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Dummy, the Matchmaker

Chapter Text

It took a lot of courage for Steve to actually head over to Tony’s workshop. He knew how much the man could get absorbed in his work, from the way he would retreat there for days before he showed up around the others again. So, the blonde felt much like he would be imposing too much on the billionaire’s hospitality if he even did so much as knock on the workshop’s door.

 

Not that the door was somewhere he could actually knock on, as he found when he was finally in front of it. For one, it was glass, and, however much he could try to knock, he was pretty sure it wouldn’t be heard with the way that incredibly loud music was seeping through the glass walls.

 

“Is there anything I can assist you with, Captain Rogers?”

 

He almost jumped at the sound of JARVIS’ accented voice coming from a panel by the door (thank God he was mostly used to the AI now).

 

“Can I come in?” he asked tentatively, pretty sure he was going to be denied.

 

“Certainly, sir.”

 

The door suddenly opened, startling Steve so much that he could only stare for a moment while the sound of blaring music assaulted his ears.

 

“Captain Rogers?”

 

This time, Steve flinched and cleared his throat. “Right, uh, thanks, JARVIS.”

 

“You’re welcome, sir.”

 

He entered the workshop, becoming instantly fascinated by the numerous gadgets and projects littered across the room. He was so engrossed in his observation that he jumped when he heard Tony from behind him.

 

“Welcome to my lair, Cap.”

 

When Steve turned to look at him, he saw the brunette lift the welding mask to reveal an amused expression. He couldn’t help but notice a few streaks of grease and soot on Tony’s face and had to stifle a laugh.

 

The genius obviously noticed and raised an eyebrow at him. He opened his mouth to speak but got interrupted by a strange robot that handed him a dirty rag. Understanding seemed to dawn on him as he grabbed the cloth and attempted to clean his face with it, succeeding only in spreading the dirt. Steve wasn’t inclined to point it out.

 

“Thank you, Dummy, you can go back to fire duty now,” Tony told the robot. He rolled his eyes when the said robot visibly deflated—not physically; he just looked like a kicked puppy at that moment. “Don’t give me that look, mister. You’re not getting off that duty until you learn to stop messing with the paint controls. Now, go back to your station.”

 

The robot seemed to look down (how does a robot like that look down, exactly?) and moved away on its wheels.

 

Tony sighed. “Sorry, Dummy just needs to be disciplined often or he’d keep screwing things up. JARVIS, turn down the volume to 20. Anyway, I doubt you came here to listen to me complain about my creations. So, what can I do for you, Cap?”

 

Steve barely managed to stop himself from blurting out how much Tony had looked like a dad just then. Barely.

 

Clearing his throat with a hesitant smile, he said, “I just wondered if you’d mind if I stay here for a bit?” At Tony’s blank stare, he hastily continued, “I mean, I can just go if I’m disturbing you, I just didn’t want to stay upstairs since everyone’s out today and…I mean, if you don’t mind?” He inwardly berated himself (Tony’s not a girl, why are you getting tongue-tied?). Why did he think this was a good idea again?

 

For a moment, Steve thought the other man was going to ask the same question he just asked himself.

 

Instead, Tony warned, “It’s not gonna be quiet here and I doubt I can keep you entertained while I do my work.”

 

Relieved, Steve smiled and held up the sketch pad he brought with him. “I don’t mind. I’m just going to draw here. And I’d prefer noise to too much quiet.”

 

The genius’ eyes darted momentarily to the sketch pad. “I’m offended, Cap.” His expression appeared to be a hurt one. “My music is, in no way, noise at all.” Before Steve could apologize, Tony grinned and patted him on the shoulder. “Chill. I was only kidding.”

 

The effect of Steve’s glare was muted by his answering smile.

 

Neither of the two noticed Dummy’s camera lens focusing on Tony’s hand still on Steve’s shoulder.

 

 

Chapter Text

Tony was true to his word when he said that it wasn’t going to be quiet in the workshop.

 

Aside from AC/DC booming in the background (which wasn’t that loud anymore since Tony had JARVIS set the volume to fifty), there was a constant banging of metal against metal and whirring of machines around. Dummy wasn’t the only robot walking, or rather, wheeling around. There was also You and Butterfingers, who were obviously much more cooperative than Dummy was.

