlow would want anyone else made aware of the situation, especially before he even knows himself…
But Steve’s a terrible liar, and Nat breaks him down in only a moment’s time.
So he admits what he saw, explains how he’s not quite sure what exactly he should do next with the information. He’s definitely not just going to pretend it never happened – wouldn’t ever help someone keep a secret as terrible as this! – but he’s not sure if it’s better for him to go directly to Rumlow and tell him what he saw, or if he should approach Darcy or Jack first, and give them the opportunity to come clean with the ultimatum that if they don’t, then Steve will.
Nat considers the situation, tells him it’s his call, ultimately, but encourages him to go to Rumlow first: “You’d want to know as soon as possible if it were you in his shoes, would you not?”
And so that’s how Steve Rogers finds himself in the STRIKE Commander’s office later that afternoon, standing awkward and uncomfortable across the room.
“Rumlow…” With a sigh he can’t quite hold in, Captain America makes a face, lifts his hand to scratch at the top of his head. And he doesn’t know how to start, really, so he starts with the truth: “I don’t know how to tell you this.”
The former NAVY Seal arches a brow, informs him in that dry, slightly sarcastic way of his, “I’d suggest starting with actual words that together form a coherent thought. Preferably in English, but I can work with whatever you’ve got.”
And normally Steve would have actual words that together form a coherent thought to say in response to that (…or, if he’s being honest, maybe just a look and a “You know what, Rumlow…?”), but he finds it hard to stay irritated at the snarky man when he knows he’s about to tell him something that’ll absolutely devastate him.
And apparently that’s either particularly telling or Steve’s just wearing his heart on his sleeve again or something, because Rumlow’s gaze sharpens and his expression sobers up a fraction as he straightens in his seat. More directly, this time, the other man wants to know, “What is it, Rogers?”
He doesn’t know a better way to say this – isn’t actually sure there is a way to soften this particular blow – and so he just takes a breath and cuts to the chase. He tries to project the compassion he feels for his one-time teammate as he breaks the news: “Darcy’s cheating on you.”
There’s a pregnant pause, but then the other man’s head is pulling back and cocking to the side with heavy skepticism. Disbelief colors his voice. “Come again?”
Steve doesn’t give him time to deny anything, doesn’t give him time to think up some whacky excuse for why Steve might be playing a prank on him or be mistaken somehow. He’s quick to continue, “And I know you consider Jack Rollins a friend, but—“
The darker haired man’s face goes completely blank, his reaction locked down with the sort of professionalism Steve would expect from someone who spent twenty years undercover in HYDRA.
The Captain presses on: “…I saw the two of them together. This morning, in the storage room by the third floor copier. They were… unmistakably intertwined.”
“You saw them?” the married man wants to clarify. “You saw them what, exactly? Talking? Kissing? …Fucking? I sort of need you to be specific here, Cap.” There’s a bite to his words that Steve understands, and he understands the need for specificity, here, too… but that doesn’t make it any less awkward for him to actually say.
He clears his throat, confirms, “The latter, yes. …I’m sorry.” And he really and truly is, so he offers again, “I’m really sorry, Rumlow. I never would have believed either of them would be capable of this if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, but I wouldn’t have brought this to your attention if I wasn’t sure.”
The shorter man’s gaze flicks up to meet him. “And you’re absolutely sure that that’s what you saw? There’s no chance you saw something else? Them just hugging, or…?”
He shakes his head. “I’m absolutely sure.”
There’s a long moment where neither of the men say anything, Rumlow’s fingers just tapping against his desk in time with some silent beat. Then, without saying anything else, the dark-haired man reaches forward, presses a button on his office phone, and picks up the handset only long enough to bark out a sharp “Rollins: my office. Now.”
The receiver clanks as it’s roughly set back in place, and the blond eyes the doorway with uncertainty. “I’ll give the two of you some space,” he offers, but he’s cut off by a shake of the head and a wave of a hand.
“No. Stay.”
And alright, yeah, Steve can see the logic in that. Maybe he’ll need to attest to what he saw if Rollins tries to deny everything or explain it away, or maybe Rumlow wants him to stick around in case things get ugly and the two need to be separated before a fight breaks out.
He can do that, awkward as it might be to be here for this conversation.
Steve just also sort of thinks Darcy Lewis should be here, too, given that she’s the one cheating on her husband when they’re barely out of the newlywed stage, but that’s not his call to make. If Brock wants to confront his friend first, one on one, then there’s nothing Steve can do to stop him.
So he drops into a chair and awkwardly waits until the summoned man appears in the doorway.
“Come in and shut the door behind you,” the STRIKE Commander instructs, waiting until the other man does just that before choosing to offer his friend the opportunity to come clean. “You got anything you want to tell me, Jack?”
