Title: Classic-verse 1
Authors: seanchai and elspethdixon
Rated: PG-13
Pairings: Currently none. Eventual Hank/Jan
Warnings: ... Fluff? No slash as yet.
Disclaimer: The characters and situations depicted herein belong to Stan Lee and Marvel comics. No profit is being made off of this derivative work. We're paid in love, people.
Author's Note: AU conceived as a modern retelling of early Avengers. Of course, there are about six seasons planned, so it won't end up mirroring canon completely.
Summary: The Avengers find something interesting in the Arctic, which goes much better than bad science-fiction would lead you to expect.

And again, our thanks to angelofharmony and tavella for the great beta job.

"We shall fight evil together! Or separately, as needs be." (Avengers, Volume 1 #1)

The Stark Enterprises deep-sea exploration prototype A (Arctic model), was only fifty feet long, a sixth of the size of an old, World War II diesel submarine. It was still easily three times the size of the average deep sea exploration sub; the ice-breaker mounted on the bow added extra length, just as the three-layered hull added extra width, and the inside had enough room for an entire scientific research expedition, provided that they didn't mind sleeping in very small bunks.

This mission, however, wouldn't last long enough for anyone to have to sleep onboard, and the "crew" consisted of only four people. And while Thor might be tall enough that he had to duck his head to keep from knocking it on the ceiling, Hank Pym and Jan Van Dyne could both shrink down small enough to ride around on ants -- which Tony had always suspected was the real reason behind the invention of Pym particles. Hank had always had an inexplicable fascination with insects. Hence, developing a biochemical formula that would let him shrink down small enough to interact with bugs.

Still, space was tight enough that Tony was glad for his newly developed, more compact armor. The original, golden suit had been bulky enough that Iron Man would have had trouble fitting through the narrow interior hatches. The updated red and gold suit, made of flexible metal that had involved four separate Stark Enterprises patents, fit like sophisticated body armor and was far more maneuverable, as well as lighter, something that was turning out to have benefits beyond the fact that wearing it was easier on his damaged heart.

"Is it much farther until we reach our destination?" Thor's deep, rumbling bass echoed off the sub's metal bulkheads. "I grow weary of not being able to stand upright."

"This was your idea, Goldilocks," Hank pointed out. He was bending over the sonar screen, keeping a close eye on the waters ahead.

"That's what you get for being tall, big guy." Hank's girlfriend, Jan, was perched on a corner of the screen, in her tiny, winged "Wasp" form. She gave Thor a little wave. "I fit just fine pretty much anywhere."

"The heat from the volcanic vent has caused the ice flow in this area to break up into smaller icebergs," Tony said. "We have to travel more slowly to avoid hitting any of them. Sorry; even a reinforced, ice-breaker hull wouldn't stand up to the kind of impact that took out the Titanic." He pulled the water-temperature sensor data up on his helmet's internal read-outs, and watched the lines of information scroll across the corner of his vision. "The water temperature's rising, though, so we're getting close."

"I mislike this." Thor frowned at the array of glowing screens. "This stretch of ocean lies near the entrance to the underground cavern where my father hath imprisoned that treacherous creature, Loki. I fear that yon dormant volcano's return to life may be a sign that his bonds have weakened."

"We know," Jan said. "You've told us twice."

Tony thought she might be teasing, but he wasn't sure. He'd known Jan Van Dyne casually for most of his life; as the daughter of Vernon Van Dyne, she'd grown up in the center of New York society, heiress to the sort of old money that considered the Starks to be jumped-up war-profiteers. It was only over the past couple of weeks that he had spent any time around her outside of a cocktail party or a charity dinner, though, and she had no idea that "Iron Man" was actually Tony Stark.

"There's another mass of ice a few hundred yards in front of us," Hank said. "You're going to have to bear to starboard." He frowned, and tapped the screen with one finger. "That's funny. The instruments are picking up metal ahead of us."

Tony check the readings himself. "They are," he confirmed. "A small amount of it inside the ice." What the hell... "That's not all. The sensors are picking up lifesigns." For all that Thor had insisted that this part of the North Atlantic was where Loki had been entombed, Tony hadn't really expected to find anything except some mid-sized volcanic activity.

He'd heard about the superpowered man calling himself the "Son of Odin" on and off for the last few years, but he'd never really believed that "the Mighty Thor" was anything more than an exceptionally powerful mutant who'd come up a clever way to get good publicity, or possibly another deluded (if harmless) man who'd found some powerful alien hammer, a Nordic version of the Mandarin. Then he'd seen Thor go up against the Hulk, had watched him actually call down lightning and thunder, and now all bets were off. Maybe Thor really was a god. Maybe Loki really was here, and maybe the low-ebb biorhythms coming from something buried within the ice were him.

Or maybe they were a sea-monster or something else that wouldn't appreciate being disturbed. This sort of thing never turned out well in science fiction movies.

"Well, of course there are lifesigns," Jan said. "There are fish, and possibly whales, too. The heated water might be drawing all sorts of sea life."

Tony frowned, then remembered that nobody could see his facial expressions as long as he was wearing the helmet, and shook his head. "Whatever this is, it's warm-blooded, and definitely not a fish. From the temperature levels, I think it's hibernating."

Hank stared at him, expression blank. "Nothing aquatic hibernates." And Hank would know that better than Tony; he was a biochemist, not an engineer, and had much more experience with the side of biological science. Not the kind of person you would expect to find playing superhero. But then, Tony wasn't the superhero type, either, and look where he was now.

"Mayhap it is my kinsman." Thor folded his massive arms across his chest, fingers brushing the hilt of his giant hammer. It was made of some kind of hard, silvery metal that Tony had never encountered before. He desperately wanted to examine it, but you couldn't exactly ask the god of thunder to let you play with his weapons.

"Mayhap," Tony agreed. He turned to the helm, shifting the engine to "full stop" and adjusting the stern planes to take them three points to starboard. The armor enhanced his strength, making pulling the large, metal wheel around an easy task. "I'm bringing us to a stop. My employer would want us to investigate this." It was the literal truth; Tony did want to investigate.

Jan launched herself off the sonar screen and grew to full size, feet hitting the metal decking with a soft click. Every time Tony had seen her, she had been in a new and different costume. This one featured knee-high boots with two-inch heels and elbow-length gloves. "Confess, Iron Man. I don't think you're actually checking things with Tony Stark at all." She grinned impishly up at Tony. "I think you just want to poke at this yourself."

"I have Mr. Stark's full confidence," Tony said. "He trusts me to make decisions in the field, and anyway, I know he'd be interested in this." Which, again, was true. Technically.

"I'm sure he would be," Jan said, smile turning sharp. The media dismissed her as a shallow, flighty trust fund bimbo, but Tony remembered watching her "accidentally" spill red punch all over Sebastian Shaw's white linen suit and then excuse herself with the kind of flustered innocence that only the most manipulative of eight year old girls could pull off. Jan Van Dyne was anything but a bimbo, and Tony suspected that if she didn't actually know that Tony Stark, head of Stark Enterprises, and Iron Man, his armored bodyguard, were actually the same person, she at least had a pretty good idea.

At the same party where Jan had thrown her punch on Sebastian Shaw, Tony had been dragged home in disgrace for rewiring the host's security system so that it went off every time a new guest arrived. He suspected that Norman Osborn still hadn't forgiven him for the embarrassment he'd suffered when the police had arrived in the middle of his New Year's gala, and Tony had never been able to convince his parents that he honestly hadn't been acting with malicious intent. He'd just been eight years old and very, very bored.

Jan had winked at him as his father had hauled him out to the car.

Tony activated the controls for the external cameras, flipping on the underwater floodlights mounted on the front of the hull. Then he stared at the image that popped up on the viewscreen in shock. It was definitely not Loki.

Jan peered over Tony's armored elbow at the screen. "It that what I think it is?"

""If that's what I think you think it is..." Tony let his voice trail off, staring at the video feed of what was very clearly a man buried in the transparent block of ice. The ice distorted Tony's view of him enough that he couldn't make out details, but the floodlights were reflected back by a large disc of something metallic, and something about the man's outline was familiar.

