Steve Rogers

Now that all was forgiven--or at least aggressively forgotten about--Steve was back on the invitation list for commemorative wreath laying. As one of the few mobile WWII veterans, Steve's inbox had been filled with options, but he always chose Arlington for the chance to stop in for a few moments with the Howling Commandos, buried in their own section, before the pomp and circumstance by the Tomb of the Unknowns began.

Dressed in his blues, laden down with ribbons, it was hard for Steve to be inconspicuous, but most of the people in the cemetery were visiting their own friends and relatives, and so if they did recognize him, it was only with the slightest smile of recognition. He was left to his own memories.

Following the wreath laying was a moment of awkwardness with Secretary Ross and another of blinding insincerity from the current President. Steve had a chance to do what he actually loved--interacting with the other veterans--and then could finally pull himself away from the crowd.

Phone in hand as he made his way through the parking lot towards his SHIELD-provided ride, he texted Tony (carefully labeled as Husband!Tony in his contacts): find someplace to eat yet?

It was always a little tricky to keep two Tonys in the same universe from getting photographed and then setting off the conspiracy theorists, so Steve's Tony had to stay inconspicuous. Well, as inconspicuous as a Tony Stark was capable of being...

[OOC: For that guy.]

*47 repeats of It's Gonna Be Me*

I don't think that was entirely necessary, Leroy.

*chittering*

Well, maybe your repeated playing of that song has something to do with why you didn't find much news yesterday.

*chittering*

Well, other than Watts and Steven having lunch, of course. Do you have anything else?

*long, guilty silence*

I promise I won't tell Cara. That's it for today, everyone! Have a good weekend!

A very, very small problem being married to Tony Stark was trying to come up with gifts for the holidays that weren't 1) something he'd already bought for himself 2) something he couldn't make for himself and make better and 3) an island.

Steve tried to go with experiences rather than things, and wandering Chelsea Market, already done up in festive lights, and poking around at the various stands while wearing the patented "don't notice me" superhero costume of ballcaps and hoodies was, in Steve's opinion at least, a swell way to start the season.

He smiled at Tony as they went past the Imports from Marrakesh booth. "We don't have to go to Morocco now," he teased.

Tony and Steve had gone to Manhattan after their class on Thursday and gotten bagels to bring back to Fandom, but somehow (Steve) they had all been eaten (Steve) in the past four days (Steve, and also Fee).

So now they were back in the city for a new, bigger batch to take home with them, and to appreciate the start of autumn in the city with a walk through Central Park, which was just enough nature for two born-and-bred city boys.

"This is nice," Steve said around a mouthful of food.

Steve had two puppies in cones of shame skittering over wooden floors and an ice pack over one of his eyes as he flopped onto the sofa in Tony's massive mansion living room.

"Who sells the information about puppies getting spayed to Hydra?!" he demanded, his outrage still high despite this being at least the fifth time he'd asked the question.

[OOC: For the husband!]

Jake Jensen was not, let's say, naturally a morning person. Yes, when he was being all he could be he was up with the rest of the Army, jogging and sweating like an idiot, but that wasn't his first inclination. Or second. His inclination was to be up until all hours absolutely destroying some kids in a first-person shooter game and then really rubbing it in that he was old enough to both buy beer and grow a sweet goatee. Sometimes he would take both of those abilities to a bar in search of companionship, which, though he didn't remember doing so last night, appeared to be the case this morning.

This bed was sweet. And enormous. He stretched out his arms and legs, reveling in the feel of sheets that had definitely been washed more recently than his had, and rubbed up against a hairy leg that definitely wasn't his.

Okay. Okay. This was fine. He was an open-minded guy! He--very smoothly, okay--slid his foot up that leg again trying to decide if the leg hair was free-spirited-lady-with-no-time-for-societal-expectations hair or, you know, dude hair.

Both of which would be fine! A-Okay! Nothing to freak out about! He was definitely not freaking out and he'd shoot anyone who said he was.

[OOC: Steve is Jake Jensen from The Losers for the weekend! Open for that dude he's definitely not married to.]

Steve stared at his reflection in the mirror, running his hand over his now beardless jaw.

"Feels weird," he muttered, walking out of the bathroom and reaching for the jacket of his dress uniform. His eyes went across all of the ribbons, making certain none of them were out of place or crooked, then pulled it on and gave his reflection one final look.

"Tony?" he called out. "I'm heading to Arlington."

Now that he wasn't a wanted felon he was back on the speakers circuit for Memorial Day. He'd resent it, but he had too many friends to visit in that cemetery. Making nice with Ross for a half hour was nothing compared to their sacrifices.

Tony had flown Steve, Patriot and himself to their Greek island as an apology for forgetting to emerge from the lab for the first part of the break between classes. (The Greek island had been a gift for something else. Steve tried not to think about it too hard. Sometimes he had to let Tony be Tony.)

The weather was hard to complain about: 80 with bright sun and a light breeze, perfect for laying out next to the pool wearing nothing but a smile (after going for a long, clothed, hike and having a big lunch because Steve had to be Steve, too). Sunscreen had been applied because even the super serum couldn't completely counter the Irishness, and Steve had a book about World War II that was getting enough wrong to keep him entertained.

Mmm, vacation. He tilted his head towards the door Tony had disappeared through a few minutes earlier. "How are the margaritas doing?" he called out.

The party had been a success, and Steve and Tony had fallen into bed and slept hard for the next nine hours.

Tony was still asleep, but Steve had woken up hungry and had headed into the kitchen on the search for leftovers. He was now surrounded by eggs, chopped up onions, leftover roasted boar, and slight wafting of smoke because the omelet pan had gotten entirely too hot. The smoke alarm hadn't gone off, but he was pretty sure JARVIS was going to tattle on him soon. He hoped he would be able to counter Tony's sleepy grumpiness by feeding him leftover cake--and strong, boozy coffee--for breakfast while he cleaned up.

[OOC: For the husband!]

After the students had returned to Fandom, Steve had convinced Tony to stick around and convinced him to go for a walk. Steve was now walking very slowly because he didn't want to push it too far and if Tony realized he was on a hike on purpose, it might end before they got to the waterfall.

"The leaves are really beautiful," he said, smiling. "And I don't feel an urge to chase them."