The STRIKE Second-in-Command furrows his brow, takes a glance at his superior officer and longtime friend before rather drolly inquiring, “I get a lifeline for this question? Maybe a Phone a Friend or 50-50?”
Rumlow doesn’t look particularly amused, that same coldly dispassionate expression on his face as he stares down the Australian. But he gives that lifeline anyway, offers a prompt of: “Rogers has some concerns he brought to my attention.”
This time, the quick glance that precedes the dry comment is in Steve’s direction, and then Rollins is wanting to know, “That the ‘Friend,’ then?”
And – my goodness! – Steve can’t help but wonder how it is the other man still wants to make a joke of the whole thing. Is he really so boldly confident that he’s not even the least bit concerned he’s been found out? For crying out loud, he was making out with his own friend’s new wife, practically right under his nose at work! How is it possible to be both so careless and yet so confident all at once?
Rumlow lays out the final clue: “He says he saw you with Darcy earlier.”
This time, Rollins is silent, but the expression on his face speaks for itself. His brow is still furrowed, his countenance betraying no guilt as he looks his commanding officer in the eyes and all but goads, ‘…and?’ He doesn’t actually say anything aloud, but there’s no missing the message broadcasted through the silence and the arched brow.
Not for the first time, Steve is struck by how incredibly talented these two STRIKE Alpha men are when it comes to deception and deflection. To be able to pull off that kind of extended undercover work, to fool both him and Natasha, and now apparently for Jack to betray Brock like this and be able to still look him dead in the eyes without so much as a hint of guilt or wariness…
Oof. Steve would never be able to lie like that.
“I’m only going to ask you this once,” the recently-married man advises, voice stony cold: “Have you been sleeping with my wife?”
And Steve expects some kind of sputtered denial, expects an argument or maybe even that same completely blank look as the interrogated man continues to play dumb. He expects just about everything but how Jack actually responds.
The Australian just keeps looking steadily back at his boss and friend, then, boldly and without a hint of remorse, inquires as if needing clarification, “…You mean today?”
There’s a clattering sound as the STRIKE Commander jumps to his feet, his chair nearly toppling over behind him. Steve leans forward, gets ready to intervene if needed, but he’s waved off before he actually gets to his feet.
“Settle down, settle down,” the somewhat notoriously hotheaded man orders, raising a hand to wave off the blond’s intervention. “It’s okay, Cap. Rollins and I are just talking. Aren’t we, Rollins?”
And either Rollins hears the warning in his superior’s voice, or he really is as unconcerned as he appears, because his response is a dry little “Yessir.”
“So you wanna tell me that again, huh?” Rumlow repeats, now that he’s as close to eye-level with his longtime friend as he can manage, “Did you fuck my wife, Rollins?”
“I did.” The crazy bastard even sounds almost proud of the fact, seems smug as he confirms the accusation with a little twist of his lips. And because the situation’s apparently not already volatile enough, he adds, “At least five times this week.”
“That right?” There’s nothing friendly in the shorter man’s tone as he steps forward, adopts an air of something like that overly macho in-your-face you wanna fight? But then he pauses, leans back, and double checks, “…Only five?”
Jack rolls a shoulder. “Well, it is only Wednesday.”
“Huh.” More speculatively, now, the Italian man inquires, “And how many…?”
The other man doesn’t need to hear the rest of the question. His answer is quick, definitive: “Less than five.”
“…That hardly seems fair.”
And Steve is so completely and utterly lost at this point, not really following this line of questioning but still on edge waiting to see if a fight is going to break out. He glances between the two men, interrupts and demands to know, “Okay, what’s going on, here?”
“The Commander’s trying to decide if he actually is jealous after all,” comes the Australian’s dry reply, lips twitching into a hint of a smirk.
“Fuck you! I am not—“ Brock starts to object vehemently, only to cut himself off and make a noise of consideration. “…Actually, yeah, I might be, a little bit.”
With a snort, the taller man taunts, “Y’might wanna rethink that workout routine of yours, Boss. Your wife gets awfully handsy in the morning, and if you aren’t there when she wakes up…” He trails off, whistles instead.
And Steve still doesn’t have a shred of an idea as to what is going on right now, but he knows fighting words when he hears them.
He rushes to his feet, takes a step forward, and—
“S’alright, Cap,” Rollins assures, overconfident as ever. But then, just as boldly, he flashes a grin, claims, “He wants to kiss me, not kill me. Don’t’chya, Love?”
And – Plot Twist #2 for the day! – it turns out the friend Steve was worried was being cheated on has been sneaking around behind his wife’s back the whole time!
Is he supposed to feel bad for Darcy now? Even though she’d been cheating on Brock? While the whole time—
Oh.
Wait.
…Ohhhh.
Well that changes things.
“So, the three of you…” the man out of time tries out, hazarding a guess since he’s still not 100% certain he’s come to the correct conclusion.