"Is it my kinsman?" Thor asked.

"No, wait," Hank said. "Don't tell me; it's a seal."

Thor frowned, blond eyebrows drawing together ominously. "Friend Ant-Man, do not take the threat that Loki represents too lightly. His strength exceeds that of even the Hulk, and he is more clever by far."

And if even Thor, who could honestly match the Hulk for strength, could say that, Tony reflected, then it made Loki a serious threat indeed. But what they were dealing with now, if Tony was correct, was anything but a threat.

"I don't take him lightly," Hank protested. "I just don't think this is him."

"It's not," Tony said. "Come and take a look at this."

"It is a dead man," Thor said, as he bent over Tony's shoulder to look. "Frozen in the ice."

"No," Hank said slowly. "According to the readings, he's alive. How the hell is he alive?"

"Because he's Captain America," Jan said firmly.

"Wait, what? He's who?" Hank's eyebrows raised, and he leaned forward to take a closer look at the monitor. "How do you know who he is?"

"There was a poster of him on the wall of my seventh-grade history classroom." Jan stabbed a finger at the screen. "That's Captain America's shield, so that has to be Captain America."

Hank and Thor still looked skeptical.

"It was one of kind," Tony explained, "Made of an alloy of Wakandan vibranium and steel." No wonder it had only appeared to be trace amounts of metal on the sonar array. Wakandan vibranium absorbed vibrations, including sound waves. "Steve Rogers was the only man who ever carried it, and he was supposed to have been lost in action over the North Atlantic in 1945. That was sixty years ago; I can't believe he's still alive." If you could call being in suspended animation in the middle of a block of ice 'alive.'

"I did a research project on the supersoldier serum in college," Hank said. "There was some indication from the original 1941 tests that it might have created what modern scientists would have termed a 'healing factor.' At least, I thought there was. My professor said I was theorizing with insufficient data and gave me a C."

"How did you get any data?" Tony asked. "The entire weapon X project is classified. I checked."

"The family of one of the early test subjects used the Freedom of Information Act to access some information about it during the early nineties. It's in the National Archives now, the Bradley papers. You need permission from the family to look at them, because it's all medical records."

"That would explain it. I was always more interested in Steve Rogers himself than in the serum. Well, and the shield. Stark Enterprise's work with adamantium was really an attempt to duplicate the alloy, but all we got out of it was liquid steel and the flexible metal alloy my armor is made from, which both have processing methods similar to the ones used to create adamantium."

Hank and Jan were both staring at him. "Well, that's what Mr. Stark told me when I asked him," Tony added.

"From what I have heard," Thor's voice echoed from behind Tony, "this man was a great hero and a noble warrior. We must aid him. Investigating Loki's prison can wait."

Using the sub's laser cutting tool to remove the portion of the ice encasing Captain America from the rest of the iceberg was a simple process, but it took nearly a quarter of an hour -- Tony didn't want to accidentally cut him. After that, opening the underwater hatch and pulling the block of ice inside with the robot arms originally designed to collect rock samples was the work of moments.

Once the water had finished draining from the airlock, and Thor had carried the block of ice into the laboratory, even Hank had to admit that it was clearly Captain America. He was wearing the shredded remains of his red, white, and blue uniform, right down to the little, white wings on his cowl.

Still, there was no harm in being cautious. Tony set the sub down on the ocean floor, where it could remain stationary, and cut the engine. He used the sub's satellite uplink, which he'd initially planned to use to stream geological data on the volcano back to Stark Enterprises, to send a priority message to SHIELD, including digital footage of the ice-block.

Colonel Nicholas Fury, SHIELD's commander, had served with Captain America during World War II, back when Fury had been an ordinary special ops soldier rather than the head of an international anti-terrorism organization. If there was anybody alive today who would recognize Steve Rogers, it would be Fury.

As far as Tony was concerned, though, calling Fury was just a formality. There was no doubt in his mind that this was exactly who it looked like.

"Iron Man!" Fury's voice barked loudly. The connection didn't have video, but Tony could picture Fury glaring and gesticulating with his cigar just fine without it. "What the hell is this? Is this some kind of joke?"

"I assure you, Colonel," Thor said, his deep voice grave. "This is no joke."

"And your science doohickeys say he's alive?" There was a moment of silence after Hank's affirmative response, and then, "I order you to bring that block of ice into SHIELD headquarters the moment you get back to New York, Iron Man, or your boss can cancel all of his new contracts with SHIELD."

"Yes sir," Tony said. "It will be a while yet, though. We've got to finish investigating this volcano." Fury cut the connection, and Tony turned to Hank. "Get ready to start a controlled thaw. We don't want to hurt him when we get him out of this ice."

Thor raised one eyebrow. "Are you sure we should risk the wrath of the loud, angry man? I would not wish to get you into trouble with your liege-lord."

Thor knew perfectly well who Nick Fury was, and it was obvious that for all he was pretending concern for Iron Man potential disgrace, he clearly also wanted to thaw Steve Rogers out as soon as possible.

"Stark won't mind," Tony assured him anyway. "He's been fascinated by Steve Rogers since he was a kid."

The process of thawing took hours, raising the temperature only a few degrees at a time. Nevertheless, the four of them remained clustered in the tiny lab, watching as the ice melted and puddles of water formed on the floor under the lab table.

Rogers was much bigger than Tony had expected, easily over six feet with the broad-shouldered, muscular build of a football linebacker; he must have been huge by the standards of the nineteen-forties. He was every bit as square-jawed and classically handsome as those old posters had depicted him, and even wet, his hair was as strikingly blond as Thor's.

He honestly was a propaganda poster come to life.

"He's much younger than I thought," Jan observed. She glanced at Hank out of the corner of her eye and added, "Much handsomer, too."

"Well, he's still too old for you," Hank said.

Jan was right; he didn't look much older than Tony, maybe twenty-five at the outside. Whatever disaster had landed him in the middle of an iceberg hadn't left any marks on him beyond the damaged clothing. He looked like he could wake up at any moment.

"This may not be Loki," Tony said to Thor, ignoring Hank and Jan's flirting -- at least, he thought it was flirting, "but I hopefully even for the God of Thunder, this is a successful polar expedition."

Thor laughed, a loud rumbling sound that echoed off the bulkheads. "We can examine Loki's prison after he has awakened."

Hank had hooked the heart monitor from the sub's medical equipment up to Rogers as soon as the ice had melted sufficiently to allow it. The slow, steady beeps that had been playing in the background for the past two hours suddenly spiked to a crescendo of frantic sound.

Tony jumped, casting an involuntary glance at the heart monitor.

On the table, Steve Rogers sat up, eyes wide. "Bucky!" he shouted, "Look out!" He flung himself off the table, shield clutched in one hand, then wobbled as his legs refused to support his weight.

Thor took a long step towards Rogers, and grabbed him gently by the elbow, taking most of his weight. "Calm yourself. You are amongst friends."

Rogers blinked at him, looking dazed and very young. "Who are you?"

Tony laid one gauntleted hand on his shoulder. "We were studying volcanic activity in this area. We found you in the water." Explaining who the Avengers were would take much longer, and could wait.

"Did you find anyone else?" Rogers asked, sounding not quite desperate. "There was someone else with me."

"Just you," Hank said, shaking his head and looking away.

"You have to look." Rogers jerked himself away from Thor and Tony and took a step towards Hank, then swayed and grabbed onto the edge of the table. "He's smaller than me. He'll go hypothermic faster. He could already be-"

Jan stepped forward and put a hand on his arm, stopping him. "When we found you, you were frozen in the ice," she said gently. "I'm sorry. It's been almost sixty years since the war ended."

Rogers stared at her, jaw set. He blinked hard, then said, "I saw the plane blow up, but I thought, maybe... Sixty years?"

"You and James Barnes have been listed as killed in action for over half a century," Tony told him. There had been a nineteen-year-old private named James Buchanan "Bucky" Barnes along with Rogers on his final mission; Barnes' precise role in the mission had never been specified. "He was awarded the medal of honor for destroying that plane. You were, too."

