This fic was inspired by the Suzanne Collins' Hunger Games series, and the fate of Finnick and the other past Victors.

The serum made Steve physically perfect. It seems not unlikely that someone might have thought to take advantage of that fact. Particularly with Steve too unused to his new role and serum-body to object.

From her position seated at the counter, Natasha looks around the ultra-modern kitchen on the Tower common-floor. This is not where she would have expected to be, a week ago, but so many things have changed in that time, so many people revealed to be not as she thought, that she is barely surprised. And her own role in those changes…

In hindsight, she can acknowledge that her decision to release the SHIELD files was perhaps overly hasty. She hadn't properly considered all the ramifications. But at the time, she hadn't cared. She's built her career – her life – on lies and secrets, but discovering HYDRA entwined within SHIELD was a step too far. SHIELD was supposed to be her fresh start, a chance to balance the red in her ledger. To find she was actually working for HYDRA… She'd needed to expose their lie, everything they'd done.

Of course, some of the consequences of her act were more personal than others. She had known she was effectively resigning as an agent – hard to work for an organisation that really doesn't exist – but she had overlooked the fact that she was also cutting off support and funding for the Avengers. Thankfully, it appears that someone else had been considering contingencies.

The dust from the Triskelion had barely settled before Stark was calling them; firstly ensuring they were both alive, secondly yelling at them for not calling him for backup, and thirdly offering to take on patronage of the Avengers Initiative. When they agreed, they hadn't expected things to move quite so fast. In mere days they were back in New York, at the rebuilt Tower, being shown around the floors that had already been specially designed as team accommodation and headquarters.

She glances over as the lift dings, a dazed Steve following Stark through the doorway.

"Tony, I… everything. Words can't thank you enough."

"You'll just have to find another way, then."

Natasha snorts softly at the flippant response. Whatever his sincere intentions, that right there is typical Stark. On the one hand, he probably means it seriously; probably means to claim it as a get-out-of-trouble-free card after doing something characteristically reckless, or something like that. On the other, there is no doubt he knows exactly what the tone and phrasing is implying, the flirting part reflex, part lightening the tone, part enjoyment of Steve's flustered reaction.

She straightens suddenly, her instincts sounding an alert. Something isn't right. Steve… Steve isn't flustered, not the way he usually is. And his posture. Normally tall and rigid, it is now relaxed into something more languid, subtly leaning towards the shorter man. What..? Then she realises what it was that caught her attention. In that moment of transition, she saw him flinch.

"I suppose I can think of one way to repay you…" His voice has changed as dramatically as his posture, somewhere between sultry and coy, laden with undertones, and wrong, so wrong…

"Stop." Before she realises it, she is standing, striding forward to break the rising tension, the clues snapping into focus. She recognises these signs, although it is something she never expected to see here. Not with him. "Stop right there. I know what a honeypot play looks like, and I know what it looks like when it's being done unwillingly."

Tony opens his mouth but is silenced by her glare. "And I didn't mean you, Stark. Steve, what were you doing?"

"Honeypot? Steve?" Incredulous, but no longer joking, Tony turns back to his friend.

Steve shifts awkwardly, all traces of seduction gone.

"What? Tony put all that effort and money into designing floors for us all, for sponsoring the Avengers program himself; I was just trying to thank him properly."

"And who taught you to show gratitude like that?" The man just shrugs, not noticing the danger growing behind her level tone.

"It's a Captain America thing. You know, 'America thanks you for your support'."

She freezes, replaying his words in her mind. Surely he doesn't mean what she thinks he means? Please not…

"Explain."

CACACACACA

I suppose it starts right back at the beginning, with Project Rebirth. You know how it went. Erskine developed his supersoldier serum, and chose me to be the first recipient. They pumped me full of serum and Vita-rays, and I came out three times heavier and half again as tall, all my medical problems gone, and super-strength and healing to boot. The peak of human perfection, a scientific marvel.

I was supposed to be the first, not the only.

But then Erskine was killed, and the final completed serum sample was destroyed, and the other scientists quickly realised his notes were incomplete. Any more supersoldiers would be years down the track. So what to do with me?

It was quickly decided that I was too valuable to risk sending to the Front, despite the original purpose of the program. For a while, the research division had me, trying to reverse engineer the serum, but once the initial tests revealed the complexity of the problem, it was argued that hiding me away for that long would be a waste.

So I ended up doing publicity with the USO shows. I felt like such a fool the first few performances, dressed up like I was trying to camouflage myself against the flag – in tights, of all things – spouting off cheesy lines, and pretending to punch out Hitler. But I got more confident with practice, and they showed me the sales figures, how much the shows helped.

Of course, the shows were aimed more at the general public. Great for morale, and encouraging everyone to do their bit, but the folks with the big bucks weren't going to be impressed by a few musical numbers and patriotic speeches.

No, if we were in an area with one of the big sponsors – or someone we were trying to encourage to become one – then they were invited backstage after the show for an 'exclusive private interview with Captain America'. I was never quite sure if it was a bribe or reward, but I don't suppose it really matters, either way my role was the same: America thanks you for your support.

It took me a long while to get used to those 'interviews'; and I'm glad they were reserved for only those we really needed to impress. But Bucky and all those other fellas were fighting and dying on the front lines, and if I couldn't join them, I could at least do everything possible to get them the supplies they needed. It wasn't what I signed up for, but it was important; money for food and ammunition was more valuable than one more man with a gun. Or a shield.

Of course, when I heard Bucky was taken, all that logic went straight out my head. I wasn't going to rescue Bucky as a glorified showgirl, so it was time to try being the soldier I was designed as. And let me tell you, there is no feeling like walking out of a HYDRA base with your best friend beside you, a couple of hundred rescued soldiers before you, and the base exploding into fireballs behind.

When we got back, turns out that the higher-ups agreed; I was allowed to form the Howling Commandos, and lead them in doing more of the same. But here's the thing about the Howlies. We were a decidedly non-standard unit; unusual complement, unusual missions, unusual requirements. In short, we were a headache for whichever commander was covering the part of the Front we found ourselves in this week.

So I offered recompense. A long way from home, high stress environment: America thanks you for your service.

That's how it worked. The Howlies did our thing, and I smoothed it over with the brass. As I said, it's just another part of the whole Captain America gig.

CACACACACA

They sit in silence for a moment, absorbing the shock of his story, before Natasha manages to shake it off.

"Steve, no. It shouldn't have worked like that then, and it certainly doesn't work like that now." Because it doesn't; what she did with SHIELD is different. In some way, nebulous but essential, it is different. (And before that… it shouldn't have worked like that for her either.)

"But Tony -"

"No." The man jerks as the sound of his name throws him out of his frozen horror. "Not like that. I mean, you're a nice enough guy, easy on the eyes, and yes I've been known to swing both ways. But no. Not like that. Never like that." She sees his eyes widen as a thought hits him, but he bites it back. "No… just, no."

Natasha's eyes follow as Tony all but flees the room. She knows the question he refused to ask, knows why he doesn't want an answer. He doesn't want to know if another Stark once said yes.