 

It was, as Steve found, a constant cause for consternation on Tony’s part.

 

“Dummy, I said I needed a wrench, not the bench.” The brunette had a frown fixed on his features at the sight of a short bench the robot set beside him. “Do I need to fix your auditory circuits again?”

 

Dummy’s arm bent downwards in what Steve interpreted as sadness. Tony sighed and scratched the back of his head with the screwdriver he was holding.

 

“Fine. Never mind. I was getting tired of standing anyway.” He made a show of sitting on the bench before pointing a stern finger at the robot. “Now, get me the wrench before I send you off to a college where they can experiment on your faulty wiring.”

 

The AI’s arm lifted. Dummy spun around twice before wheeling off happily to obey. Steve saw Tony’s expression turn fond for a split second before the billionaire turned back to his work, still sitting on the bench.

 

It showed Steve another side to the man that made him deeply regret his words from about a month ago, on the day they first met in the Helicarrier. He wanted to apologize but he didn’t want to disturb Tony any more than he already had.

 

So, he went for skipping the finishing touches to the cityscape he was sketching and starting on an outline for a new drawing.

 

He became so engrossed in it that everything else just melted into white noise for him. He lost himself in the lines of the sketch, his use of chiaroscuro emphasizing and characterizing his chosen subject vividly. Because his subject could be the most outstanding of opposites in ways that Steve never imagined a person could be—

 

—and, suddenly, he couldn’t continue because his sketch pad was abruptly pulled from his hands.

 

“Hey!” he protested, before staring when he realized that it was Dummy that held the pad. The AI waved the pad twice before wheeling over towards Tony.

 

At that moment, Steve thought it was in his best interest to get the pad before the genius saw it.

 

Unfortunately, he had underestimated how fast the robot could be and could only watch forlornly as Dummy poked Tony with one of the pad’s edges. On instinct, it seemed, he turned and grabbed the object and almost hit the robot with his wrench. His surprise quickly morphed into another frown.

 

“Dummy, what did I say about prodding my back with anything?” Tony scolded, waving the pad at the robot. “If I hit you, we’d need a whole lot of time fixing up your dented cover and replacing your messy sensors. And that’s time we don’t have if we’re to finish that motor by tonight—what are you doing, Dummy?”

 

The robot repeated the action of poking, except, this time, he did it to Tony's chest. Steve thought it was high time he interrupted.

 

“Uh, sorry, Tony, that’s mine,” he said with a sheepish grin. “He got it from me. I should’ve kept a tighter hold on it.”

 

Tony blinked at him, as if only remembering his presence then (which, Steve felt, was actually the case). What followed was, to the blonde’s secret horror, that he actually looked at the most recent sketch. His expression became blank for a whole minute, making Steve resist the urge to fidget under the awkward silence. Only his experiences on stage kept him in place.

 

Then, Tony abruptly returned his sketch pad with a grin.

 

“Here you go, Capsicle. Didn’t think you’d draw my charming self, but, hey, thanks. Keep at it.” His smile widened minutely. “And you had Dummy in it too. Must’ve been why he grabbed it. Which reminds me—” He turned back to the currently-spinning robot. “Dummy, you’re not supposed to take other people’s stuff. That’s stealing and that’s bad, do you understand me? I swear, you useless lump of metal, I’m gonna reprogram you if you ever do that again, you get me? Now, you’re going to apologize or I’ll stick you to fire duty even longer.”

 

Steve watched as the robot bowed with the most equivalent to a pout (was that even possible?) under Tony’s scrutiny. He laughed and forgave the wayward robot, because it seemed like he now got a compliment and an implied permission from his subject to draw him even more.

 

Well, that was how Steve wanted to interpret it anyway. And he had Dummy to thank for that.

Chapter Text

When Steve punched in the codes Tony gave him the previous day and entered the workshop, the last thing he expected was to have the front hem of his shirt tugged further in by Dummy’s mechanical arm.

 

“Dummy, what are you—woah!” Not wanting to damage the robot in any way, he let himself be dragged through the glass doors. Dummy gave a strange whirring noise (he was yet to be able to differentiate the sounds the AI could make) and released his shirt once he was in the middle of an empty space.