"It can't have been sixty years." Rogers pulled off one of his red leather gloves and stared down at his obviously youthful hand. "I'm not any older."

"The ice must have put you into a state of suspended animation," Hank said. "It would have slowed all of your metabolic functions." He paused, studying Rogers' expression, than added, "Um, we won. If that helps."

Thor shouldered the rest of them aside and slung an arm around Rogers' shoulders. "You have been frozen for a very long time, my friend. You must be in need of a meal. And perhaps having eaten, you shall feel sturdier."

"Food would be good," he said slowly. The he turned to Tony, frowning. He had extremely blue eyes. "Is that diving gear?' he asked, waving a hand at Tony's head-to-toe red and gold armor. "Were you the one who pulled me out of the water?"

"It was a team effort," Tony said hastily. "And this is high-tech combat armor."

Rogers nodded, and scrubbed a hand over his face, then looked up, blinking at all of them. He looked steadier on his feet than he had a few moments ago, his grip on the table abandoned. "So, who are you people?"

"Wait, let me get this straight. He was caught in an explosion, but instead of dying, he turned into a giant green monster who tried to destroy the city."

The red and gold helmet nodded. It was a disconcertingly human gesture coming from what looked to all intents and purposes like a robot. Jim Hammond, the human torch, had appeared far more, well, human, but Steve was pretty sure that, underneath all of that hardware, there was an actual human being.

"That sounds like King Kong," he said bluntly. Nothing anyone had said to him over the past half-hour had made any sense at all, except for Thor's suggestion that he eat. He hadn't thought that he was hungry, but then they had set a plate of sandwiches in front of him, and he'd realized that he was starving.

Thor and Iron Man had taken him to the sub's tiny galley, while Dr. Pym and the Wasp had gone to re-engage the engine and man the submarine's controls, taking them back to New York.

He wondered what New York was like now.

The past few days, prior to the airplane's explosion, were something of a blur, but Steve was pretty sure that he and Bucky hadn't gotten breakfast before jumping aboard that German plane. And apparently, he'd then spent sixty years on ice.

They had received word that a German SS officer named Heinrich von Zemo planned to send a drone plane packed with explosive into Allied territory. He and Bucky had been ordered to destroy it, the kind of thing they'd done dozens of times before. It was supposed to be easy, routine, not... But the plane had already been taking off, and Steve had decided to jump aboard at the last minute. And then Bucky had gotten caught on the plane's wing, and Steve had fallen into the water, and the plane had exploded. He should have called off the mission, shouldn't have let himself and Bucky go in unprepared. They hadn't even had parachutes.

He should have broken ribs when he hit the water, should have burns from being caught in the explosion's blast-radius. They must have healed while he was frozen; he'd gotten off much more lightly than he deserved.

"Trust me," Iron Man said, "it was much uglier than King Kong."

"Verily, he was a mighty foe. But our combined strength o'erwhelmed him, and we prevailed." Thor made a sweeping gesture with one massive hand, encompassing himself, Iron Man, and presumably the other two 'Avengers' as well, the woman who could shrink down very small and the other man, Hank Pym, whose power Steve still didn't know. "And thenceforth decided to band together whenever the need arose."

"A little bit like the Invaders," Iron Man put in.

The Invaders... It felt like only a few hours since that plane had exploded, since he'd seen Bucky -- But apparently, he'd missed more than half a century. "So it's really the twenty-first century?" Steve shook his head, staring down at his hands. The red leather of his gloves looked just as bright as it had when he'd put them on this morning. They didn't look sixty years old.

"I'm sorry." There was a hollow echo to Iron Man's voice, but beneath that, he sounded sincere. "I know this must be hard."

Sitting around and feeling sorry for himself wasn't going to do anyone any good. "The man in the red costume, Pym, said we won the war. How long did that take?"

"Germany surrendered in early May of 1945, and Japan surrendered on August fifteenth, just a few months later."

It had been April when Steve had gone out on that last mission. He'd missed the end of the war by only a few weeks. He and Bucky had planned out everything that they were going to do when Hitler surrendered and they finally got back to New York, right down to eating dinner at the Rainbow Room, because they'd both been sure that they'd have enough unspent backpay by that point to afford it. "Have we gone to the moon yet?" he asked. "Or Mars?"

"Yes," Thor said. "Men have been to the moon several times."

"We're working on Mars," Iron Man added.

"Really?" He hadn't actually been serious; people had honestly been to the moon? How much else had changed that he hadn't expected?

"Yeah. They shot them out of a giant gun." Iron Man waved metal-encased hands, miming firing a weapon.

"And when they got to the moon," Steve said, very seriously, "were the Ziegfeld Follies girls there?"

Thor looked at him blankly. "There are no people on the moon. The moon is barren and airless."

Steve blinked at him, feeling faintly embarrassed now. Maybe Iron Man had been serious. "It was an old movie," he said. "I was joking."

"So was I," Iron Man said. "But I was actually talking about the Jules Verne story."

Steve could feel himself grinning; even if the other man hadn't been talking about the old French film, he'd still been referencing something Steve knew. "I liked Around the World in 80 Days better, anyway."

Iron Man nodded. "That one's good, but I always liked 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea. Do you know that the principles the Nautilus is based on actually work? You actually can get electricity from sea water."

Thor stared at his companion with a slightly bemused expression. "Verily," he said.

It was becoming increasingly obvious that Iron Man had built that tin suit himself, though Steve couldn't imagine where he'd gotten the money for it. The man was an engineer if Steve had ever met one.

He dropped his gaze back to his hands. These people were friendly, but the entire situation didn't feel right. He ought to be reporting in to someone, being debriefed. But the mission he'd been on was decades out of date; the war was over, and everybody he'd known in the army was probably dead, his superiors included.

He hadn't had any family even before the war; it was one of the reasons they'd chosen him for the supersoldier project. He hadn't had anyone except Bucky, and now...

He didn't even have a house anymore, and if he was legally dead, he wouldn't even be able to check into a hotel. You couldn't access your bank accounts if you were dead.

"So," Steve said, trying to look cheerful, "are the Dodgers still at Ebbets Field?"

Thor frowned. "The what?"

Iron Man looked away for a second, then back to Steve. His metal faceplate was expressionless, but Steve still got an impression of regret. "About that... I just want to make it clear that I think everyone involved was scum."

"My men in SHIELD are reliable, Mr. President. I pay them very well in order to ensure that. If they say that this is him, I can assure you that it is him. That, or Stark's lackey is lying, and even Stark wouldn't have the arrogance to make that kind of claim without the evidence to back it up."

There was a long silence, broken only by the crackle of static that was the inevitable consequence of placing a cell phone call to Vespugia. Vespugia might be relatively technologically developed, but it was still a tiny nation in the midst of the South American rainforest, and satellite reception was not one of its government's main priorities.

"I want that block of ice, Hammer, before they have a chance to, shall we say, defrost him." Even over the phone, El Presidente's hoarse, whispery voice made Justin Hammer's skin creep. The man was older than sin, and he radiated malignancy. On the other hand, his men paid very well for firearms and munitions, and Vespugia was one of Hammer Industry's largest sources of raw materials, which made the revulsion that Hammer felt every time he spoke to the man more than worth it.

"That's not going to be easy. Stark's paid superhero team have taken it back to their so-called 'Avengers Mansion,' and while their security is less formidable than SHIELD's, I don't have any people in place there." Not for want of trying, either. Anthony Stark seemed to inspire an inexplicable loyalty in his employees, doubtless due to his extravagant payscales.

Howard Stark had been far easier to deal with, but then, he'd been an experienced businessman, someone who understood how the world worked, and was willing to compromise when needed. His spoilt upstart of a son was far more troublesome, a shallow, self-absorbed brat who completely ignored the variety of unspoken agreements Howard Stark had had with any number of his fellow CEOs about operating in one another's territories.

Hammer Industries had been SHIELD's primary weapons supplier since the organization's inception, as well as the vendor for their security systems.

