Reassurance
By Ecri
A Marvel Cinematic Universe story
Author's Note: When I started writing this, I thought it would be a short couple of pages with Steve and Tony. Then Tony left the room, and Bucky took over. I don't know where it all came from, but I do like when that happens. Please read and review as this is my first venture into the Marvel fandom, and I'd love to know what you think. I have lots of ideas for other stories as well, but I was most compelled to write this one. Thanks go out to SolarRose29 both for inspiring me to join in on this fandom with some of the most beautifully written stories it's been my pleasure to read, and for giving me a shout out with her story Healing Will Occur. I'm so grateful!
Potentially, spoilers for all Marvel films through Captain America: The Winter Soldier. The bit about Clint and what he was up to during The Winter Soldier came from an Internet post I saw about a cut scene from the film. Also, look for the Stan Lee cameo!
Soon after S.H.I.E.L.D.'s collapse, Steve Rogers felt himself begin to crumble. He knew most people believed it had started upon his awakening in the 21st Century. He'd been through the mandatory counseling and the awkward concern from people who didn't really know him but thought they did. Though he would never have claimed there'd been no impact from his thawing and subsequent return to life, he hadn't been in nearly the dire condition people had imagined. It seemed the serum had made him resilient in more than just body. In the beginning, each day had brought to minds some fresh loss that hadn't occurred to him right away. Each day, it felt like he was losing everything, especially Peggy, over and over again. Eventually he had to accept that the people he'd known were, if not dead, then changed, moved on without him, leaving him alone.
At first, even while looking around some weird and, for him, unimaginable, Times Square from the far future, all he could think about was Peggy and the date he'd obviously missed. It was impossible to deny the veracity of Fury's claim that he'd been asleep for nearly seventy years when the evidence was all around him and edged in neon. It was, of course, in more than that. The 21st Century was different in so many ways. The neon, the billboards, sure, but there was also a preponderance of cars. The air smelled of exhaust fumes and exotic foods and the metallic tang of technology. It was noisier, too. People talked too loudly. Music blared from everywhere…stores, passing cars, handheld devices…the cacophony sometimes made it hard to think.
Then had come the understanding that Peggy wasn't the only one he'd lost. He'd never had the time in the forties to come to terms with Bucky's death, and now he had to face the thought that each and every one of the Howling Commandos could be gone as well. He'd insisted on looking up each one to see what had happened to them and had been pleased to find they'd survived the war. Only two had lived to see this latest century, and only one still lived. Steve had been reluctant to look him up. He wouldn't be the man Steve had known, and it was hard enough to see Peggy forget who he was whenever they spent time together. He couldn't bear that same sort of recurring loss from another of his best friends.
Howard Stark, too, was gone. He and Howard had grown close during the war, and the thought of him surviving that, and then dying in a car accident, had saddened him in a way that none of the other deaths had. Howard was usually out of the line of fire and the idea of losing him during the war had been remote. It was hard to lose a civilian—and one of the first people who had shown him any respect.
Meeting Tony Stark himself had been a surprise. He'd read S.H.I.E.L.D.'s files, of course, but he'd seen so much of Howard in the man that it had taken his breath away. He'd briefly imagined he might have a real friend here in this world. Then in the next moment, it was gone in a miasma of insults, provocations, and disrespect that he hadn't experienced since Colonel Phillips had dismissed him as a chorus girl. Still, he'd good naturedly accepted the role of target for Tony Stark's wit, and all the 'grandpa' comments meant to demean his ability with technology hadn't really bothered him…at least, not on his good days.
Steve understood far more than his billionaire friend believed. He'd been in the 21st century long enough to learn how to use the tech, as Tony called it, and to pick up the lingo, as Clint said. The only problem was that every once in awhile it wore him down. He missed the things he remembered from his past, but it was nostalgia, familiarity, not ignorance or incompetence. Things had changed, and he was tired of being overjoyed when he did understand a cultural reference, and he was tired of being uncertain he was using the current vernacular correctly…because it was those things rather than the iPhone and the blue tooth that baffled him. Some weeks, he wouldn't bat an eye. He'd go through his days as though born in this century. Other weeks, it would hit him hard. Some casual reference would get him thinking, and he'd be wishing for a few hours with his old friends or a chance to go to The Stork Club with Peggy.
