Chapter Text
Steve had lost his temper. Again. And that was stupid because he knew that his boss had just been looking for a reason to fire him.
Still, the thought that he was going to be replaced by his boss’s girlfriend, who had been his girlfriend until about two months ago, was almost so absurdly bad that it was laughable. He’d liked Sharon, had thought she liked him, and then he’d introduced her to his boss at one of their art shows-
He needed to find a new job. He couldn’t focus on what had just happened- he hadn’t even particularly liked the job- and he needed to find a new job now before he was forced to move in with his mom in that cramped Brooklyn house. She’d be thrilled, he knew; he’d be trying to chew his own leg off within a couple of weeks…
He pulled out his phone. “Nat, I need a job,” he said without preamble when she picked up.
“Are you kidding me?”
“Why would I joke about this?” He lowered his voice. “I’m about to be homeless or worse- move in with my mother- so you have to help me. Please. I’ll take anything at this point.”
“Oh, god, Steve.” She sighed. “Alright, let’s see what there is. You wouldn’t be good at a desk job- I’m not going to bother with those… you don’t have any medical licensing… that wouldn’t work…”
“I know I’m a fuck up,” he said despairingly. “I dropped out of art school to join the army. I have no transferable skills. I’m a meathead who likes to draw.”
“Alright, alright, come down from the ledge. I didn’t mean to insinuate you had no skills. There’s just a lot of jobs that wouldn’t be great for you.” She paused. “How about delivering for a chemical company? You need your big beefy muscles for that, meathead.”
“Delivering chemicals?” he asked doubtfully. “Is this just a fancy way of saying I’m a drug dealer?”
She snorted. “No, dumbass. Actual chemicals and supplies. Like to use in a private lab. Come down to my office, I’ll sign you up. You can start today.”
“Who actually has a lab these days? Dr. Jekyll?” But he started walking towards the nearest subway. “Thanks, Nat.”
The first three deliveries were surprisingly normal. It hadn’t occurred to him that private labs could mean private colleges and small research groups. He’d felt like a specific kind of FedEx worker, reminding him of working the docks with Bucky when they’d been teens. Scientists had signed for whatever it was they were mail ordering and he’d gone on his way.
No fanfare. No brains needed. No interesting aspects to the job. But he couldn’t complain- he needed the work.
This delivery on the other hand… He’d spent at least five minutes- wasted five minutes, really- gaping at a very pricey looking old Manhattan townhouse that looked like it had overtaken the next five plots as well, if the fencing detail was anything to go by. He thought for sure he was in the wrong place, but- he checked his delivery schedule again- he definitely wasn’t.
‘There’s a private lab in here? Why?’ he wondered, loading up his dolley. This he left in the back of his supply van. Better to make sure he was in the right place before hauling it up all those stairs to the front door. He rang the front door bell, feeling his palms sweat for some reason. A man answered the door. “Hi,” he said awkwardly. “I’m Steve Rogers. Are you Mr. Stark?”
A kind if somewhat amused smile. “I’m Mr. Jarvis, actually. Mr. Stark’s butler. He’s been expecting you. Please, come in.”
“Oh, well, actually I think that I need-” But the butler was already disappearing into the house and he hastened to follow. He couldn’t help but feel like a mistake had already been made.
He felt out of place in this townhouse for sure. It had definitely been expanded into the neighboring units; it was huge. He was like the proverbial bull in a china shop. And next to the butler with his suit and English accent, he felt like a total schlub. The company polo shirt was at least a size too small.
The front of the building had looked almost like a museum, all carefully cut flowers and impersonal decorations, but back here- jeez, Steve thought. It was like moving from night to day. Or vice versa. One doorway and he’d stepped into some futuristic lab, all metal and sharp, clean lines. Steve wanted to take out his sketchpad. Was that a robot hanging in the corner?
“Mr. Stark, we have a Mr. Rogers to see you about the job,” the butler said drily and Steve would have corrected him- because there had definitely been a misunderstanding- but then he saw who the butler was talking to and the words died on his tongue.
In the front rooms, he’d been expecting someone old and suave, definitely rich and thus snooty; when they’d entered the lab, he’d changed his mind. ‘Eccentric nerd,’ had been the words floating most often through his head.
This man in front of him was neither. Or rather- he was something of both, perhaps. Young- Steve estimated in his late thirties- brunette, and god- he was gorgeous. He had an air of sharp intelligence about him and, even though he was dressed in old jeans and a Metallica t-shirt, Steve had the impression he’d look just as good in a suit. His mouth was dry. The butler left, the small click of the door shutting the first indication that Steve needed to talk.
“There’s been a mistake,” he said quickly.
“A mistake? You just got here. And I was beginning to think you couldn’t talk.”
“I shouldn’t be here- well, not like this- You think I’m someone else, I think.”