"Don't hand me excuses, Justin," El Presidente wheezed. His slight German accent gave the words a harsh tone. "We have an agreement. Trust me, if this is really Rogers, it would be in your best interest as well to make certain that he remains on ice. My people are the ones who will be taking all of the risks. Your job is merely to provide them with information. Surely this is not too difficult a task..." he let the statement trail off, implying that, in his estimation, Hammer was just barely qualified for it.

Hammer took a deep breath, thinking firmly of plutonium and uranium deposits and South American oil wells and lead mines. "They have to bring him in to SHIELD eventually. The Director's ordered them to." Even Anthony Stark, naïve and short-sighted as he was, wasn't going to defy a direct order from Colonel Fury so soon after acquiring all of those SHIELD contract bids.

"That would be very useful," El Presidente sneered, "were it not for the fact that no one knows where Fury's headquarters is located, let alone how to get in."

"My company designed and installed their security systems," Hammer said silkily. He'd been saving that piece of information as a final bargaining chip, if it ever became necessary to renegotiate their arrangement, but with Stark Enterprises in the process of upgrading SHIELD's security, the information was fast approaching the end of its usefulness. "I think I might be able to locate the information you need. However, there is the minor matter of import taxes on my products..." He let the sentence trail off, much as El Presidente had done earlier.

"I believe that something can be arranged."

Hank Pym's lab was full of strange electrical devices, all of which seemed to be covered in blinking lights. Steve had no idea what any of them were for, but they looked very expensive. Iron Man's employer really must be a wealthy businessman -- Iron Man had said he was a "billionaire," but that had to be an exaggeration for dramatic effect. Nobody had a billion dollars, not even the Rockefellers.

On the other hand, he had apparently had an extra mansion just lying around to give to the Avengers for their headquarters, so he probably actually was a millionaire.

Steve rested his hands on the edge of the exam table he was sitting on and swung his bare feet back and forth. The metal table must have been designed to accommodate Thor; Steve's feet dangled several inches above the floor.

Tony Stark was probably an aging business tycoon who'd become a philanthropist to make up for a lifetime of sharp dealings. Or maybe he was bored, and had decided to sponsor a team of superheroes to gain a little vicarious excitement. Either way, the fact that he needed a bodyguard as formidable as Iron Man said something about him, and Steve wasn't entirely sure if that something was good. You could tell a lot about a man from the quality of his enemies.

"Everything checks out fine, as far as I can tell." Pym looked up from the device he was currently fiddling with and smiled. He looked as if he were a couple of years older than Steve; it was jarring to think that this man hadn't even been born yet when Steve had fallen from that plane. "You're in amazing shape for somebody who's been on ice for sixty years. This was mostly just a formality, anyway. I'm sure SHIELD's doctors will want to take a look at you again, later, but that'll probably be just a formality as well."

Steve hopped off the table, the tile floor cold under his bare feet. "I don't suppose you know why?" he asked. "I mean, why I didn't age?"

"My best guess is that the combination of the low temperature of the ice and the latent healing factor of the supersoldier serum combined to put you into a state of suspended animation."

"You mean, I'm the same age now as I was in 1945 because I was frozen?" Saying it aloud made it sound even more ridiculous. He shouldn't even be alive, much less the same age. People didn't get frozen solid in icebergs and survive to tell the tale, not outside of science fiction pulp magazines.

Pym looked slightly abashed, frowning down at his instruments again. "Basically, yes. I know it sounds silly, but stranger things happen all the time."

Steve wasn't going to argue that. He quelled the impulse to ask 'what strange things?" and just nodded. "Can I put my shirt back on now?" He picked up the tunic of his costume, examining the holes torn and burned into the blue leather. "Actually, do you know if there's anywhere I could find a new one? Or some civilian clothes?" It occurred to him, suddenly, that he had no idea what everyday clothing looked like in the future. Maybe the skin-tight, brightly colored costumes Pym and the Wasp wore weren't costumes at all. Maybe that was simply how people dressed now.

"Iron Man called ahead and let Tony know you were coming." Pym waved a hand dismissively. "I'm sure he'll have clothes for you. But about the supersoldier serum; you realize that, once word gets out that you're back, there are going to be a lot of people who will be very interested in you. They've tried to re-create the serum a number of times, but you're the only known successful test subject." He frowned, then added, "Look, if anyone wants to use you to restart the project, tell them no. And don't be afraid to call the Avengers if they give you a hard time about it. Some of the scientists who've worked on the Weapon X project over the years were not very nice people."

"I know," Steve said. The two attempts to recreate the supersoldier formula during the war had both been spectacular failures; the soldiers the flawed formulas had been tested on had gone insane. "I suppose I'll need to contact the army and let them know I'm still alive."

Pym shrugged. "I wouldn't worry about that. SHIELD is a UN-sponsored military organization; I'm sure they'll be able to get things straightened out with the army for you."

They probably would able to, in the long run, but Steve had seen the kind of red tape that inevitably arose when different military services collaborated. He needed money, a valid ID, a roof over his head; all he had right now was his shield and a slightly torn costume. He didn't even know where he was going to sleep tonight, unless the Avengers were nice enough to offer him a room.

"You should talk to Tony when he gets here," Pym went on, seemingly reading Steve's mind. "I'm sure he'll be able to get you anything you need."

Steve was about to protest that he didn't want to be anybody's charity case when there was a knock on the door.

The door opened to reveal a tall, dark-haired man with an armful of clothing. "I thought you could probably use this," he said, hefting the bundle of fabric.

"Thanks," Steve said. He accepted the clothing, turning to set it on the exam table.

The dark-haired man looked Steve up and down slowly. "I called my secretary and had her buy some things for you. She guessed at the sizes, but I think it should all fit."

"Thanks," Steve repeated. He studied the other man in turn. His hair and closely-trimmed goatee were black, and he was only a little shorter than Steve, broad through the shoulders, but otherwise leanly built. His face was angular, with sharply cut cheekbones, and his eyes were a dark blue-grey color. Steve had no idea who he was. "Do you work for Mr. Stark?"

The man grinned, and Steve revised his estimate of his age down a few years; despite the facial hair, he was probably Steve's age or younger.

"I am Mr. Stark," he said. "But don't call me that. The people I'd like to hear it from all refuse to, and it would just be strange coming from someone who wasn't on my board of directors. Everyone calls me Tony."

"If you came down here to poke at him, you're too late," Pym said. "The medical exam's over, and I think he's been through more than enough for one day."

"I'm fine, really," Steve said. This was Tony Stark, the Avengers' wealthy benefactor? He was barely into his twenties. Steve looked him over once more; taking in the open shirt collar, loose tie, and rumpled hair. Stark must have inherited all that money, he decided.

"I just came down to bring clothes, I swear," Stark said. He smirked at Pym. "I was planning on waiting a few hours before I asked if I could have a look at his shield."

"This was a medical examination," Pym protested. "I wanted to make sure he was all right after that much time in the ice. It was not just an excuse to indulge my scientific curiosity. I have some restraint."

This had the ring of an oft-repeated argument, and Steve doubted it actually had much to do with him. These two men clearly knew each other better than Stark's apparent role as simple financial backer would suggest.

"I also have test results to analyze," Pym added, raising his eyebrows at Stark.

"I get the hint, Highpockets." Stark turned to Steve, putting a hand on his bare arm. "Come on, put the clothes on so you won't shock Jarvis, and I'll give you the tour.

Steve inspected the pile of folded clothing more carefully. Denim jeans, a blue cotton undershirt, underwear, and socks.

"I had no idea what shoe size you wore," Stark said, as Steve pulled off the remains of his leather pants and started donning the new clothing. "Sorry."

"That's all right," Steve said. "I like my boots." The red boots were familiar, and right now, Steve was glad of it. He began pulling the t-shirt over his head. "Who is Jarvis?"

"Technically, he's the butler," the blue fabric of the shirt blocked Steve's view of Stark, but he sounded as if he was smiling. "In point of fact, he's here to run my life, because he seems to think I can't be trusted to do it myself."

Steve finished pulling on the shirt, and stepped into his boots, stamping each foot once to settle them on his feet. "The butler," he repeated.