Then there were the tangible things…places, behaviors, modes of dress, music…everything was different. Ebbet's Field was gone. Horn and Hardart had disappeared. The Dodgers played in Los Angeles. Men didn't always wear suits and ties to their office jobs, and women didn't necessarily wear dresses at all. Hats—for women and men—were mostly a thing of the past. Swing had apparently had a comeback, but he'd missed it. Then there were the things the people around him took for granted, but which seemed to him to come from the pages of Amazing Stories or Weird Tales.
In those early days, the losses had hit him sometimes every hour, but he'd coped. He'd managed.
S.H.I.E.L.D.'s demise was different. The clandestine agency had, in his mind, replaced the S.S.R. Peggy had founded it with Howard's help, and even Colonel Phillips had had a hand in it all in the early days. It had given him exactly what he needed in order to keep going. It had become a symbol to him, a link to his past that had thrived in this bizarre future. He'd learned to like and to trust most of the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents he'd met. The unfortunate truth was that been suspicious of Fury ever since he'd discovered what the S.H.I.E.L.D. director intended to do with the tesseract. Though he'd willingly become an agent, he'd never lost the belief that Fury was keeping something from him. Fury aside, the idea that Hydra had infiltrated S.H.I.E.L.D. who knew how long ago, and that the missions he'd been on may have aided them in their deceptions and their long term plans made him physically ill.
Shortly after saying goodbye to Natasha at Fury's fake gravesite, Steve decided that he needed to contact Tony Stark. He wanted, and in some ways he needed the Avengers to assemble, but he couldn't reach all of them. He had no idea how to contact Thor. Dr. Banner might still be with Tony, but when he'd last seen Clint, the former circus performer had caught up with him and told him that S.H.I.E.L.D. had assigned Hawkeye to kill him. Something Clint swore he'd never had any intention of doing.
Clint had been shaken by the thought that they believed he could simply be ordered to kill America's First Superhero as he'd put it. It had earned a laugh from him at the time, reminding him of Phil Coulson, who'd uttered similar words when they'd first met. He'd told the marksman he wasn't anything of the kind, but Clint ignored him.
As soon as he'd gotten the order, Clint had feigned anger that Captain America could go rogue and insisted it would be his pleasure to put an arrow through him. Instead, he'd found his friend and informed him that there had been a tracking device planted on him. After destroying it, Hawkeye told him to tell Natasha he was safe and that he was going into hiding.
He hoped she found him and that they'd meet him at Stark Tower. Not the most clandestine rendezvous point, but probably the best fortified. The Tower was practically a fortress now, and Tony Stark took more precautions with security than any ten government agencies. When he wasn't tinkering with his suit, he was tinkering with new and innovative "security protocols" as he termed it.
Steve had left D.C. just before dawn to avoid rush hour traffic in the beltway. Sam had been reluctant to let him go alone, but Steve had smiled and assured his new friend that he could take care of himself. Besides Sam was still trying to compile intel on the Winter Soldier through his military contacts. They hadn't learned much yet, but Sam had sworn to help him find his friend.
As he hit the road in the early hours of the day, Steve lost himself in the combination of autonomy, freedom, and anonymity the motorcycle—complete with helmet and visor—gave him. He'd managed to keep his face out of the media, except for the incident when Hydra had surrounded him on camera, and driving down the major roadways between the nation's capital and his home state made it easier to pretend he was just a normal person, an 'average Joe' instead of a would-be superhero and a serum-enhanced super soldier. It was a comforting fiction, and he allowed it to soothe his shattered psyche.
His thoughts turned to Bucky caught in the guise of the Winter Soldier. He'd seen anger and hatred in those familiar eyes, but he'd also seen confusion. This above anything else had given Steve hope that Bucky was still in there. For too long he'd thought Bucky was dead. Now, to find him did little to comfort him. He wasn't dead, but he wasn't Bucky, either.