But the STRIKE Commander only grins as he leans back to sit on the corner of his desk, crossing his arms in front of his chest. He looks unmistakably amused, clearing having had a heck of a lot of fun playing up the whole confrontation at Steve’s expense.
“The three of us,” Jack has the decency to confirm. Then, somewhat sheepishly, he lifts a hand to scratch at the back of his head. “Sorry, Cap. Didn’t mean to give you give you a show. We’re usually more careful than that.”
“Right. And about that…” Rumlow turns to his friend – his boyfriend, apparently. Or lover? Partner? – and, with a tiny bit of reproach, can’t help but chide, “The copy room, Jack? Really?”
And the usually rather private – understandably so, now that Steve understands what he’s been keeping private – man appears properly chastened. Still, he can’t help but shoot a look in the shortest man’s direction, argues back, “Yeah, why don’t you try saying ‘no’ to the woman these days? Those hormones have her desperate for a root every—“
With a loud cough, the man still uncomfortable hearing discussion like this clears his throat, points out, “I really don’t think I need to be hearing this.” …Especially about Darcy – his friend. …Who’s apparently sleeping with two of his other—
Okay, no.
He really needs to stop thinking about this.
“Yeahno, you probably don’t,” the STRIKE Commander agrees easily enough, before taking a moment to give the Captain a once over. As if anticipating something unpleasant, the smile on his face strains just a bit. “…This isn’t going to be a problem, is it, Rogers?”
We’re not going to have a problem, are we?, he means.
“No, no!” Steve’s quick to reassure. “Of course not. As long as everyone knows and is happy about the arrangement. …Or not everyone, I mean. Obviously. But the three of you, as long as the three of you are happy—“
Rumlow somewhat uncharacteristically offers a lifeline when he sees the blond man floundering. “We’re happy,” he promises, unable to keep the smile from his face as he says it.
And his more-than-friend-and-second-in-command beside him reaches out, pulls one of his lover’s arms free and interlaces the fingers of their hands.
It’s an oddly intimate gesture to witness, and one that’s still hard for him to fully wrap his head around after knowing both of these men for years and never suspecting a thing, but something about it eases some of his concern, reassures him that the men aren’t pulling some kind of elaborate prank on him now.
“Very happy,” Jack Rollins corrects, and Steve can see the truth of that in the smile the usually stoic man sends his partner.
Brock’s lips quirk in answer, a soft expression shifting into place on his face that Steve had previously only seen him wear around Darcy.
He clears his throat again, makes an excuse to be on his way.
He really doesn’t need to see anything more that he’s not meant to see. And – besides! – he’s got a different friend he needs to have a few words with now, anyway.
-- x --
Natasha Romanoff isn’t difficult to find; she’s in the private Avengers lounge exactly where he expects her to be, but unfortunately, she also happens to be surrounded by the majority of the other Avengers, too. There’s little Steve can do to directly call her out on her deception, not without violating Darcy, Brock, and Jack’s privacy in the process.
Still, when her eyes land on him, though, the redhead’s lips curve up into an unmistakably amused smile.
He can’t help but point an accusatory finger. “I don’t like you,” he tells her sternly, trying to back it up with his Frown of American Disapproval.
The Russian bats her eyes in false innocence, pretends to be surprised by this. “I take it you spoke to Rumlow?”
“And Rollins!” he lets her know, figuring that’s a safe enough detail to share without spilling any secrets to anyone else. Lowering his voice a bit, he hisses out, “You purposely sent me in there without warning me and you knew!”
From across the room, a bored voice chimes in, “Everyone in STRIKE knows.”
Steve swings an accusatory look in Barton’s direction, earns a gesture of surrender as the archer lifts two defensive palms in front of him. “Hey, Rumlow helped keep my family a secret from SHIELD and HYDRA for fifteen years. The least I could do is not go blabbing his personal business.”
“We’re talkin’ ‘bout Rumlow and Rollins?”
Incredulous, the blond turns to his closest friend, watches as Bucky scoops a huge forkful of noodles into his mouth.
When the other man catches Steve’s look, he pulls a face and rolls his eyes before chewing and swallowing. “C’mon, Stevie. You know how many missions I worked with STRIKE on as the Winter Soldier? You think I never accidentally walked in on something I shouldn’t have, then backed out, pretended it never happened, and knocked like I should’ve the first time around?”
Thrown for the third or fourth time in as many hours, Steve takes a moment to glance around the room, his gaze bouncing between all of his assembled teammates. “Am I the only one that didn’t know about this?”
Everyone more or less shrugs in response.
“About Double D and her Double Ds?” Tony chimes in from where he’s mixing himself a drink.
“Charming,” Steve comments dryly, though truthfully he can’t even be surprised by the billionaire’s crudeness these days.