"If you want my opinion," Pym said, "I think he thinks that none of us can run our own lives."

The Avengers had their own butler. Like Batman. Iron Man had said that they were a little like the Invaders, but Steve wasn't seeing many similarities, beyond the fact that they had costumes and powers. For one thing, no one had called him an "ignorant human" yet.

Namor had been very fond of that phrase. He liked to present himself as very much a Prince of Atlantis, and preferred to ignore the fact that he was half-human himself.

The Invaders -- Steve, Bucky, Namor, Jim Hammond, and Toro -- only functioned as a team when they were assigned joint missions. Most of the time, it was just Steve and Bucky; he spent almost as much time on missions with the army's Howling Commando special operations unit as he did with Jim and Namor.

These people lived together; they had a permanent headquarters, with staff. From the conversations he'd overheard while on the submarine, Thor, Iron Man, Pym, and Wasp were, if not friends, at least all friendly. Even Stark, their financier, seemed to be more of a colleague than a boss or business partner.

"Right," Steve said. "I'm ready for that tour now."

The mansion was huge, far bigger than four people really needed, but it wasn't as intimidatingly opulent as some of the manor houses Steve had seen in England. There were none of the giant, gold-framed mirrors or dark, ancient oil paintings of long-dead relatives that Steve had half-expected. It also helped that the furniture was plain varnished wood instead of carved and gilded; he'd always thought gilt was ugly, anyway.

Last year, he and Bucky had stayed overnight in French chateau. A Nazi general had been using it as his field headquarters, but all of the original seventeenth and eighteenth century furniture had still been there. Steve had been afraid to touch it.

"This place was built around the turn of the century by a steel magnate," Stark said, as he led Steve through the front hall. The ceiling was two stories high, and a wide, grand staircase with an ornate metal railing swept up to the second floor. "My father bought it in the early seventies. I pretty much grew up here. I couldn't possibly live in this huge old place alone, though, and I wanted it to be used for something good." He nodded towards the staircase, lips quirking. "I broke my collarbone when I was five, trying to slide down that railing."

"I grew up in an apartment building on the lower East Side," Steve offered in turn. "So there weren't any railings to slide down. I fell off the fire escape once when I was eight, though. I had to get stitches in my knee." He'd been playing Robin Hood with Arnie, the kid from across the street. His mother had been less than thrilled, since they hadn't been allowed out on the fire escape in the first place.

"All those years reading about you in school, I never pictured you taking a dive off a fire escape." Stark sounded amused, smiling a little.

Steve looked away, feeling his face heat. "I can't believe people still read about me."

Stark pointed at a deep gouge carved into the wooden floorboards just at the base of the stairs. "That's from Thor's hammer. I thought Jarvis was going to kill him. It's the only time I've ever seen Thor look intimidated."

Stark's next words, whatever they might have been, were cut off by a loud banging from the front door.

Steve flinched, dropping automatically into a crouch and reaching for his shield. Beside him, Stark stiffened, freezing in place.

A dignified-looking middle-aged man in a dark suit emerged from one of the side hallways, hurrying toward the door, and Steve forced himself to relax. It was just a knock on the door, nothing to get excited over.

Stark's rigid posture eased, and he, too, began striding toward the door. Steve frowned; the other man had jumped at the sudden noise like a soldier on the verge of combat fatigue. Maybe the fancy armored bodyguard wasn't just for show.

Before either Stark or the other man -- presumably Jarvis -- could reach it, the door was flung open, rebounding off the far wall with a crash. A tall, barrel-chested man in a black, military-style uniform stood framed in the doorway. He had an eye-patch, Steve noted, and grey streaks as his temples.

"Stark," he growled in a familiar voice, stabbing a familiar unlit cigar in Stark's direction. "I told ya you were gonna lose those contracts if ya didn't bring that hunk a' ice straight to SHIELD. Was that too obscure fer ya?"

Steve blinked. The figure in the doorway remained the same. "Nick?" The last time he'd seen Sergeant Nick Fury, it had been in a bar in Paris. Fury had been in grimy combat fatigues, cheerfully knocking a marine unconscious with a beer bottle. The eye-patch and grey hair were new, and he was noticeably cleaner, though no less ill-shaven, but he definitely didn't look sixty years older.

Nick gaped at him. "Rogers? Don't tell me they already thawed ya out?" He rounded on Stark. "Ya were supposed to turn him over to the proper authorities, which in this case, is me." He stabbed a thumb at his chest.

"Did I hear you right, Nick?" a second, even taller and larger man stepped into the doorway, elbowing Nick to one side. "My god, Cap!" Like Nick, Dum Dum Dugan looked almost unchanged from the last time Steve had seen him (in his case, striding out of that Parisian bar with Nick's unconscious body slung over one massive shoulder). He had the same battered bowler hat and flaming red mustache that he'd worn as long as Steve had known him.

Nick ignored him, still glaring. "Dragging him back here is practically kidnapping."

Stark raised his eyebrows. "I don't know," he said. "Considering that he was discovered in international waters by a Stark Enterprises employee operating a Stark Enterprises-owned submarine... technically, under international salvage law, Captain America here is my property." He turned slightly and smirked at Steve, signaling that he was joking.

Steve found himself grinning back. Stark was clearly quick on the uptake, as well as possessed of a backbone. Very few people actually argued with Nick Fury, and even fewer of them were successful. The only people Steve had seen do it with impunity were the other Howling Commandos, and of them, only Dum Dum Dugan, Nick's second-in-command, had ever won.

"Ah, enough 'a that," Dugan said. He shoved Nick out of the way and crossed the entry hall to Steve in two long strides, grabbing him up in a bearhug. "We all thought you were dead," he said, pounding Steve vigorously between the shoulder blades.

Steve thumped him on the back, smiling so hard it hurt his face. "Dum Dum, can't breathe."

Dugan released him, and Steve took a step back, shaking his head. "Bucky always said you and Nick were going to make a deal with the devil someday, but I never actually believed him. Not that I'm not glad to see you, but... how are you here?" Steve asked.

"And not old and decrepit, you mean?" Dugan nodded towards Nick. "Ask him. It's a damn long story."

"You're not the only government science project running around now," Nick said.

Dugan was regarding him more serious now. "I'm sorry about what happened to Barnes," he said. "He was a good kid."

Steve stared down at the polished wooden floor. The lines between the floorboards blurred and wavered for a second. He blinked, hard, and looked back up at Dugan. "He was," he said quietly, wondering if the words sounded so strained to everyone else.

"Come on back to HQ with me and I'll get ya a place to sleep while we get yer life straightened back out," Nick said, clapping Steve on the shoulder with what stopped just short of being bruising force.

"Or you can stay here for the time being and go by the barber shop in the morning," Stark put in. "It's nearly eight o' clock already; it's not like anything will be getting done tonight." He waved a hand at the massive staircase. "There's plenty of space."

Steve looked from Stark to the two Howling Commandos. From what he'd heard from the Avengers about SHIELD, it was some sort of secret military organization, which had something to do with espionage or guerilla warfare. He liked Nick and Dugan, but he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to immediately hand himself over to the custody of a secret government organization that was apparently run by Sergeant Fury. He'd had enough of government labs for one lifetime. "Thank you," he said. "I'd like that."

"Fine," Nick growled. He turned to Stark. "Stark, we need to go over the plans for my new headquarters. You can bring him and them around at 0900 hours."

The Avengers Mansion hadn't been overwhelming in the light of day, but in the middle of the night, it was vast and echoing.

Steve had tried to sleep, but instead had tossed and turned, waking up over and over from dreams he was glad he couldn't remember. He had finally given up, and now was wandering the halls, trying not to feel sorry for himself.

The big, old building felt completely deserted. Thor had disappeared somewhere shortly after they'd all arrived in New York that afternoon, and Dr. Pym and Wasp had gone to bed several hours ago, someplace in one of the Mansion's many, many rooms.

Tony Stark had left for his apartment, apparently located much closer to Stark Enterprises' offices, and Steve had no idea where Iron Man was. Guarding Stark's apartment, maybe.