 

Steve saw what he was expecting. JARVIS had informed him when he asked that Tony was currently in his room, looking for some schematics that he had written on the back of a business contract (that Pepper would need to reprint). So, there was no one else in the workshop aside from him. Tony had given him permission through JARVIS and told him he’d be back in ten minutes.

 

He was planning on taking the couch to start a sketch of the workshop but Dummy seemed to have other ideas.

 

The robot was still in front of him, spinning and waving its—his—arm about from left to right, up and down. It (“He,” Tony had stressed yesterday) moved forward on its—his—wheels and moved back before repeating the process. Then, after a whole minute of moving and Steve just standing flabbergasted, Dummy poked him on his chest before grabbing his hand and pulling him back with him.

 

Eyebrows furrowing, he finally asked, “JARVIS?” He let himself be turned in his place, taking care not to step on any part of the robot. “What’s Dummy doing?”

 

“I believe, sir, he is dancing with you,” the AI answered in his usual dulcet tone.

 

“Dancing?” Steve stared, bewildered, at Dummy, because how could a robot attempt to dance with him when he hadn’t ever learned how to dance at all?

 

“Yes, dancing, Cap.”

 

Steve managed to prevent himself from pulling Dummy too hard as he turned to look at the source of that amused voice. Tony was leaning on the glass wall by the door, looking at them with crossed arms and a grin. The blonde gave him a wry expression.

 

“Care to tell me why?” he queried and followed Dummy’s steps, or rather, direction, since he obviously didn’t know what to do in his current situation.

 

Tony chuckled. “Dummy was rather proud that he managed to pick up dancing better than You and Butterfingers have so it looks like he’s showing off.”

 

The mentioned robots let out sounds of...protest (it sounded like protest) from their charging stations.

 

A glint in the brunette’s eyes that Steve was starting to associate with mischievousness appeared. “Seems you’re handling yourself fine enough with a robot teaching you how to dance.”

 

Steve didn’t even bother defending himself and his lack of dancing skills. He was pretty sure it was obvious that he had two left feet. Really, he felt it was a miracle he hadn’t stepped on Dummy’s wheels yet.

 

So, he just said dryly, “I try.”

 

Tony shook his head and approached them. “That’s not gonna pass for the parties you’ll be sure to attend in the future. Girls don’t appreciate it when you step on their feet after they’re already feeling the pain of heels.”

 

“Well, we never had dance classes in the military.” Steve stubbornly pushed the thought of Peggy’s offer to teach him how to dance seventy years (a mere month for him) ago.

 

If Tony picked up on any bitterness he felt, he didn’t say anything about it. Instead, he patted Dummy’s arm and bowed dramatically to the robot. “May I?” he asked with his arm outstretched towards Steve.

 

The sight looked so bizarre when Dummy mimicked the bow with his arm and moved to make way for Tony. Steve couldn’t help but laugh at them as he took the offered hand.

 

“I might step on your toes,” the blonde warned him with a bemused expression.

 

“JARVIS, gimme some waltz here.” As the Chopin’s Waltz Opus 16, Number 1 (a piano instrumental JARVIS announced that confused the waltz further for Steve) echoed in the room, he continued, “Don’t worry. I’m not wearing heels.” A corner of Tony’s mouth quirked upwards. “Just, for once, follow my lead.”

 

Steve found that following Tony Stark’s lead wasn’t so bad. Maybe just as long as it was just with dancing.

Chapter Text

Two days after the unexpectedly pleasant dance session, Steve wondered if he should head down to Tony’s workshop again. He was sure Tony would be amused if he asked for an actual lesson.

 

Unfortunately for him, the familiar alarm started blaring through the Tower, making him grudgingly call out, “Avengers, assemble!”

 

Apparently, they were called to take care of a bunch of huge, rampaging trees, all of which seemed to have grudges against anything technological. Their branches were poking at traffic lights while their roots stomped on cars. It was a typical, chaotic New York, complete with panicking citizens crying out and running away from the slow-paced mobile trees.

 

Certain members of the Avengers were having a field day though.