“I think you’re Steve Rogers unless Jarvis is off his rocker, which to be fair- he’s in his seventies now- so he might be. Does this mean you don’t want the job? Cause I’ve got to be honest, I was just coming around to the idea of a man filling the role. I started coming around to it,” he checked his watch, “approximately seven minutes ago when you walked in the room.”
All of this was said with a faint smile as though Mr. Stark was half flirting with him, half not. Steve didn’t even know what job the man had in mind. Stupid as it was, he half wanted to find out. Half a dozen impure thoughts had insinuated themselves in his head and he chased them away half heartedly. Something for later, perhaps.
They were interrupted by something- someone- that Steve hadn’t anticipated. And he’d thought at this point nothing would surprise him about this visit.
“Daddy!” A little girl streaked past Steve, hurtling towards the scientist. He caught her bemusedly. Steve could hear more footsteps behind him. “Peter was teasing me! He took my toy,” she said tearfully.
And now there was a boy, maybe a year older than the little girl and practically her twin. “I wasn’t!” he was yelling, grabbing at the t-shirt, pulling on it. “It was mine first. She took it from me, but it’s mine-”
“Hey, hey, come on guys, I need you quiet-” He glanced at Steve and Steve gave him a little wave, pulling his sketchbook out of his pocket. He’d have to wait to clear up the misunderstanding. His mind was whirling though. Of course this guy had a family. He was amazingly handsome, apparently very smart, and rich-
“Come on, Pete, I can hold you both-” And he did, somehow holding both kids against his hips. So not the scrawny nerd Steve had thought. “You guys shouldn’t be in here,” Steve heard him say quietly. “What have we said about it not being safe?”
“But he took my toy-”
“I did not-”
“It’s mine, it’s been in my room-”
“Hey, if we can’t come to an agreement, neither of you can play with the toy,” the brunette said softly, rocking them both in his arms. This was a universally unpopular statement- they both started to protest.
Steve decided to take pity on the scientist. Raising his voice slightly over the din, he suggested, “What if we found a different toy for both of you to play with? Then later on we can figure out who owns what?” ‘The sooner we resolve this, the sooner I can explain I’m here to drop off Rubidium, Argon, and Selenium and then go-’
“That sounds like a good place to start,” Mr. Stark agreed, his dark eyes looking at Steve speculatively. “Is that okay, Mr. Rogers? Or should I say, Captain?” So he’d caught the markings on Steve’s old jacket. Steve blushed a little under the scrutiny. “Mr. Rogers is fine. I’m not a captain anymore.”
‘It didn’t matter if this took the rest of the afternoon,’ he thought. This was his last delivery and then he could clock out. And spend tonight considering his options.
“Once a captain, always a captain,” Mr. Stark joked lightly. He glanced from one kid to the other. Both of them brunettes, with his same fine features. “Pete,” he decided, kissing the boy gently. “Do you want to lead the way? Show Captain Rogers where your rooms are?”
Peter sniffled. “I could,” he agreed, but now he was suddenly shy. Still, Mr. Stark set him on the ground, running his fingers through the boy’s curls. “Are you a captain of a boat?” the boy asked Steve.
The artist felt inordinately fond of the little boy. “No, I was a captain in the army. But now I’m not. I bet you have a cool room.”
“It’s upstairs.” Peter surprised him; he took Steve’s hand. His small fingers barely closed around three of Steve’s. It made his heart hurt a little. He and Sharon-
“Lead on, Petey. Daddy’s still got to finish talking to Captain Rogers.” Apparently that name was going to stick for the duration of this visit. Steve found that he didn’t mind.
The kids’ rooms were up on the second floor. The disputed toy went into Mr. Stark’s back pocket with little fanfare. Both kids looked upset at its loss but they didn’t argue, to Steve’s surprise.
Pete pulled Steve into his room. “Oh, are you a builder like your daddy?” Steve asked, looking at the Legos projects scattered around the room. Pete beamed. He nodded shyly, showing Steve his stuffed animals next, and a wooden train set that Peter seemed to be building. “These are really cool,” he said, holding up one of the curved s turn sections. “Hey listen, kiddo. I still have to talk to your dad. Can you build something cool and I’ll see it maybe before I leave? Is that okay?”
The kid nodded again, grinning up at him. Steve felt like he’d done something right for the first time all day. And it had been a very long day. “Good boy,” he said softly, patting Peter on the back.
He made his way across the hall to where the girl’s room was. He still hadn’t even learned her name. Mr. Stark was sitting on her bed, talking to her in low tones, and Steve almost backed out again, but the scientist had seen him. He waved him inside. “This is Morgan,” he said, almost like he’d read Steve’s mind. “Morgan, how old are you?” he straightened out her dress, which had twisted around her waist.
She looked up at him. Morgan was bold where Peter was shy, he realized. “I’m four,” she said, holding up five fingers.
“Four years old, wow,” Steve said softly. “I would have guessed you were seven. You’re so tall.”
She grinned. “That’s silly. I’m shorter than Peter- and he’s five and a half.”