He was starting to wish he had gone with Nick and Dugan after all. On the one hand, he hadn't wanted to be stuck in some government lab, but on the other, being a military operation, SHIELD headquarters would have had people around at all hours.

Steve had wandered through a grand ballroom that had been converted to a gymnasium, an atrium, and past what had very obviously once been bedrooms. Then he had taken the back stairway down to the first floor, with a vague idea of finding the kitchen. Instead, he had found what seemed like miles of empty hallways, the art deco wall sconces casting weird shadows in the half-light that streamed in from the windows.

He turned a corner, and found himself staring straight at his own reflection in a large, gilt-framed mirror. He managed not to jump, but only just. Further down the hall, one of the doors was open, light pooling out onto the dark, Oriental rug that lined the hallway.

Steve hesitated, not wanting to disturb whichever of the Avengers it might be, then decided that, if they'd really wanted privacy, they would have closed the door.

The lit room was clearly a library, tall wooden bookcases lining each wall. Iron Man, still wearing his red and gold metal armor, was sitting in a high-backed armchair, reading a book.

He looked up when Steve entered the room. "Cap," he said, in that slightly hollow voice. "You're up late. Is everything all right? Is there anything you need?"

"Oh, no, I'm fine," Steve said. Iron Man had been nice to him, but Steve had known him for less than a day. He wasn't going to burden him with his problems, and certainly wasn't going to mention nightmares that he himself could barely even remember. "I just couldn't sleep."

"I know how that feels," Iron Man said. The mask made it impossible to see his expression, which was still a little disconcerting.

Steve took a seat on the low couch across from him. "This place is pretty empty at night."

"I think that's why Stark let us use it." Iron Man closed his book, setting it down on an end table. "I know I wouldn't want to live here by myself."

"No," Steve agreed. The light from the reading lamp at Iron Man's elbow reflected dully off his red breastplate. It struck Steve suddenly as strange that he was wearing his armor at this time of night, for something as simple as sitting up with a book. Even though he was fairly sure by this point that Iron Man really was a man and not a robot, it was possible that he couldn't take the armor off. Maybe there was something wrong with him. Maybe he'd had polio, or been badly scarred in an accident while working for Stark, and the armor concealed some hidden affliction.

"When I signed on for this job, I didn't expect it to come with so many perks. For one thing, I never thought I'd end up with a team. And none of us every dreamed that we'd find you."

It did sound like a good job, coming as it did with an automatic roof over your head and a team to guard your back. It was also a dangerous job, if the various long and rambling stories Thor had told him on the submarine had been at all accurate.

Steve had a lot of experience with dangerous jobs; they were all he'd done since the war started. He'd never made any real plans for what he would do with his life once the war was over, beyond little things like walking through Central Park, or eating at the Rainbow Room just once, or watching the Dodgers play again -- which, according to Iron Man, was impossible now -- because he'd never really thought beyond the end of the war -- hadn't entirely expected to see the other side of it.

He'd expected to go down fighting, not to have someone else take the fall for him.

But now the war was long over, and the army would have no need for a supersoldier anymore, except maybe as a lab experiment, and he didn't need Dr. Pym to tell him not to agree to that. The only other thing Steve was qualified for was working as a copy artist for an advertising firm, and he hadn't wanted to spend his life behind a desk even before the war.

He hadn't signed on to be Captain America; he'd just wanted to be a soldier, to do his part. But he knew he was a heck of a lot better at being Captain America than he ever would have been at being an artist.

The Avengers had chosen to be superheroes, without any war for them to fight, and with this thorough a set-up, they obviously expected to spend a long time doing this.

"Thor and the others," Steve started, "they all have superpowers."

Iron Man nodded.

"But you don't?" Steve made it a question, though he was relatively certain he was right. If he had powers, he wouldn't need that armor.

"No." Iron Man spread his hands. "I'm just a guy in a tin suit."

Steve nodded. "So, why do you do this? When I volunteered for the supersoldier program, I just wanted to join the war effort. To serve my country."

"The same reason, I guess." Iron Man shrugged metal-covered shoulders ever-so-slightly. "I wanted to help people. I've been very lucky; something happened to me about a year ago. I should have died, but I didn't, and now I have to earn that, to be worthy of that. I'm just glad Tony Stark's armor's given me the chance to."

So there was something wrong with him under that metal shell, Steve thought. "Back when I come from, and doesn't that sound strange to say," and stranger still to think, "people didn't do this. It's like something out of Superman. The Submariner, the Human Torch, and I, we did it because we were fighting something that was terribly evil. What is there to fight now? Other than this Hulk monster."

"Just because the war ended doesn't mean that terrible evils aren't still around," Iron Man said solemnly. "And some of those evils can't be fought by regular people, or by ordinary means." He made a little, half-laughing sound. "Sorry. This kind of thing probably isn't going to help you sleep."

That wasn't entirely true. Even though it was sad to think that the end of the war hadn't eradicated the need for people like Steve, if there were still threats that could only be handle by an Iron Man, or a Thor, then Steve might still have a purpose, even if it meant having to carry on alone.

"That's all right," he said.

Iron Man waved a hand, taking in the library around them. "When I can't sleep, reading sometimes helps." He stood, walked over to one of the bookshelves, and pulled out a book, holding it out to Steve.

Steve rose to his feet and crossed the room to take the book. "The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes," he read aloud. "I used to love these when I was a kid." They were great adventure stories with lots of wonderful visual detail, and he'd wanted to be just like Holmes and Watson; when Steve had been ten, he and Arnie had sworn they were going to move to London and live in an apartment on Baker Street and solve mysteries when they grew up. Then Hell's Angels had come out, and Steve had decided that he wanted to be a fighter pilot. Arnie had never quite forgiven him for that. "How did you guess?"

"I didn't." Iron Man shook his head, shrugging. "I just always liked the way Holmes always had a logical solution at the end."

"Thanks," Steve said again. "I'll let you get back to your book. See you in the morning."

Iron Man nodded. "I hope that helps. You should probably try to get some sleep before you're subjected to Nick Fury again."

"You too," Steve said, smiling, and left the library, book in hand.

Back in the room he was staying in, Steve sat against the bed's wooden headboard and turned on the bedside lamp, opening the book to the first page.

"Happy 8th birthday, Tony," was written on the inside of the front cover in a carefully looping hand. "Love, your mother."

Steve flipped to the table of contents; 'The Hound of the Baskervilles' was at the end of the book. He found the first page, and began to read.

"Mr. Sherlock Holmes, who was usually very late in the mornings, save upon those not-infrequent occasions when he was up all night, was seated at the breakfast table..."

"Well," Tony observed, as the elevator that had taken them up from SHIELD's underground headquarters came to a halt on the ground floor, "That was less painful that it could have been."

The elevator door opened, and the five of them stepped out into a supply closet. SHIELD's main headquarters were hidden underneath a barber's shop in the East Village; you reached them through a secret elevator located in the back of the supply closet, behind a shelf of shampoo. The emergency entrance was a trick barber's chair that dropped down to the lower level via a trapdoor. Tony was in complete sympathy with Nick Fury's desire for a new base of operations.

"Yes," Hank said. "We could have had to talk to ten army generals instead of only five."

He was wearing civilian clothing -- they all were, except Thor, who didn't have civilian clothing -- but Tony suspected that he had his costume on underneath.

"Sorry," Cap said.

Jan ignored both him and Hank. "I know," she said. "Fury could have actually followed through on his threat to take away your contracts."

"And give them back to Hammer Industries?" Tony raised his eyebrows. "They're the only other private company with the capacity and knowledge to make adamantium, and Fury's pretty sure they're secretly providing it to Victor Von Doom." Not to mention that Justin Hammer's engineering department was nowhere near capable of meeting the technological requirements for Fury's new project. Tony was probably going to end up asking Dr. Reed Richards for help with the anti-matter containment for the fuel system as it was.

He was pretty sure Fury hadn't gotten around to informing Hammer of whom exactly he'd chosen to build his new HQ yet; the old tycoon hadn't yet called Tony up to froth.

