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"You have my name. On your arm."

Tony hadn't been agonizing about it but maybe he had just a little and maybe he had driven down to DC to tell Steve Rogers what he was pretty sure that the blond already knew. A plane or the Iron Man armor would have taken much less time, but Tony needed to make frequent stops along the way so that he could try to get himself to turn back and just leave it.

It didn't always happen, the mythical arm writing, but that's what made it to special. Every teenager pretty much spent their years before college hoping for a name to turn up one day. Less than ten percent ever did, and that number was dwindling seeing as how people didn't really care if they had a name on their arm or not. If their parents and religion weren't going to tell them what to do, weird indelible writing appearing on their bodies was not either.

The thing one, Tony did not have a name on his arm. There was no corroborating Steve Rogers written in interesting patterns on his skin. There was nothing. Tony hadn't been a lucky one.

But he'd seen, accidentally, on Steve well after they had first met and it was pretty obvious that yeah, Steve would know that he'd just met Anthony E. Stark, fought beside him in New York, nearly watched him die, and then just moved away to DC after as if nothing at all happened.

Now he wanted answers,
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