 

“Think the Ents are gonna negotiate if we try to talk to them?” Iron Man asked through their link as he dodged a swatting branch.

 

“That’s gonna take us hours, Pippin,” Hawkeye piped in, his grin obvious in his voice at his attempt at a Hobbit accent.

 

“They seem to be more likely to hit you,” Black Widow commented.

 

Thor suddenly exclaimed, in a volume that made everyone else’s eardrums ache, “I agree! They resemble the mighty Whomping Willow more than the ancient and noble Ents!”

 

“D’you think we can squirt them with water and throw Pokeballs at them?”

 

“They’re not Sudowoodos, Hawkeye.”

 

“But they wiggle when I hit them!”

 

"And, what, you feel like Silver now?"

 

“Guys, focus,” Steve chided, despite his amusement. “We can watch Lord of the Rings again and play Pokemon tomorrow. For now, we need to get these trees under control.”

 

It took a few hours, long cords, large nets and, strangely enough, chocolates (they liked and followed the smell) to detain and capture the weird tree-things.

 

So, when they finally all got back to the Avengers Tower, Steve headed to his room to take a shower to remove the smell of chocolates.

 

Arriving there, he placed his shield by the foot of his bed. As he proceeded to take off his gloves and cowl, he noticed a piece of paper lying on the edge of the bed, atop the covers.

 

His eyebrows furrowed. He was sure he stored away his art materials before leaving but he could’ve left some behind in his earlier haste to respond to the alarm.

 

When he picked it up though, he was baffled.

 

It was a sketch of him, sitting on a familiar couch and patting Dummy’s arm.

 

He tried to think if he had drawn it at some point but he couldn’t remember the drawing at all. Upon closer inspection, he noticed that it wasn’t quite in the same style that he adopted for his sketches. While he used the side of his pencil’s lead to shade, this one used lines that overlapped. Also, the outlines were darker and the details were meticulously drawn.

 

It was a breathtaking depiction of him. He had a bright smile that lit up his features and the sketch practically radiated with joy—or, at least, it seemed like it did to him. Even Dummy, somehow, looked like he was happy, with the way his arm was raised.

 

The question was, who could have drawn it? And why and how was it left in his room?

 

His bedroom door was closed before he entered. There didn’t seem to be any signs of forced entry, although he knew that some of his teammates could enter any room easily. Moreover, there was no signature on the sketch so he couldn’t determine the artist. He didn’t know if any of the others knew how to draw at all (probably beyond schematics and floor plans). Now that he thought about it, it could’ve been a commissioned  work, possibly based on some picture of him and Dummy taken (digital photography fascinated him so he knew this was possible with a lot of gadgets in the building).

 

But who was responsible for it?

 

Tony was the first person to come to  mind, making his chest swell with warm affection. But then, Tony wasn’t prone to doing things like these. Or, at least, Steve thought he wasn’t.

 

 

It didn’t occur to him to try asking JARVIS about it (which he still wasn’t used to doing). So, the AI remained silent and merely sent a warning to a certain robotic arm on wheels.

Chapter Text

Heading down to Tony’s workshop to sketch became a routine. Steve was there at least twice a week for a few hours, usually when Tony was inside, making new tech for Stark Industries or improvements on his Iron Man suit.

 

Eventually, twice became thrice a week, until it was almost every day, during any downtime that the team had.

 

It was no surprise that, with his frequent visits, he ended up leaving some of his things in the workshop.

 

Normally, Steve wouldn’t forget any of his precious art materials, but it was inevitable with the emergencies that kept popping up.

 

(There were Dr. Doom, the occasional mythical or alien creature attacks, and, on one memorable occasion, a crazy guy in a pink tutu, ruby red shoes and a glittering tiara with a band of ballet-dancing flying monkeys. Steve hadn’t been sure if he was supposed to be mirthful or horrified that they watched The Wizard of Oz the previous week since Hawkeye and Iron Man were making a mangled duet of “Follow the Yellow Brick Road” through the comm link before Black Widow threatened to melt them with water.)

