Steve stood up, tapping his fingers against the long glass table.
"Oh, and Captain Rogers, Mr. Stark has requested that you see him at the Stark Tower."
He thought he saw a hint of a smile flicker across Agent Hill's face. She picked up a small black box, something he had come to know as a sort of pager, and as she started clearing files off the table, she accidentally pushed a button on the pager. Stark's sarcastic and commanding yet amused voice crackled over the speaker.
"And tell Capsicle to get himself over to the Tower, pronto."
Steve smiled his sweet, handsome smile, a smile more genuine and bigger than usual. He and Tony still weren't buddy-buddy, but he couldn't deny that they were on much better terms since what had happened the past summer. Tony was "something else," as Steve often eloquently put it.
"I'll walk to the Tower now," Steve asserted. Agent Hill gave a little nod. That was about all you could expect from Maria, the woman of few words.
Steve exited the room and made his way for the door. Pushing it open, he emerged into a whir of sound and busyness.
It was a slightly gray day. Cars whizzed by, their lights flashing. People traversed the sidwalks-people from all walks of life and with all types of appearances, some scurrying to some far away place, others taking their sweet time. As Steve began to trudge down the street in the cold December air, he was caught up in a surge of people, marching down the street like zombie soldiers, murmuring and muttering and talking on the phone. With a glance at his old-fashioned watch, he realized it was rush hour. He examined those near him. Couples holding hands, suit-clad businessmen caught up in thought, carrying smart briefcases, their foreheads creased in worry, mothers toting toddlers on their hips, pushing another one or two children in a stroller, tourists wandering about the stores, cameras around their necks, and himself-old-fashioned and out of place in his khaki pants and tucked-in shirt with a tan leather jacket.
Pulling himself out of thought, Steve approached the Stark Tower. It had been rebuilt after Loki's stunt on Earth, and although the general outer appearance of the Tower was the same, Tony had taken this opportunity to change the inside. Since his business career was booming, he had made the first floor into an all-glass lobby complete with all kinds of Iron Man memorabilia, one or two security guards outside the door, and a secretary to schedule appointments. Steve approached the secretary at the desk.
She was your typical secretary kind of person, her blonde hair pulled up smartly into a tight up-do. Her long nails were perfectly lacquered and a bluetooth ear piece was in her ear, though Steve couldn't quite grasp what that little black thing was. At the present, she had several papers spread out over the desk and was holding one call on the office telephone and another through the bluetooth. A little Iron Man pendulum swung back and forth in front of her, undaunted. Steve stood there awkwardly. She finally looked up, raising her eyebrows expectantly.
"May I help you?"
"I'm...here to see Mr. Stark."
"Name?" she asked, looking down at her scheduling book, uninterested and accustomed to useless visitors.
Steve shifted. "Steve Rogers."
The secretary's face shot up. Regaining her composure, she plastered a rather fake smile onto her appearance.
"Captain Rogers, welcome. You can use the elevator to the left and go to floor 12. I'll let Mr. Stark know you're coming and he'll be there to welcome you."
With a gentlemanly nod of acknowledgement, Steve boarded the elevator, pressing the button for floor 12, then stuffed his hands in his pockets. The elevator rose, stopped, and as the doors opened, Tony appeared. He was wearing an old band shirt and jeans and seemed very laid back and comfortable, something that happened rarely now since business had taken over his life. He grinned.
"Welcome to my palace, Capsicle."
Steve couldn't help smiling, even though the Tower wasn't quite his taste in homes.
"Yes, Tony. It's very...nice," Steve said, walking into Tony's lounge area, hands in his pockets, looking around. "You've done well with the rebuilding."
Tony smirked.
"Yada, yada, yada. Come on, old man, let's get to work." Tony opened a set of double doors, revealing a big walk-in closet. "Now, don't be fooled. These are my old clothes. I'm not going to sacrifice my closet because you lack style."
"What? Tony, what are you talking about?"
Tony stopped and looked up. "Your wardobe needs fixing, and I'm going to fix it. It's about time somebody does."
Steve shook his head. "No, really, that's okay."
"You have no choice, Grandpa." With that, Tony turned his back on Steve and commenced digging through the clothes racks and tossing clothes on a nearby sofa. Steve smiled and gave a resigned sigh, sitting down on an ottoman.
"All right," Tony said after a few minutes. "Go try these on in that bathroom over there," he said, shoving a pile of clothes into Steve's arms. Steve started for the bathroom.