Yeah. Shattered.
He exhaled slowly to dislodge the spiraling thoughts from his head. Putting on his turn signal, he eased into the left lane heading for the rest stop. He'd been on the road a few hours and felt the need to stand up and stretch his legs, though he had to steel himself for the close contact with so many people. The anonymity he'd embraced on the road seemed less secure here, and he felt exposed, unprotected, and on display. He wished he had his mask, but, though it was a way to hide his identity, he knew that would only have made him more noticeable. The display case full of beverages lured him over with the promise of a cool drink, and he meandered in that direction.
While on the road, pretending not to notice the blatant differences between the forties and present day had been somewhat easier. Here, in this Mecca of tourists, truck drivers, and college students on their own for the first time, it became a challenge.
Computers were available in an Internet café on one side of the facility. Along the other, there was a gift shop, which, aside from the usual gum, cigarettes, sodas, and pain relievers, offered pre-paid phone cards, a kiosk where you could print digital photos from a camera or a phone, and even pre-paid gasoline cards. As he made his purchase of a M&Ms, Whoppers, and a large bottle of water—and he shook his head still unhappy that water was bottled and sold like soda—he saw a sign touting a snack called Dippin' Dots that vaguely disturbed him.
He spent a bit of time people watching, but soon realized he was actually searching the crowd for Hydra agents. Paranoia didn't suit him, and he stood, tossing the half-eaten candy in a trashcan along with the empty water bottle.
Paranoia gave way to irritation as he made his way back to his motorcycle, donned his helmet, and kicked the bike into gear. He wanted to enjoy his drive, but he also wanted to see Tony as soon as possible. He wasn't sure why. Something gnawed at him and he thought Tony Stark might be able to put his mind at ease. He supposed he wanted to know he could still rely on Stark to be, well, Stark. Nothing in his life was still what it had seemed. If Tony were still unchanged, and if he could help Steve assemble the Avengers, he might be able to pull himself together. He might be able to stop the crumbling.
He made good time, losing himself in the rhythm of the road and in the 40s music he'd downloaded onto his phone just for the trip. A bottleneck in the Lincoln Tunnel and the tail end of the city's morning rush hour had him arriving in Manhattan later than he would have liked. Still, it was 10:30 A.M. and he wasn't supposed to meet Tony in the Tower for another hour. He parked his motorcycle in the Tower's VIP parking lot as Tony had asked him to do, and swapped his helmet for a baseball cap. He didn't like arriving early. His mother had considered that as rude as arriving late, so he decided to retreat to a nearby diner to get a cup of coffee. No fancy chain coffee shop for him. He preferred coffee to the strong bitter-yet-sweet brews that Tony and Pepper called latte and macchiato.
He was almost to the door when he realized he had no cash. He'd spent the last of his on tolls on the way here. Then he remembered the little card Natasha had given him. It was an ATM card in a fake name. The Russian agent had insisted on setting up a phony identity for both of them as well as one for Sam. She was adamant that he had to use it on this trip until they could work out some way to avoid being traced by Hydra. She thought Tony could help with that.
Thinking about Natasha's concerns, he decided to make a longer walk out of it and not simply stop at the closest ATM to the Tower. His good mood evaporated as he moved through the crowd. Having maintained a happy fiction on the road, he found it impossible to continue to do so here. He was still anonymous enough. In a city the size of New York, it was easy to disappear in a crowd. Anonymity wasn't the problem. Ignoring the technology of the age, however, had just become impossible.
Everywhere he went, people had their heads down staring at the little screens of their mobile devices and the not so little screens of their iPads and tablets. Checking emails, playing games, listening to music that was a bit too loud, even watching movies as they walked, there was no time for the polite nods, smiles, and even occasional hellos that would have been prevalent in the 1940s.