 

So, there were times when both Steve and Tony would have to abandon whatever they were working on and leave immediately. It didn’t help that, after their team debriefing, Steve was required to report to Director Fury while Tony headed down to his workshop to make repairs on his suit. Then, when Steve could eventually join him, his pencils and erasers were scattered among Tony’s tools while his sketchpad ended up under some sheet of metal lying around.

 

It came to a point when, after a particularly long report, Steve found Tony holding up a familiar pen and staring at the colored tip.

 

“This is, what, .7 mm, you think?” he asked Dummy, who was holding a small lump of clay. “I haven’t used one of these since I upgraded the system and uploaded everything to the servers in Malibu. Did I throw away all my stuff from before that, JARVIS?”

 

“I believe some of them are still in storage, sir, though I can’t ascertain if they’re still in working condition,“ JARVIS answered promptly.

 

“Hm, make a note to call Pepper about that later.” Tony capped the pen and turned to Steve. “Hey, Cap. I think this is yours.” He tossed the item towards the blonde, who easily caught it.

 

“Thank you.” Steve relieved Dummy of the clay and repeated his words of gratitude. “Sorry. I shouldn’t leave my things lying around your workshop.”

 

Tony waved a hand in dismissal. “Don’t worry about it. Mi casa es su casa. Or something like that. I don’t speak Portuguese. Wait, that’s Spanish. Do you? Never mind. I don’t mind. Keep at it, yeah?” He flashed a grin and returned to his work. “The screwdriver this time, Dummy. Pens can’t remove screws, capisce? Capisce—that’s Italian, right?”

 

Tony’s dismissal of the issue relieved Steve somewhat, but he still resolved to take better care not to leave his things so they wouldn’t disturb the genius from his work.

 

 

The next day, upon entering the workshop, he was startled by Dummy pulling at his shirt.

 

“Hey, Dummy. Nice to see you too,” he told the robot with a chuckle and a pat. “Tony’s not here?”

 

“His meeting with the Stark Industries board of directors is just about to end, Captain Rogers,” JARVIS informed him.

 

“All right then. I’m gonna need to check if any of my pens got into his—“ He stopped when he felt Dummy poking at his side insistently. “What is it, Dummy? Anything you need?”

 

His arm raised before bending, in a resemblance of a nod, before pulling at his shirt again.

 

“Okay, okay, I’m going.” He let himself be led by the robot until they stopped in front of a wooden cabinet that was out of place in the midst of the glass and metallic structures around it. He was pretty sure that it wasn’t there the previous day. “What is it?”

 

Dummy grabbed his wrist and directed it to the ornately-carved handle.

 

“You want me to open it?” Dummy made a noise that he interpreted to be a ‘yes’. “Okay.”

 

He pulled the double doors and stared agape at the contents of the cabinet.

 

Inside were shelves of art tools in the upper half: pens, pencils, paintbrushes, bottles and tubes of paint in different colors and types, easels, erasers, crayons, pastels, inks and rulers. In the lower half, there were canvases, sketchpads and reams of paper of all sorts and sizes.

 

The whole thing was like a treasure chest that Steve had only ever dreamed of having.

 

“Ah, looks like Dummy spoiled the surprise already.”

 

Steve turned abruptly and saw Tony standing right behind him, loosening his tie.

 

“Surprise?” the blonde repeated, still in awe.

 

“Yeah. That’s supposed to be for your birthday but since it’s too far from now, I guess there’s no time like the present.” He pointed to the cabinet with a smirk. “By the way, in case you didn't get it, that's all yours.”

 

“It is?” Steve asked incredulously.

 

“Sure.” Tony shrugged. “You’d have to sort through which pens still work and check which colors might be missing, though. I was planning on doing that but Dummy didn’t give me the time to.” He gave the robot a vicious glare. Dummy only continued to wheel himself back and forth innocently.

 

“Sort through them?” Steve’s brain seemed to be having a hard time catching up, still overwhelmed. He managed to sift through some of the items and noted that there were a few that were damaged or missing.

 

Then, something clicked in his mind, recalling the previous conversation between Tony and JARVIS.

 

“These are all yours, Tony?”

 

The idea that Tony Stark, of all people, owned art materials and, possibly, at some point in his life, made his own art work was astounding.