It could hardly be called a bathroom. More like a mini-bath house. It was huge, the size of a small apartment. It contained three sinks, a huge mirror, an abnormally large bathtub, a hot tub, and a cave-like shower.
Steve stepped out of the bathroom, scratching his neck. He wore jeans, turned up at the ankles, a red and blue timberman-like flannel shirt buttoned all the way up over a navy tank top. Tony face-palmed.
"No, no, dude, you're totally messing this up. Roll down your jeans."
Steve hesitated, then did as Tony asked.
"Now, unbutton the shirt. Let it hang loose. Yeah, like that. It looks cool."
Steve stood there awkwardly as Tony posed his hand on his chin thoughtfully.
"Okay, go try on the next set of clothes."
And on it went. The next time Steve came out, he was wearing maroon jeans, a faded white T-shirt, and a beanie on his head.
Tony shook his head. "Nope. Try on the next set."
Steve presented himself in a gray dress shirt, black dress pants, and black suspenders.
"Ha, no. Only some people can pull that look off, and you, my friend, are not one of them. Next!"
Steve entered the room sporting a deep blue sweater over a white dress shirt with jeans.
"Ehh...not quite what your style is, I'm afraid. Next outfit!"
Now Steve appeared in a suit.
"Now this," Steve said, smiling, "is familiar. They tailor them differently these days, but nevertheless, they do look quite...dashing."
Tony chuckled. "Mmhmm. It's a good style for you, but you're not the kind of man that would wear this day-to-day. We're looking for a good solid style for you, my friend. Staple style articles. And," he said, glancing up at Steve's puzzled expression, "I can tell you have no idea what I'm talking about. Doesn't matter. Go put on the flannel and the jeans again, and put on this," he said, handing Steve a coal-colored coat. "It's called a pea coat."
Steve did as he was asked and stepped back into the room.
"Turn," Tony instructed.
Steve turned and grinned. "Well?"
Hmm. The flannel definitely fits you. It's one of your staple items. I'll make sure you get lots of those. I like the coat. I think you'd also do well in leather."
Pepper joined the room. "Tony, I need you to-"
"Eh," Tony said, interrupting her. "Look. Doesn't Sleeping Beauty here look good in flannel?"
Pepper beamed at Steve. "Yes, I think it fits him well."
"All right, try these on," Tony said, handing Steve a pair of navy high-top Chucks.
Steve ran his hands across the shoes as his face erupted into a sunny grin.
"Chucks! I haven't worn a pair of these since I was a kid. Are they...in style?"
Tony crossed his arms. "You have no idea. But, you know, we call them Converse now."
Steve nodded as he bent to tie the shoes. As he stood up, Tony nodded, pleased.
"Perfect."
Popper tilted her head critically. "I think he would also do well in cowboy boots."
"Cowboy boots? Cowboy boots?" Tony repeated. "Do we live in Texas? Cowboy boots?"
"Yes, cowboy boots. Steve could pull them off."
Tony opened his mouth to say something, then shrugged. "Yeah, sure, I'll tell the secretary to get some ordered for him or something." He paused. "All right, I'm running out of time. Steve, go put on your other clothes and I'll get someone to gather these clothes up for ya. I have one last thing to give you today."
Steve smiled. "You've given me so much already." He clapped him on the back. "Thank you."
"Yeah, yeah," Tony said coolly. He picked a small rectangular box up off a shelf and seated Steve at a table. He paused and narrowed his eyes, as if he held a great secret.
"This, my friend, is your new phone."
Steve blinked. "Phone?"
"Yep," Tony replied, pulling a sleek, shiny white iPhone 5 out of the box. All Steve saw was a very white, very breakable gadget that he was pretty sure he could never figure out. He began to grow even more terrified when Tony switched the phone on and began sliding his finger around on the screen. Steve glanced at his own calloused fingers. Tony's fingers were big, but Steve's were bigger. How would he ever make a screen like that work? He wasn't techy.
"Here," Tony was saying. "You try it. Just slide your finger across the screen." Steve hesitantly reached out and gently swiped his finger to the left. The screen changed and showed several little square icons of light.
"These are called apps. They are your tools, your...your...uh...your weapons. They help you get done what you need to get done," Tony said.
Pepper grinned, watching the two from the doorway. She had no idea how Steve was going to figure out an iPhone 5. She knew that Tony was going to be late for his meeting, but she also knew that Tony and Steve would end up being good friends by the end of the day.