He shook his head thinking back to the 1940s when so many people didn't have telephones in their homes. The only way to call someone was to go to the drug store (as most people called them) and ask to use the payphone. If the person you wanted to reach didn't have a phone, you called the store on the corner nearest them and the storeowner had some kid run the message to the right person, who would then come to the drug store and return the call. Efficient it wasn't, but calls back then were meant to communicate something important—marriages, births, deaths, illnesses, and recoveries. It seemed that people today were talking more—or texting—but they weren't actually communicating anything of any importance.
Foot traffic was heavy in Manhattan, but as his gaze penetrated the crowd, there, in a flash of long hair and familiar eyes, Steve Rogers stared the past in the face. Bucky's face. He stopped in his tracks for a moment, his eyes wide, his mouth frozen open. Someone moved across his line of sight and when they stepped away, Bucky was gone. Steve's eyes frantically scanned the area, and his throat worked to swallow his heart and get it back down where it was supposed to be. He moved in a tight circle scanning his surroundings, but saw no sign of his friend.
Was it his imagination? Was his tired brain conjuring the one thing he wanted to see above all else? Steve knew Bucky was alive, knew Bucky had saved him, pulling him from the Potomac after their fight aboard the helicarrier, but that was all he knew. Was he hallucinating? It wasn't unprecedented. Grief could do crazy things.
He could remember seeing Peggy everywhere when he'd first thawed. Every dark head, every flash of red in the distance, he'd been sure was Peggy, his Peggy and not the one that had grown old without him. He could even recall a time after his mother had died, when he'd driven himself crazy seeing her everywhere he went. Church services, the market, just walking down the street…everywhere he went he saw her. Eventually, it had stopped, and he assumed such sightings depended on time and acceptance.
Could this be real? Was it Bucky? Following him? Searching for him? Remembering something but too shaken to find him and talk to him? He realized, reluctantly, that Bucky could also be there to finish him off.
You're my mission.
Bucky's words resounded through his head, and he was lost in his thoughts for some time. Someone glared at him and tossed a curse over his shoulder and Steve came back to himself. He'd been motionless too long. He pulled his cap lower and shoved his hands—his shaking hands—back into his pockets. There was a time, he thought, in a wave of nostalgia, when, no matter what you did on a city street, you would never hear that sort of language.
He walked, still looking for the ATM, but his thoughts were darker, scattered. Bucky was still alive. Sam was looking for him, and had vowed to call Steve if he picked up his trail, but they hadn't had a single solitary lead. He wished he could be sure he'd actually seen Bucky. Was his friend following him? Was Bucky as confused and upset as he was? Was there a chance Bucky had remembered who he was regardless of what he'd said on the helicarrier?
As he wondered these things, he realized his attention was anywhere but on his surroundings. Chastising himself he scanned the area and picked up his pace. He could blame his distraction on seeing Bucky, or on the long, tiring trip from D.C., or on the fact that he hadn't had more than soda and candy since breakfast, which had been at least six hours ago, but such excuses didn't sit right with him. It didn't matter why he was distracted. Any distraction gave your enemy—Hydra? Bucky?—an edge.
One last look around didn't reveal anything he'd been hoping to find. Not Bucky, not an ATM. He was wondering what his next step should be when his phone rang. He reached into his back pocket and pulled it out glancing at the screen. It was Stark. He hit the button connecting the call.
"Tony?"
"Hey, Cap," Tony sounded distracted. "I just wanted to give you a heads up. I'm going to be a little late. Pepper wrangled me into a meeting uptown, and I'm stuck in traffic. I shouldn't be too long. Can we meet at…?"
His phone let out an odd tone he hadn't heard before. "Tony?" He pulled it from his ear and stared at the screen. The words Low Battery blinked at him twice and then the phone shut itself off. Frustrated, he put it in his jacket pocket and looked around for a payphone. If he could call Tony and find out if he were just changing the time of the meeting, or maybe the place, or was it both?
Steve glanced around again, but he didn't see any public phones. Not the familiar glass booths, or the less old-fashioned kiosks, or even a sign in a storefront claiming there was a phone inside for public use. He realized there was little demand for such a thing when most citizens carried phones in their back pockets.