Tony ignores him entirely. “Please tell me Captain Oblivious finally figured it out and we can gossip freely in front of him now?”
“Steve walked in on Darcy and Jack,” Natasha slyly confirms, her tone still more than a little bit teasing. “Then went to tell Brock the bad news.”
Half the room cackles at that revelation, and Steve can only sigh in response.
“You tried to do an honorable thing,” Thor commends with a sage little nod. “I am sure the older of my brothers-in-law would have appreciated your honesty, had it been truly necessary.”
“Oh, I’m sure Rumlow appreciated it as it is!” Clint notes, but Steve doesn’t have time to pay him any mind.
“Did you say brothers-in-law? As in plural?”
With a heavy frown, the Asgardian blinks in apparent confusion. “Have we not just established that my lightening sister has secured the hearts of not one but two of Earth’s mightiest warriors? She has done quite well for herself, though, of course, she is deserving nothing less.”
The Captain blinks, reminds himself of the need to spell things out more carefully when asking questions of Thor. “Right,” he allows, “but the way you worded that makes it sound like Darcy is married to both of them.”
Cheerfully, the larger man nods. “Indeed she is!”
“I…” Helplessly, Steve glances around the room, finds little support in the assembled group of his friends.
Natasha arches a brow. “She got married on Asgard and not on Earth for a reason, Steve. Jack wears his ring around his neck and is quieter about it around here, sure, but I’m sure that’ll change soon enough. …Did they not tell you any of this?”
Tony snaps his fingers, points. “I knew it wasn’t a new cross or something he was wearing! The ring! That makes so much more sense.”
And now that they mention it, Steve sort of does remember noticing a new chain around Jack’s neck, tucked under his clothing for the most part, but visible the couple of times they’ve both been changing in the locker rooms at the same time. He hadn’t every really looked closely, but in hindsight, it was a ring, wasn’t it?
Frowning at his own lack of observation on the matter, the blond turns back to the two who unquestionably know the astrophysicist best, wants to know, “You said that’s going to change. …Are they planning to announce their relationship to all of SHIELD or something now? After keeping it quiet for all this time?”
Clint snorts, mutters something under his breath about how they’ll be announcing something for sure.
“Well, of course!” Thor weighs in. “When the babe comes—“
“Darcy’s pregnant?!” And it shouldn’t shock him nearly as much as it does, really, but it’s been a long day full of surprises, and once again, Steve feels horribly uncomfortable learning something private he absolutely shouldn’t know without being told by the woman in question herself.
Both Bucky and Tony stare back at him with nearly identical, slightly disappointed frowns.
“I could’a sworn you usedta be more observant than this,” his longtime friend complains.
“Yeah,” the billionaire agrees. “Do you need to get your eyes checked, Capsicle? I’m just saying…” Crude as ever, Tony lifts his hands to hold out in front of his chest, lifts his brow pointedly.
Luckily Natasha steps in to chastise him before Steve has to. “Tony!”
“Anyone with eyes can tell!” is all Stark has to say for himself. “It’s not that I’m trying to look!”
Moving past that, Steve can’t help but ask in confirmation, “They’re really having a baby?”
And that makes sense, he supposes, because Jack had said something about hormones earlier, hadn’t he? But Steve hadn’t thought…
“If it makes you feel any better,” Bruce offers, speaking up for the first time, “that part I didn’t know, either.”
It actually kind of does make him feel a bit better, knowing at least he wasn’t the only one left out of the loop on that much, at least. But that still begs the question… “The three of them? But who…?”
Bucky makes a noise in the back of his throat, draws Steve’s attention to him and gives a small but firm shake of his head.
And – right! yeah, – that’s fair, and it probably doesn’t matter.
Definitely doesn’t matter.
Dear Lord!, this is none of his business, anyway!
But still… a baby!
There is so much to wrap his head around, so much to be excited about for his friends. And congratulations were in order, of course, except that he isn’t exactly sure what the protocol is on that when the pregnancy hasn’t even been formally announced yet, so maybe it’s better to wait…
“This is all very exciting, is it not?” Thor happily fills in when the momentary silence stretches beyond a couple of seconds. “My brother Loki plans to teach the babe magic, I believe, so that he can partake in the kind of mischief we used to get into as children and—“
“He?!”
Suddenly sheepish this time, the fertility god who apparently forgot for a moment he was a fertility god grimaces. “Oh, right! We aren’t to tell Darcy that, yet. She has expressed a desire to be surprised.”
And oh, for crying out loud!
Steve’s going to be sick, he’s sure of it.
He lifts a hand to his head, drags his palm over his face in exasperation and slight horror, because there’s yet another thing he’s not supposed to know but now does.
Ugh!
Sometimes, Steve really, really, really misses the simplicity of the nineteen hundreds.