"I'd say Nick's bark is worse than his bite, but it's really not." Cap stepped around a box of after-shave and reached for the closet door. "I didn't expect the army to have so many questions, though."

"Most people who go MIA don't re-appear in the same condition sixty years later," Hank said. "Just be glad they were satisfied with the fingerprints and bloodtyping, and didn't demand a tissue sample. The only reason they didn't do a DNA test was because they have anything to match it to."

The SHIELD doctors had had a field day with Cap, while several men in suits whom Tony recognized as government agents stood back and took notes. Fury had called in the U.S. military for verification, and so that they could get a start on the paperwork that would eventually get Cap declared legally alive again, and get him all of the backpay the army owed him. They had been especially interested in Cap's blood samples, though they'd hid their disappointment well when Cap insisted that they be destroyed rather than kept for study.

Tony suspected that Hank had been the one to suggest that Cap ask for that. He vaguely recalled that Hank had done a study on some aspect of the Weapon X program a few years ago.

"I had expected them to have a warmer welcome for such a renowned warrior." Thor's deep voice was disapproving. He closed the closet door firmly behind them, and Tony heard a thud as something inside the supply closet fell off a shelf.

The barber shop was used almost exclusively by SHIELD personnel, so no one looked twice when four people in street clothes and a seven foot tall man in red cape strode casually out of the closet and into the main room.

Cap hefted the small cardboard box he was carrying. "At least they gave me my things back." He glanced at his reflection in the wall-length mirror and shook his head. "I need a haircut."

Instead of the regulation-length crew cut Cap had sported in all of those old propaganda photos, his blond hair had grown out into a floppy mess, and was hanging in his eyes. It was oddly endearing.

The sun was bright overhead, the glare nearly blinding after the hours of artificial light. Tony blinked, and pulled out his cellphone to have Happy bring the car around. Judging by the wide-eyed stare Cap was wearing as he watched the cars and pedestrians go by, subjecting him to the subway might not be the best idea.

"It is midday," Thor observed. "We should find somewhere to dine."

He had scarcely spoken when two large, black vans screeched to a stop in front of them, one of them running its right front wheel up onto the sidewalk. The back doors of both vehicles were thrown open in unison, and a mass of men in dark clothing came pouring out. They were all armed with sub-automatic weapons.

Tony dropped his cellphone and flung himself behind the nearest illegally parked car as the men opened fire. He was intensely grateful for a moment that Fury didn't know that he was Iron Man, and that he'd therefore been able to bring the briefcase that held his armor along without challenge. It paid to be paranoid.

He was in the armor and out from behind the car -- a red Ford explorer -- in less then thirty seconds, the sound of gunfire ringing in his ears. Jan was already in Wasp form, diving at the face of a dark-haired man who was bringing his weapon to bear on a twelve-foot-high Hank. Thor was advancing step by step on the attackers, Mjolnir a spinning wall of metal in front of him; bullets were ricocheting off it with sharp clangs.

Cap had removed his shield from the backpack that had hidden it and had somehow stripped out of his jeans and t-shirt, revealing red, white, and blue leather; there had been several spare costumes amongst the items that had been returned to him. As Tony watched, he dropped to the pavement to duck a stream of bullets, rolled to his feet again, and threw his shield, catching one of their assailants directly in the chest. He spun and kicked the gun out of the hands of a man creeping up behind him, reached up with one hand to catch his returning shield, and used it to block another gunshot. He fought as if he were dancing, every movement perfectly choreographed, economical and without wasted motion.

Tony raised his hands and triggered his repulsor beam, blasting two of the gunmen off their feet. "You've made a big mistake, fellows," he said, letting the equipment in his helmet amplify the words. "Who sent you? I hope he's paying you well."

The "low power" warning chime sounded inside his helmet. Tony ignored it. He hadn't charged his armor's power cells that morning. He hadn't thought he'd need to.

One of the men, dark-haired and tanned, was struggling back to his feet, cursing in what sounded like a mix of Spanish and German. His companion, a blond with a brutally short buzz cut, stayed on the ground, unmoving.

"Bullets are futile against the power of the mighty Mjolnir!" Thor shouted. He hit one of the gunmen with his hammer; the man was lifted off his feet and went sailing into two of his companions.

After that, it was mostly a matter of cleaning up. A few minutes later, most of the men were on the ground, groaning, save for one whom Hank was holding upside down, several feet off the ground. He was at least fifteen feet tall now, bigger than Tony had ever seen him grow to.

"Nice job, Highpockets," Tony told him.

Hank gave him a funny look. "I've been thinking," he observed conversationally. "I don't think my code name should be Ant-Man anymore."

"¡Libereme¡Dejeme!" the man yelled. He was young, and almost as blond as Cap.

"I was wondering about that," Cap said. "Why is your code name Ant-Man? You look more like a 'Giant-Man' to me."

Hank shrugged, accidentally shaking the man he was holding, who cursed at him. "I used to shrink down, like Jan. And I have a helmet that lets me talk to ants."

Cap nodded. "That sounds reasonable." Going by the baffled expression on his face, he thought it was anything but. People tended to react that way when Hank gave his "I talk to ants" explanation. Tony would have, too, if he hadn't seen them in action.

Jan fluttered over to land on Hank's shoulder, peering down at the upside-down man. "He thought ants might be useful in crime fighting."

Cap nodded again, clearly still baffled. He crouched down, putting himself face to face with Hank's prisoner. "Who are you? Why were you sent to kill us?"

"Viva El Presidente," the man snarled, and ground his teeth together.

"Stop him," Tony called out, stepping forward, but it was too late. The man had already gone limp, obviously dead.

"Cyanide," Cap said, straightening. "There must have been a capsule inside his mouth."

"They are all dead," Thor announced gravely.

Tony glanced down at the pavement. Hank had obviously relieved the dead man of his weapon, and it was now lying forgotten in the street. The ugly black gun had a wide stock and a long barrel, and was composed largely of dense, high-tech plastic. It would be able to pass through an airport metal detector un-noticed.

"Someone spent a lot of money to arm these men," he said.

Cap turned to him, frowning. "Where's your boss? He was standing right next to me."

"I, ah, flew him to safety," Tony said quickly. "He called me as soon as the shooting started." There was a sudden hollow ringing in his ears, and a sharp stab of pain in the center of his chest. The words "Warning: power at 0.5" appeared in the lower left-hand corner of his vision, courtesy of the helmet's display system.

"Iron Man! Are you all right? Were you injured?"

Cap sounded upset, or maybe angry. Why was he angry? Tony closed his eyes against the pain and hissed a subvocalized command shutting down half the armor's systems, and activating the short-term emergency battery.

The pain lessened immediately, as a surge of power flowed into his chest device, and the electromagnetic field that kept the shrapnel in his heart from killing him returned to full strength. It would only stay that way for a few minutes. He needed to recharge.

"Iron Man?"

Tony opened his eyes. Cap had grabbed him by the elbow and was holding him upright.

"I'm fine," he said, straightening and pulling away. "I just need some mechanical assistance. I think one of my transistors is broken." He opened a satellite line to Happy. "Hap, bring the boss's car. The emergency model. We've had some complications."

"Low battery?" There was a clear note of concern underlying the amusement in Happy's voice. "You know Pep said you should recharge more often."

"I hate you both," Tony informed him. "Just bring the damned car." The "emergency" model had a hidden outlet that he could connect the armor's power supply to, allowing him to run it -- and, by extension, his chest device -- off the car's battery for the duration of the ride.

"Captain America is correct," Thor said, peering at Tony with a frown. "You... seem unwell. Are you sure you were not wounded in the battle?"

"I said I was fine," Tony protested.

He was saved by Nick Fury, as SHIELD agents flooded out of the building and into the street. "What the hell is this?" Fury shouted, bursting out of the barber shop with gun in hand.

"Nothing we couldn't handle," Hank said, shrinking slowly back to his usual height. His clothes had disappeared, probably torn apart, leaving him in just the red Ant-Man costume.