He lengthened his stride eating up the distance between blocks, but he saw no sign of any sort of phone. Maybe someone would loan him a cell phone. He looked more carefully at the people sharing the sidewalk with him. Business men in suits, kids in jeans and hooded sweatshirts, women in shorts and sandals dressed in less than Rita Hayworth in that pinup that Dugan had liked so much. He approached one businessman and put on his friendliest face. "Um, excuse me, sir, could I borrow…"
The man walked fast and ignored Steve.
"Sir," Steve tried again with the next passer by. "I was wondering…"
The man glared at him and shoved him aside.
"Ma'am," Steve called to a woman, and then forgot how to speak when he realized that below the denim jacket she sported, the woman was wearing flannel pajamas and bedroom slippers.
"Pervert," she yelled at him over her shoulder as he stared in open-mouthed shock.
Steve shook himself out of it and tried again. He saw an older man, dressed casually. He had white hair and a mustache and a twinkle in his eye. "Pardon me, sir. My phone battery died and I was in the middle of a call. I was wondering…"
"Go away, kid," the man said.
"So…" Steve whispered to himself. "I guess that's a no." He felt defeated. Glancing around, he realized that the search for Bucky, an ATM, and a phone had left him unsure of where he was. He wasn't seeing anything familiar. It could be just the changes from mid 20th century to the early 21st, but he was well and truly lost. He took a breath and reasoned with himself. It was still Manhattan after all. If he kept walking he'd find some landmark he would recognize. He glanced at a pole on the corner, but the street sign was missing.
Maybe he should focus on finding a working ATM, get a bit of extra cash, and hail a taxi. A cabbie would certainly know how to get back to Avengers Tower as Tony insisted on calling it now.
He walked about 10 blocks before choosing a machine and approaching it. There was a woman ahead of him, but she finished quickly, and he stepped up.
Slipping in the card, he punched in his code. The machine made a strange noise and the screen flashed a few times before going black. He stared at it a moment waiting for the card to come out and the screen to come on, but neither happened. He punched in his code again, but it had no effect.
He tried it once more, hitting the keys slightly harder than was strictly necessary. He closed his eyes feeling a wave of frustration overwhelm him. The machine wasn't responding. He hit it once. Nothing. Again. Nothing.
It was as if the machine were responsible for his day, his month, and every bad thing that had happened to him since he'd come out of the ice…since he'd been born. He hit the machine again hard enough to dent it. Again. He screamed his frustration feeling much as he did when he went at the punching bags at the gym. He heard a sound behind him, and whirled around. There was a crowd drawing near. A Police cruiser was parked at the curb with lights flashing. Steve backed away. Police. Or Hydra? He gripped his backpack wondering if he should risk taking out his shield. It would give him away, but if these officers were actually Hydra innocent people could be hurt. The shield identified him as Captain America even if no one recognized his face, but at least with it out, he'd be able to defend any innocents that ended up in the line of fire. He backed away again until his back hit the machine. Things spiraled out of control after that.
The Avengers * The Avengers The Avengers * The Avengers * The Avengers
Tony sighed as Happy edged the limo through the clogged streets of Manhattan. He'd told Pepper he didn't want to take this meeting, but she'd insisted that in light of what had happened to S.H.I.E.L.D. in the last month, they should try to make an effort to convince the Board of Directors that business was still a top priority for both Tony Stark and Stark Industries. Reluctantly, he'd allowed himself to be persuaded. Happy had suggested it would be much more comforting to the Board to see Tony arrive by limo rather than to see Iron Man tearing through Manhattan in his red and gold suit. Tony wasn't sure he agreed, but he gave in when Pepper glared at him.
He used a similar glare on his watch as though that could make it tell him a different time. He wished his call to Cap had been more successful, but Steve's phone must have died or something because they'd been cut off. He sighed again and rested his head on the back of the seat so he was looking up at the sky through the glass of the back window. "Happy, I could walk faster than this."
"I know. It's not my fault! There's some kind of police activity up ahead."