 

“Were,” he corrected, scratching the back of his head. “I did say they’re yours now. Figured you’d prefer getting these than buying a whole new set. They were just rotting away in storage anyway.”

 

And it was true. Steve did appreciate it more. They were all Tony’s and, golly, that made all the difference in the world. His fast-beating heart agreed as he grazed the bottles of acrylic paint with his fingertips. That they weren’t bought (with Tony’s money—he had enough back pay after all) and weren’t going to waste was only a bonus for him.

 

Because, by putting them all here, Tony had given him a spot in his sanctuary, his workshop. Steve couldn’t even begin to think of the implications of that.

Chapter Text

The week had been too long for Steve and the rest of the team, as New York seemed to be abundant with super villains who were determined to attain world domination. On every day for the past week, except Thursday, they had to deal with at least one villain to take care of, including Doombots, giant octopi and a few non-genius masterminds who thought they were so clever and clearly underestimated the superhero team. Therefore, it was a relief for Steve to return to Tony’s workshop with the intention of passing the day with his (Tony’s) art materials.

 

When he got there, Tony was already at his usual place, manipulating holographic schematics and reviewing calculations with JARVIS.

 

“Let’s lower that by 3%. That should work better with the structure if we shorten all the wiring in the upper half by .4 mm. Flash that here, would you? There you go.”

 

“That appears to be the optimal combination, sir.”

 

“Perfect. We just need to adjust the other half to work better with it. Think we could go with that other material, JARVIS? Show me the statistics on that.” Another screen flashed in front of him. “Hm, might need to make that an alloy. Hey, Steve.” He gave a wave without turning around, his eyes still glued on what he was working on.

 

“Hi, Tony.”

 

Steve grinned. It was always enjoyable to watch the other man work. He was so focused, his hands moving almost too fast to follow, his eyes darting from one screen to another. Three-dimensional schematics floated around along with words, numbers and symbols. Tony manipulated all of that easily and swiftly. It was almost like watching a sculptor shape his masterpiece from raw material.

 

In fact, he could picture Tony with a huge block of marble, chipping away with a chisel and a hammer—

 

“Dummy, what are you doing with the blowtorch?”

 

Tony’s sudden exclamation brought him out of his (fantasy) imagination. He saw Dummy holding the blowtorch and using it to poke…a bag of marshmallows.

 

“Give that here, Dummy.” Tony held out a hand towards the robot. Dummy gave him the blowtorch before picking up the marshmallows and pushing them into Tony’s other hand. “What, you want me to eat them? Why do we even have marshmallows here—I thought you were an advocate of healthy shakes? No? You want me to burn them in spite?”

 

Dummy insistently pushed the bag until Tony took it. Then, the robot got something else from the pantry and presented it to him.

 

“Graham crackers? You want me to make s’mores with a blowtorch?” Dummy made a happy whirl. “That’s not a bad idea.”

 

“What are ‘s’mores’?” Steve interrupted, puzzled.

 

Tony looked at him incredulously. “You haven’t had s’mores yet?” He shook his head. “That won’t do. Dummy, put that on the table and get the chocolate syrup. And the metal sticks. Skewers. Whatever they are. You,” he pointed at Steve with the blowtorch, “come here. Prepare to have your mind blown.”

 

Minutes later, Steve was handed a slightly burnt marshmallow sandwiched between Graham crackers with a dab of chocolate syrup. After getting an encouraging gesture from Tony, he took a bite.

 

And, indeed, he found it mind-blowing. It was an amazing discovery for the super soldier. He didn’t know marshmallows could be eaten that way.

 

“What did I tell you, hm?” Tony bit into his own s’more and let out a moan. “That is good.”

 

Steve’s mouth dried at the appreciative sounds Tony was making. When he started sucking on his fingers, the super soldier had to swallow and look away.

 

“Isn’t it great?”

 

Steve managed to smile and say, “Yeah. Quite a treat.” He busied himself with the rest of his s’more.

 

“Right. We should do this more often. I think we have a lot of marshmallows in stock. Wait ‘til you try it with chocolate chips instead of the syrup. And vanilla ice cream. Sinful, I tell you.”

 

Goodness gracious, sinful indeed. God help me, Steve thought, trying to banish inappropriate thoughts from his head. He couldn’t decide if he wanted that or not.