“Oh, okay. Thanks for clarifying.”
Mr. Stark tapped her on the shoulder. “Go make up with Petey. Tell him you’re sorry, okay?” She looked at him and then sighed, like he’d given her some Herculean task to do. But she waltzed out of the room, looking in much better spirits than she’d arrived in.
Neither man spoke for a minute. Steve scooped a doll off the ground and handed it to the brunette. Mr. Stark looked at the doll carefully, and then set her aside, tucking her into the head of the bed with a mass of other dolls and stuffed animals. “So you can see why I need a nanny,” he said abruptly.
Steve laughed; he couldn’t help it. “That’s what you’re trying to hire me for?”
Mr. Stark looked up, half surprised and half amused. “Well, I was about to. But you did say there seemed to be some mistake. So what are you actually here for?”
“I’m delivering some chemicals you ordered.”
Mr. Stark laughed at that. “Of course you are. Well, don’t worry. I tip well and you’ve been here for probably an hour longer than you expected. I can compensate for that.”
“If you don’t mind my saying, you don’t seem to need a nanny. You do well with them yourself.” He wanted to ask- where’s your wife? He didn’t.
Mr. Stark glanced through the open door of Morgan’s room and across the hall into Peter’s. They could hear the kids playing together now, laughing at something. “I wasn’t cut out to be a single parent,” he said abruptly. “They deserve more than I can give. And when you add in events like tonight…” He trailed off.
“What’s tonight?”
“Hm? Oh, Stark charity gala- my father started them. Not really my thing but they do good work. The kids go a bit bonkers at these kinds of things though. Their behavior has been… unmanageable since their mom died.”
“I’m sorry,” Steve said and he was. He felt guilty now; he’d been hoping their mom was some terrible woman who’d abandoned her kids and her husband and moved off somewhere, jet setting or whatever the rich did these days. Now he was beginning to realize that nobody would have left these beautiful kids behind by choice.
Mr. Stark had waved off his apology absently. Hears it a lot, Steve thought. “It’s too bad, Captain Rogers. I’ve had nannies in and out all day and you’re the first one they seemed to like. Let’s get down to the lab while they’re distracted. I can get you on your way.”
Still… Steve paused at the top of the stairs. Peter was laughing at something Morgan said now, their previous spat apparently forgotten. “Mr. Stark,” he called down. The man paused half way down the ornate staircase and turned, cocking an eyebrow at him. “Perhaps I could help out for one night, tonight. But you’d have to rent me a suit. I don’t have a decent one.”
The man’s lips had curled into a smile. “Rent you a suit? I’ll buy you one. Every man should have a decent suit in his closet.”
“Oh, but I-”
“Do I look like I’m hurting for money? Jarvis will take your measurements.”
“You should know that I’ve never been a nanny before,” Steve said, feeling slightly absurd.
“Noted. And you should know that Jarvis has been running a background check on you while we were upstairs.” Steve shrugged; honestly, nothing in this household surprised him anymore. “Any experience with kids?”
“Plenty of nieces and nephews.”
“Well, we’ll count that. See how you do tonight, at any rate.”
Steve was thinking quickly. It was crazy- and did he even want to be a nanny? Bucky and Sam would laugh their asses off at him. But… he glanced upstairs. Peter had smiled at him and that had been the first time in a long time that he’d felt like he’d done something right.
Mr. Stark was at his desk, scribbling something down. “Mr. Stark?” The man hummed, looking up at him. Steve felt an explosion somewhere below his navel. “What would be the expectations if I was to take the job?”
The brunette cocked his head. “You’d have to live here full time, but you’d have two days off a week. We’d have to coordinate our schedules. I need someone to take care of the kids. Make sure they’re fed, ready for school, do their homework with them, accompany them to their extra curriculars, and you’d have to stand in for me for some parental functions… My work takes me away more than I’d like it to.”
“What is your job?” Steve asked, realizing he barely knew anything about this man. Christ, he’d have to check the job’s detail sheet to know his first name.
Mr. Stark’s mouth curved into the faintest hint of a smile. “I’m a weapons manufacturer, Mr. Rogers. Family business.”
“Oh.”
“Are you thinking of taking the job after all?” Mr. Stark ripped out what he’d been writing on- Steve realized it was a check belatedly- and stepped around the desk. He waited for Steve’s response.
Steve chewed his mouth. It was crazy. He’d just gotten another job- because of a favor from Nat- and he was potentially throwing it all away for something he might not even be good at. “You wouldn’t mind a man raising your children?”
Mr. Stark’s eyebrows rose; he was definitely smirking now. “I’m a man, raising my children. If I’ve been able to hold down the fort so far… I have faith in you as well.”
Steve looked him in the eye. “I’ll take the job,” he said softly.
“Good. Otherwise I’d be paying you a week’s salary for nothing.” He handed Steve the check. “I’ll see you tonight. At the charity gala. Jarvis will fill you in on the rest.” He was gone before Steve knew what had happened.