Tony's head snapped up. "Police activity? Where?" He craned his head around to see up ahead. Happy was right. Aside from the already jammed mid-day traffic, there were several police cars and at least a dozen of New York's finest standing around an ATM. Whatever was going on, there would be video or photos. YouTube, Twitter, and Facebook were about to be bombarded with images of whatever the dozen or more people he could see were shooting.
He watched as the officers moved forward. One was bringing a set of handcuffs into view and brandished them towards the person backed against the ATM. Tony's eyes widened in shock.
Steve. Steve Rogers was the man by the—as he could now see, severely damaged—ATM. He was backing away from the men, one hand up in a placating back off gesture. The other was reaching into his pocket. Oh, no! Tony saw one of the cops reaching for his weapon. Steve must have realized his mistake because he slowly brought his hand away from his body and held it high. In that moment most of the officers were on him, and Steve went down hard disappearing under a wall of NYPD uniforms.
"Wait for me, Hap," Tony shouted as he threw open the door of the limo and sprinted through the streets. Happy's protests followed him, but he barely heard them. Reaching the police cars, he held up his hands and called out in his most commanding Iron Man voice. "Hey. Can I help?"
A ranking officer turned a glare on him. Recognition softened his expression, but the man shook his head. "Thanks, Mr. Stark. We've got it."
"I was talking to him," Tony admitted pointing at Steve. He saw that Steve wasn't struggling. Of course he wasn't. Boy Scouts don't fight police officers. The sight of Steve Rogers on his knees and submitting to such manhandling stoically with his hands behind his head was eerily familiar. He'd seen the footage a short time ago when S.H.I.E.L.D. had fallen apart, and the only thing missing was the gun.
Oh, no, there it was. He bit his tongue when he saw the officer with a gun pointed right at Steve's head. Several others in the small circle had their own weapons aimed at the super soldier. He suppressed a shiver that wanted to race down his spine, and did what he did best. He reacted.
"Gentlemen, this is all a misunderstanding," he said with a fake calm. He wished Steve were in his uniform or that without it he was as recognizable as Tony was. If these guys knew it was Captain America, they probably wouldn't be taking this quite so far. Come to think of it, why didn't they recognize him? The S.H.I.E.L.D. take down hadn't been that long ago. They should recognize him. He shook it off as something to worry about later. "This is a friend of mine. I'll take full responsibility." He spoke quickly and authoritatively wondering what Pepper would say if he were the one kneeling on the sidewalk with a gun to his head.
"I'll pay any damages."
He glanced at Steve, but the man had a faraway look in his eyes. Tony frowned. It was as though he had no interest in what was happening to him. He moved cautiously forward trying to get the other man to notice him. It worked to a degree, but when Steve looked up and caught his eye, Tony actually took a step back. The look on his face was one of such intense loss that it actually hurt to see it. "Steve," he whispered, not sure what else to say. The police, the city, even Happy were all forgotten. "Steve, what happened?"
Steve blinked and confusion replaced the loss behind his eyes. "Tony?"
Tony gave him his brightest smile. "The one and only. Let me handle this."
He looked at the officer in charge slightly surprised to see Happy and Pepper inserting themselves into the small knot of civilians, police officers, and off duty superheroes. Not really sure how she'd caught up with them, he figured he'd let Pepper handle this. She was good at it.
"We'll be sure to pay any damages…"
"…crime has been committed…"
"…property damage…no injuries…"
Tony let the words wash over him and he knelt by Steve's side unsure if he should touch him at all. "What happened, Cap?"
Steve shook his head. "Not sure. I…" He stopped himself and shook his head again as though that would help. Then he winced and put a hand to his head as he came somewhat out of what Tony could only call a stupor. "Not here, Tony." He looked up at Tony in concern. "Are we sure they're not Hydra?"
Tony's mouth snapped shut. He hadn't thought of that. He stood abruptly and put a hand out to keep Pepper from getting any closer to the officers. "Happy," he said, "take Pepper and Steve back to the car."
He looked at the officer in charge. "Officer, this is a friend of mine," Tony gestured to Steve. "He's had a rough time. How about I make a donation to the Policemen's Retirement Fund?"
