ONE
"Natasha, don't freak out, but we're in the 40's."
His words didn't register at first. She found that nothing ever registers in your funny little mind when there's a face-a nice face though-looking down at you, just mere inches away from kissing their eyeball. Because what was he trying to say? Was it some kind of elaborate prank? Maybe it was. It should be.
The initial shock wore off and the usual defensive mode kicked in, and she reaches her hand under the pillow looking for her pocket knife, and panics a little when she didn't find it there.
Steve backed away, watching her intently. Cautiously. Like he was waiting for some kind of a reaction from the disheveled, disoriented redhead.
"It's okay...you're okay." He said, and Natasha notices the weird way his hair is parted neatly, like he actually took the time to put product in it and comb.
"Steve?" Natasha said in a scratchy, croak-like voice. Like she had been out for days and hasn't spoken since. Why do I feel like shit? She skimmed the room and decided to see the outside of the window and oh...nope. I feel like shit and I'm dizzy. Steve was suddenly on her side, keeping her on her feet. "Wh-what the hell happened, Steve?" And what was that thing about being in the forties? Maybe he said Rovie's, as in that burger joint they ordered burgers from after missions?
"You need to sit. You've been out some time."-He guided her to a dainty loveseat with a floral pattern. "You want anything? Glass of water, soda?"
"I want to know what happened."
Steve sighed and mumbled under his breath, "Stark."
"Dammit, Stark!" She rolled her eyes, because she should have known it was Stark. "What did he do?"
"There was a party. I'm thinking it was a birthday party since I woke up with a stupid party hat on my head. I think at some point we were at Tony's Research Lab, the one where he keeps his more controversial inventions. And he was showing off this tall, white capsule on a platform in the middle of the room and that's it. We're here."
"And when exactly is here?"
"1948."
For the next hour or so, Steve just sat on a rocking chair on the corner of the room, watching Natasha pace and take it all in by herself. His reaction was a tad different, because although they weren't supposed to end up here and they definitely can't stay long enough to affect the course of history, it still felt like going home. He woke up days before Natasha, on an alley in a neighborhood he recognized. He got beat up there once, no...twice. He was wearing a long-sleeved shirt and his more decent pair of jeans he only wore to gatherings, and Natasha ended up a few feet from him, dressed to the nines in a short, lacey dress that matched the color of her hair.
He had money on him, Natasha's purse had her wallet in it, and with this year's economy, Steve figured they wouldn't have to worry about anything for a while. He booked a room at a small bed and breakfast tried to figure everything out from there, but the details were too fuzzy and so much of a blur to be reliable.
"I-I don't remember how we got here…" Natasha said to herself, "Party...party...drinks, there were drinks involved, I think. And yes, I-I-I remember going down to the research floor...Tony's office. I was...I was wearing a dress, I think?" Natasha stopped in front of Steve then looked down on herself. Nope, she wasn't wearing a dress anymore. "Did you…"
"Yes, I changed your clothes, it's not a big deal." He said, coming out a little too defensive than he intended. "I also found money in your purse, and I used some of it to buy us both a clean change."
Natasha shrugged. Not in a million years did she imagine herself in a dainty yellow dress with a bow at the back. "How do we get back? Is there some kind of machine that came with us? Some way home?"
Steve sighed, "While you've been out, I went back to the alley to see if there's anything that can tell us why we're here and if there's anything we can do to go back, but…there's nothing there."
"So we're stuck?!" She threw her hands in the air. "Damn it, Tony." she said, more like a whisper.
"Actually, we don't know what happened. I just know Tony was there."
She ran her fingers through her hair, frustrated. "You're right. I just…" she clenched her hands into a fist and slammed it onto the wall, "...I just need to punch something. Or someone."
"Not yet. I think I know someone who can help us."
Natasha looked his way, "I doubt anyone would have the time travel technology-"
"I know, I know. But it's worth a shot. And he's the only one I know crazy enough to believe we're from the future." Steve smiled, "A Stark got us here, maybe a Stark can get us back."
Howard adjusted his sunglasses and put down his fruity drink on the patio table, watching the ladies-they were presidential summer interns, he thought to himself. Or was it models? It was hard to tell when they were splashing in the pool in skimpy swimsuits-and blasting music on the jukebox. Man, he loved summers. And it wasn't like he didn't deserve the indulgence. He deserved it the most, after the war and the clean-up afterwards, and the scouring the icy tundra for months on end.
"Howard! Join us!" A blonde girl in a polka dot ensemble waved at him. Emily, was it? No, Amelie! The French one.
He waved back, "In a minute, sweetpea!"
It's been two weeks since he got back from the search and rescue mission from the arctic, where he'd spent months looking for a derailed plane and maybe his friend. They found the Tesseract, and as days became weeks and weeks turned into months, finding Captain Rogers seemed futile. If he survived the crash, the cold would have gotten to him by that time. He had to move on, eventually.
"Care for another glass, sir?" Jarvis stands beside him holding a pitcher of flavored tequila.
"Keep em' coming, Jarv."
The door buzzed. "Are we expecting more company, sir?" Jarvis asked, brows furrowed, thinking about the long hours of tidying up ahead of him.