 

In the pantry, Dummy was searching for chocolate chips and ice cream.

Chapter Text

 “What the hell happened here?”

 

It was early in the afternoon when the Avengers (minus Tony, who was at some meeting) found the living room full of marks. They were small and red and, upon closer inspection, they read—

 

“’Property of Tony Stark’?” Clint stared at the previously white, clean table that was now covered with about a dozen of the same mark. “Who the fuck would stamp that all over the table? And everything else, for that matter?”

 

And, indeed, all the other pieces of furniture were marked with the same red ink. Even the walls weren’t spared.

 

“We could probably rule Tony out,” Bruce said with a shake of his head.

 

“It’s his name on the stamp,” Clint protested.

 

“He’s been in Malibu for a couple of days,” Natasha reminded him with a roll of her eyes. “Pepper made sure of that.”

 

“Then who’d do something like this?” Steve wondered.

 

“I doubt Tony’s going to be pleased with this,” Phil interjected, an eyebrow raised, “even with his name there.”

 

“This is quite the mystery, my friends!” Thor boomed with a gleeful expression. “We must solve it in a manner worthy of the great Sherlock Holmes!”

 

“Ooh, can I wear a deerstalker hat?”

 

“No costumes, Clint.”

 

The archer blew a raspberry at Agent Coulson, earning him a pointed look.

 

“There weren’t any stamps when we left, were there?” Steve asked.

 

“No. We left at around eleven for lunch.” Natasha’s eyes darted back and forth, taking in the details. “It’s been three hours since then.”

 

“Plenty of time to have a stamping spree.” Bruce was examining the stamp-covered wall. “The highest stamp appears to be at around five feet and three inches.”

 

“The only ones aside from us with access to this floor are Tony, Pepper, Rhodey, Happy, Jane and Darcy, right?” Steve blinked at the stamps on the glass window.

 

“I don't think any of them would want to do something like this. None of them would want to boost Tony’s ego with this, except Tony himself.”

 

“As if the branding on all gadgets here don’t proclaim his company name enough.”

 

“Nothing seems to be stamped on anything below a feet from the floor.”

 

“Do you think the other rooms have stamps on them too?”

 

In a silent agreement, everyone headed to different parts of the floor. Ten minutes later, they congregated back in the living room.

 

“The kitchen’s filled with stamps too.”

 

“The gym wasn’t spared.”

 

“Neither was the gaming room.”

 

“The dining hall was generously filled with similar marks!”

 

“Even the balcony has some.”

 

“Who’d seriously do something like this?”

 

“Whoever it is better watch out. Seeing Stark’s name all around is annoying.”

 

“Friends! Can we not make an inquiry to the master of the house?”

 

Silence reigned in the wake of Thor’s suggestion.

 

“JARVIS?”

 

“Yes, Captain Rogers?”

 

“You know who did this, don’t you?”

 

“Of course, sir.”

 

“Why didn’t you say so in the first place?” Clint demanded.

 

“Ah, you seemed to be enjoying yourselves with the investigation so I refrained from mentioning it.” Despite being an AI, dry humor was apparent in JARVIS’ computerized voice.

 

“Well? Who is it?”

 

“That would be—”

 

He was interrupted by Steve’s yelp.

 

Alarmed, everyone turned to him warily, their hands reaching for their respective weapons as their automatic response.

 

“Steve, are you all right?”

 

Steve turned around, having felt something touch him from behind. He gaped at the sight of Dummy wheeling from side to side.

 

The robot was holding a stamp. Steve had no doubt that it read, ‘Property of Tony Stark’ backwards.

 

He was startled at the sudden laughter erupting from the others.

 

“Oh, that’s fitting.”

 

Even Coulson’s lips were twitching upwards.

 

Steve’s eyebrows furrowed. “What’s fitting?”

 

“You have a stamp on your ass,” Natasha told him with a snort.

 

A stamp—

 

—Steve felt his cheeks redden slightly.

 

“You’ve been owned, Rogers!” Clint was holding onto the back of the couch for support.

 

Predictably, his blush deepened. But he couldn't find it in himself to be offended. Not with that on his…uh, rear.