As he talked, Happy led Pepper who led Steve back to the car. He handed the officer a business card. It was for Stark Industries head of legal. "Please call this woman if you have any questions."
He kept talking, making generic placating comments as he walked backwards towards the car where Happy and Pepper were helping Steve slip inside and away from prying eyes. Once they were all in the limo, Happy moved as fast as the traffic allowed, which wasn't fast at all, and Tony saw the police officers moving people on and breaking up the still gaping crowd. He was glad the car had tinted windows. He didn't think Steve should be seen in this state, even if he hadn't been identified yet.
He turned to Pepper just as Happy finally turned the corner leaving the ATM and diminishing crowd behind. "Where did you come from?"
Pepper was still looking in concern in Steve's direction, but Tony's words brought her eyes to his. "Oh, that's the nicest greeting you can come up with…"
Tony sighed and rubbed his eyes. "No, I meant, you weren't here, and suddenly you were…"
"So it didn't occur to you that I heard about police activity and was worried you were involved…"
"You don't just hear about police activity …"
"Well, you didn't get far from the office. I could see the ATM and the cops…"
"From the office window? Were you staring out the window watching me leave, 'cause that's so sweet."
"I wasn't watching exactly, and it's not sweet." She was blushing as they ran through their conversation, but Tony still managed to keep a small part of his attention on Steve.
"How do you do that?" Steve's voice was enough to shut them both up and they turned to him.
"Do what?" Tony asked.
"Talk over each other and yet hear everything the other is saying," Steve said softly. He still hadn't looked at them, and Tony found that somehow alarming.
"We perfected that years ago," Pepper admitted with a smile. "It's the only way to talk to Tony sometimes.
Finally, Steve looked at them. "Tony, Pepper," he glanced at the front seat. "Happy, thanks. For intervening I mean. I…just…thank you. I'll pay the damages to the ATM. I don't want you to do that."
"Don't worry about that now, Steve," Pepper said softly in a tone Tony recognized. Steve wouldn't be paying for anything. "Are you okay?"
Steve didn't answer right away. When he did, Tony saw that look of loss and confusion was back in his eyes. "I've no idea, ma'am."
"Steve," Pepper said softly with nothing but kindness in her voice. "We've been through that. Call me Pepper."
"Yes, M…Pepper. I…" the thought trailed off and Tony and Pepper shared a look of concern. Happy pulled into the private V.I.P. parking lot at Avengers Tower. They parked in their private space, Tony noted that Steve's motorcycle was already parked in the private garage as well, and he wondered how that could have happened if Steve had been wandering the streets.
The elevator ride was silent. As soon as the doors opened into the suite, Tony called out to his A.I. "J.A.R.V.I.S., I need you to check all social media and police records and remove any references—videos, photos, tweets or posts—to today's events at the ATM on East 61st Street and Madison Avenue. Continuous monitoring in perpetuity." There. That way if anyone decided to keep trying to post, tweet, or whatever, they'd never be successful.
"Of course, sir," J.A.R.V.I.S. said.
He made his way to the bar. Steve followed and sat heavily on a stool. His eyes were glassy and unfocused. He was obviously lost in his thoughts and far away from 21st Century New York City. Tony poured a drink for himself and one for Steve setting it in front of the oblivious man.
He turned to Pepper who was blatantly worried about the Captain. Arm around her shoulders he led her toward the elevator. "Pepper," he spoke her name softly and she turned towards him. He sighed. "Don't take this the wrong way, but he might be easier to talk to…"
She held up her hands in surrender anticipating his request. "I'm going. He's not actually comfortable around me anyway. Let me know if there's anything I can do. I'll go to the office." She gestured down the hall, and Tony knew she meant the home office in the Tower that he'd had built to surprise her with when he'd remodeled. He had wanted an excuse for her to work from home when the mood struck either of them or if some Avengers thing made him too worried for her safety to allow her to leave. She glanced at Steve, but turned to the elevators with Happy right behind her.