Howard chuckles and gets off the reclining pool chair, "The more the merrier, my man! Now you stay here, make sure the ladies get what they want, and I'll get the door. Be back in a jiffy!" Jarvis nods at his boss for the amusing imitation of his accent.
He puts on his robe-the heat was starting to become unforgiving-and hurries to the main door. Howard had just acquired the estate from the market, and he already found himself becoming fond of it. Two-storeys of Mediterranean beauty, with moldings and furnishings dating back a hundred years before he was born, a wide basement where he could do his tinkering, stunning gardens, a lavish pool with an adjoining jacuzzi, and to top it off, the property was 20 minutes away from the city. 5 minutes on chopper.
The door buzzed again, three impatient rings.
"Just a sec!" Howard shouts. "Jesus, girls these days." he added, whispering.
He got the door mid-ring, his speech on patience, politeness and common courtesy at the ready for whoever was on the other side of the door, but what he saw left him completely dumbfounded. Howard felt the air leave his lungs and for a brief moment he was breathless till he had to teach himself how to breathe again. He grabbed the nearest wall and leaned against it, afraid that he'd fall off his balance and wake up from this dream.
Because it had to be a dream, right? There was no way it was really happening!
"Howard, hi."
Hi? Hi?! Howard opened his mouth but no words came out of it.
"Uh, Steve…I think you broke him." The redhead said, chewing a piece of gum nonchalantly.
Steve sighed and put a hand on Howard's shoulder, "It's me, bud. It's really me. Steve. Steven Rogers. We were in the army together...during the war…"
"I-I know who Steve is." Howard managed to mumble, batting Steve's hand away. He's an impostor. He had to be. Or a ghost? It could be a ghost! But in the middle of the day? In this weather? Shouldn't ghost appear at night? I don't know the rules! "-that's...that's not you. It's not possible! It's just...it can't be real!"
"Should I do it?" the redhead asked. And before Howard knew what was coming to him, there was a fist on his face and everything was dark.
This is it, Howard thought. This is how I die.
"You know, there were lots of times before when I wanted to plant my fist on Tony's face. But you can't do it because of "camaraderie" and "being a team" and Clint told me "you can't just punch people in the face, Tasha. Even when they're being annoying", but I got to punch his dad." Natasha smirked, lying down on the king-sized bed with a passed out Howard. "I got to punch the Howard Stark."
Steve chuckled, "We have what we have when we have it, right?"
"And I am grateful for the opportunity." She relaxed onto the mattress. "So he sleeps in a canopy bed, huh? Tells you a lot about the guy. And what about that oil painting of himself above the fireplace?"
"Kind of like putting your name in bright lights on the tallest building in the city."
Natasha chuckles, "Point." she rolls over to her side and faced Howard, studying him. "I see where Tony got his womanizing looks from, though. I mean look at the guy. The ladies must go crazy for him."
"Like you'd never believe." He shook his head, "But he's a great guy. He's done a lot for this country." Steve hovered about Howard, remembering the good times he had with him. He was nice. Cheeky and stubborn and he pissed off a lot of officers with his wit, but he was nice to Steve. Then his gaze travelled to the redhead beside Howard, her hair fanned out on the pillows like fire. Natasha looked tired, as she understandably would be. Time travel had to have some effects on the body, but he had no way of knowing that. She shouldn't even be here. As far as Steve knew, Natasha never liked going to the research floor except for the gauntlet upgrades. What was he doing down there anyway?
Howard groaned and shifted on the bed, "Jarv…"
"He's back." Natasha crawled out of the bed, "If he resists, do I get to punch him again?"
Steve rolled his eyes, "He won't."
"Jarvis."-Howard brought his hand to his face, gently pressing the sore spot just above his jaw. Slowly his eyes opened, and when he saw Steve again, he sat upright and reached for the bedside table where his gun was.
Natasha moved to tackle him, but Steve had a better idea. This time the guy would have no choice but to believe.
"No, Howard!" Steve raised his hands onto the air as Howard pointed a gun towards him. "It's really me, and I'll prove it to you. Do you remember flying me out into the enemy lines during a storm? You were the only pilot Peggy knew that would fly us there no questions asked…"
"Public information!" Howard exclaimed, holding the gun tighter. "Jarvis!"
"Okay, okay!" Steve sighed, "You said something to Peggy that night. You were asking her about getting some fondue together, and I had to ask what a fondue was and I asked Peggy if you and her were...fondue-ing."
Natasha looked at Steve, weirded out by his choice of story. But it seemed to work, since Howard had already lowered the gun to the table and calmed down a notch. "H-how is this possible? You're...you're in the ice! We didn't find you. We looked, but...we couldn't find you."
Making sure Howard was calm and no longer disoriented, Steve sat on the bed with him. "We came to you because I think you're the only one who'll believe us."
"Who's we?"
"Natasha Romanoff." Natasha extended her hand, "Sorry for punching you in the face."
Howard shook her hand, still a bit confused.
"Howard, you're right. Technically, I am still in the ice. You never found me. They won't find me until seventy years later, on the year 2012. We're from the future."