#partial nudity.

He leans forward, letting his head land with a tired thump atop the roof of his car as he refills the tank.

Much has happened the past year and a half. He'd hoped that a road trip would clear his mind. It had done nothing of the sort.

'Too much time to think', he thinks to himself with a laugh devoid of humor.

Tony drums his fingers against the ARC reactor, his shirt muffling the sound, but he hears the metallic ring in his head clear as day.

He's beginning to suspect that Rhodey might have had a point; you can't outrun your problems, even whilst driving top-of-the-line sports cars.

The revving of a motorcycle draws Tony's attention.

He looks up from his car to watch a man pull into the petrol station.

Tony can't take his eyes off the motorcyclist. How can he when the guy was practically naked?

Singed, dirtied skin pulling across the firm muscle of a fantastical body with a ridiculously trim waist. Messy shoulder-length blond hair revealed under a blue motorcycle helmet with red and white stickers. And a pair of gloriously tight, ridiculously small shorts (underwear?) with text across the immaculate ass that reads "I'm really Captain America" with a little winky face.

When the man is out of his line of sight, and Tony can think again, he scoffs.

Yeah, sure. Captain America. And he's the Queen of England.

Tony shakes his head.

But the thought sticks.

SHIELD had a leak that they discovered 'Captain America's' body over three months ago. Then 'lost' him about a month or more later.

'Lost'.

Tony assumed they misidentified a body and wanted to save face. Also probable, though less likely, damaged the corpse defrosting it for experiments.

Bodies preserved in ice are unbelievably rare, and he doubts a ship crash would provide the right conditions. SHIELD had to have been mistaken. The odds were next to none.

There's a gentle knocking on the roof of his car. Tony turns to find the motorcyclist behind him to the right.

The guy flashes him a smile, then says in a Brooklyn drawl, "Hey, Pal, I think your tank's full."

One of the man's large, warm hands covers his own on the petrol nozzle.

Tony stares into those impossibly blue eyes as he surrenders the hose.

The guy shifts, moving to return the hose to the pump. A warm shoulder brushing against his own, kindling something in him that had gone cold years ago.

He turns back to Tony, still smiling, and grabs his shoulder in a comforting squeeze.

With that, the man leaves. Heading over to his motorcycle. "Take care," the guy says as he mounts his bike, shooting Tony a corny salute that makes his heart flutter just a little.

Tony watches the man ride off, eyes glued to the text across his ass.

There's no way.

Tony eyes the petrol puddled around his feet. Maybe it was just an old fantasy brought on by the fumes.

THE END

That is the real Steve Rogers, not a figment of the petrol fumes.