Tony looked around, taking in their fallen attackers; there were nearly two dozen of them, their limp bodies littering the street and sidewalk. Hank was right. They had no idea who was after them, but they had been able to deal with these men easily. The four of them had always fought well together, but with Cap there, they had been better than ever, better than the addition of a single person ought to have accounted for.

Cap had nowhere to go in this time, save for back to the army, and had obviously been feeling a little lost. If the others had no objections, Tony decided, the Avengers should ask him to stay.

"So, once again, you have failed me, Hammer."

Justin Hammer gritted his teeth, and forced down the desire to snap that the intelligence he had provided had been entirely accurate, and that it was, in fact, El Presidente Heinrich Zemo's men who had failed. "I provided you with my former client's location," he said instead, his voice falsely mild. "I trust the information was not incorrect?"

"The location was indeed correct," El Presidente's voice was harsh. "However, none of the other information had any bearing upon reality, and it is thanks to you that Rogers, rather than being securely in my possession, is running around at liberty, unfrozen and alive. This is precisely what you promised to prevent."

"My source in SHIELD informed me that Stark, Ant-Man, the Wasp, and Thor were going to deliver Rogers to the barbershop. They said nothing about him being awake, or about Iron Man's presence." It was common knowledge that Colonel Fury wouldn't allow Stark to bring his bodyguard on SHIELD premises; Fury didn't allow non-military personnel to enter his headquarters under arms, especially not private mercenaries, which is what Stark's tin-plated toy essentially was. Even accounting for the man's jet-boots, Stark shouldn't have been able to summon him so quickly.

Stark... The damned brat was everywhere Hammer looked, the spanner in the works every time he turned around. He had built Hammer Industries from the ground up, had started out as a boy little older than Stark, arriving in New York from London after the war with little more than the clothes on his back. He'd worked for everything he had.

Anthony Stark was a spoiled playboy who'd never had to work for a damn thing in his life. There was a reason Howard Stark had been disappointed in him.

Hammer had counted on the SHIELD raid to keep him in El Presidente's good graces; he needed that cheap Vespugian oil, or Hammer Industries would go under. And Stark's flashy bodyguard has ruined everything.

And, as if it weren't enough that he'd stolen the SHIELD security and weapon contracts from behind Hammer's back, Stark had also snatched up the chance to design and construct SHIELD's new headquarters. Probably the most lucrative defense bid of the past twenty years, and Hammer hadn't even heard a whisper about it until this morning, when the Daily Bugle had run a notice in the back of their business section, announcing Fury's intent to shift to a more visible base of operation in the same sentence that it revealed that this new contract had already been awarded to Stark Enterprises.

It wouldn't have been so bad if he'd still been dealing with Howard. He'd been another self-made man, even if he had bought himself respectability by marrying that Carbonell woman. Howard Stark had been a man one could lose to without losing face.

"I am surprised to hear you taking this so lightly, Justin," El Presidente spat. "After all, this will shortly be your problem, as well. I have heard you complaining about these so-called 'Avengers' of yours, but I can assure you that Rogers is worse by far. Vespugia is several thousand kilometers away from him. You, on the other hand, are separated from him by a mere handful of city blocks."

"Do you really think Hammer Industries has anything to fear from some World War II hero?" El Presidente's arrogance blinded him to the fact that his concerns were not everyone's; he liked to style himself as a national leader, but he was little more than an aging plutocrat, whose hold over people only went so far. "My company has never been convicted of any wrongdoing. I am not a Nazi war criminal hiding in the Amazon jungle."

"No," El Presidente's whispery voice dropped to a low purr, "but, my dear Justin, you are working for one. And if you wish to continue doing so, you will see to it that Rogers is nobody's problem."

"Rogers is a relic," Hammer said. Much as Heinrich Zemo was. "My men should have no problem with him." He snapped his cell phone closed before El Presidente could reply.

He would deal with Steve Rogers; Justin Hammer was a man who kept his word. But first, he would handle Anthony Stark. No one made a fool of Justin Hammer without paying for it.

"I see that you returned safely," Jarvis said, as he held the door open for Steve. Even after nearly four days at the Avengers Mansion, Steve still couldn't get used to the fact that there was a real, live butler to open the door for him. It helped that Edwin Jarvis was extremely nice. "I trust you had no trouble finding your way around, sir?"

Steve shook his head. "I found my way back to Nick's barbershop just fine." There were a few more subway lines than he remembered, but sorting them out hadn't been difficult. The only confusing part of the trip had been the tiny, portable telephones everyone around had been talking on continuously; according to Iron Man, they were called "cellphones" and worked via some kind of radio wave. Or possibly magic, Steve wasn't entirely sure. The explanation had been highly technical and had involved a lot of hand gestures.

It had been extremely disconcerting to keep hearing respectable-looking men in suits apparently talking to themselves.

"The others are in the conference room," Jarvis went on, taking Steve's new trench coat -- Steve had the feeling he'd have had to wrestle the man for it if he'd wanted to keep wearing it -- and folding it carefully over one arm.

"Oh. Um, where is the conference room?"

"Upstairs and to the left." Jarvis nodded toward the grand staircase. "I'm sure you'll be able to hear them."

Steve could, in fact, hear the assembled Avengers before he reached the room; Thor's voice carried clearly even though the mansion's heavy wooden doors.

"I am greatly relieved to learn that there have been no signs of my kinsman. May he languish a thousand more years in captivity."

Steve knocked, for form's sake, and then opened the door. Beyond it was a medium-sized room with a large, round table in the center, made out of some kind of dark wood. The four Avengers were seated around it, all of them in costume. There was a fifth chair sitting empty between Iron Man and Thor.

"I see you've escaped SHIELD's clutches again," Pym observed. "Come in and sit down. We've been waiting for you."

Steve took a seat in the only available chair, intensely aware that everybody's eyes were on him.

"How did it go with Fury?" Jan asked. She had shrunk down to five or six inches in height and was perched on the edge of the table.

Steve took a deep breath. He had rehearsed what he was going to say on the train, but that didn't make the decision any easier. It wasn't as if he had a lot of options, though. "The army bureaucracy is still trying to decide whether being dead removed me from active duty or not, but I think they're coming down on the side of removal." He stared down at his hands, then looked back up at the Avengers. They had all been more than kind to him, and he couldn't in good conscience impose on them any longer. "The doctors cleared me for active duty, though, and Nick's offered me a job with SHIELD. I haven't agreed yet, but I've, ah, decided to take it." It wasn't as if he had any other marketable skills, and according to Nick and Dugan, he would be doing some of the same kinds of things he'd done before, during the war.

He still wasn't entirely sure that it was actually what he wanted to do. Either he would be working alone, which he'd never liked, or taking orders from someone, which he'd never been good at; Nick wouldn't put him charge of anyone until he'd proven himself, which he would have to do all over again.

"And I just want you all to know," he went on, "that I'm very grateful for your hospitality over the past few days."

"You sound uncertain, my friend," Thor said, clapping Steve on the shoulder. "You are our comrade in arms, now; you may lodge with us as long as you like."

Steve knew he was staring at Thor stupidly, but he couldn't think of anything to say. He had never expected this. They barely even knew him, had only seen him in action once.

Jan smiled. "I think what Thor is trying to say, is that if you would like to join the team, you're more than welcome to."

"Thank you," he finally managed. "That's very nice, but you shouldn't feel obligated-"

"I don't take advantage of it myself," Jan said, ignoring him, "but Avengers draw a salary and are offered living quarters in the Mansion."

"Don't be an idiot," Pym added. "You're Captain America; you're a living legend. And you made us breakfast yesterday." He grinned, but Steve thought he was only partially joking.

"You're the only person I've ever seen Jarvis let use his stove," Iron Man put in solemnly. "If you don't want to throw yourself upon the mercy of SHIELD, you'd be a valuable addition to the team, and we'd be proud to have you."

Steve could feel his face heating. He glanced away for a second, rubbed awkwardly at the back of his neck. "I'd like that," he stammered finally. "I'd be honored to join you." When they had first told him that he was sixty years out of time, and that everything he knew was gone, it had seemed a little like the end of the world, like there was nothing left for him. But maybe here, with these people, he could make something new for himself.

The End of part one.