Dropping the Bass
Setting: Post-Avengers, Pre-Anything else.
Summary: He's Steve Rogers. He's a man out of time. He's got a rathole apartment and occasionally thoughtless neighbours. It's pretty obvious why he can't sleep. Contains Swedish EDM and French cursing.
Disclaimer: Bonjour, mes amis français. Je m'excuse à l'avance si mes mots offenser quelqu'un. Ce sont des sacres québécois parce que je suis canadienne. Amusez-vous! Consider making an appointment with a neurologist should you think I own any of character you recognize.
Four in the afternoon. He had been trying and failing to sleep for five and a half hours now. Steve knew because he had been checking the clock with increasing exasperation every fifteen minutes. Clearing up after another mission had kept him in the office until hours after the morning shift had clocked in.
This woman, this maddening woman and her granddaughter, kept the most ludicrous schedule imaginable. One day there would be electric dance music until three in the morning, the next day it would be something Tony called 'doobstep' from dawn into dusk. The walls on either side of the apartment were well insulated – it was the flooring that conducted the sound. As a result, Steve was apparently the only one in this torment.
Earplugs were useless against sound waves that literally caused glass to shudder in the windowpanes. Sleeping pills were never an option for the supersoldier. He was well and truly trapped.
On special occasions, the music would start in the middle of the night or during a blissfully-stolen nap. Steve would wake to the walls shaking and fall out of bed in a tangle of sheets, trying to convince himself that his company was not being shelled.
Most nights he lay awake until the early hours or until he simply passed out from exhaustion. Sometimes, he was so tired that he didn't trust himself on his bike. He spent a whole morning attempting to make it in to the city by subway and fell asleep on the way over.
Steve woke up with Natasha next to him, filing her nails by his side in the otherwise-empty car. They had ridden the rails to the end of the line and back several times over. She gave him one of her inscrutable smiles and left without saying a word.
Desperate, he wrote a letter of complaint to the landlord and slipped a copy under the door of apartment 529 (which they had refused to open to him since his first sojourn upstairs).
The only response he received was an envelope under his door containing his letter shredded into confetti and a Polaroid of an extended middle finger.
Beside him on the bedside table, his cellular phone began buzzing. The tiny screen emitted a pale blue light that illuminated the room with a ghastly glow.
Steve made a despairing noise and flipped his phone open. "This had better be important." He growled, placing a hand over his eyes.
"Nice to hear you so chipper, Cap. Did you forget about our little team meeting today? It's no big deal, I'm sure the director of SHIELD has time to wait." came Stark's condescending reply.
The meeting. His eyes snapped open. "Tabernac!"
He could practically hear Tony smirking through the phone. "…right. See you in a flash, Chuckles."
There was certainly something to be said for adrenaline. Steve turned a forty-minute drive into about twenty minutes. He left his bike in the basement parking complex of Stark Tower and rode the elevator all the way to the top, fiddling with his keys to keep his hands busy.
"Good afternoon, Captain Rogers," intoned Stark's invisible robot butler.
"Afternoon, JARVIS. How's tricks?" Steve replied, catching his reflection in the door and attempting to flatten his unique blend of bed-head and helmet-head. The shadows beneath his eyes had darkened to the point of bruises. There was no denying it – he looked pretty awful.
"As an Artificial Intelligence program, I suppose I do not possess the capabilities to complain." Jarvis replied from the ceiling.
He smiled weakly. "That's pretty philosophical for a computer, isn't it?"
"I wouldn't know," came Jarvis's reply, but there was a strange tone in his generated voice – like that of a man hiding a grin. "Captain, might I be so bold as to observe that you appear to be experiencing more fatigue than usual?"
Great. Even the robot butler was worried about him.
Steve composed himself, standing so ruler-straight that even Colonel Phillips would approve. "Thanks, but I've got it under control."
"Of course, sir. Allow me to remind you that I am available if there is anything that you need."
"Naturally." Steve managed a thinner smile as the elevator doors slid open.
Apologetic, he took his place at the meeting table. Fury somehow had the ability to channel all the glaring prowess of two eyes into his one good eye, but he made no comment and continued his presentation. Stark was ignoring the whole situation and paging through a Quebecois dictionary with a good deal of enthusiasm.
Clearly, this was getting out of hand.
WAHBWAHBbaddabaddaYEEEYEEEYEEE
"Cap? Hey, Captain?"
"Wakey wakey, Spangled Wonder."
"It's not working. Try something different."
"Hmm. Jarvis, can you give me a bit of Reveille?
"Sir, I'm not certain that Captain Rogers would appreciate that…"
"Nonsense, he'll love it. It'll give him the fuzzy-wuzzies for his army days. Play audio clip."
The piercing strains of the bugler were enough to rouse a soldier from a dead sleep, no matter the time period.
Steve started in his chair and tipped over backwards, coming to a crashing halt on the back of his head.
"Mon tabarnac, j'va te décalisser la yeule, calice!" He spat a mouthful of French curses and stared up in revulsion at the overly-gleeful Tony Stark.
Stark flipped through the dictionary for a translation and chuckled. "Props for creativity, Cap. Who taught you to cuss?"
"Guy I once knew. Jacques Dernier. Stick around a Quebecer long enough, you pick up a few things." He picked himself off the floor and checked the back of his head.
The billionaire chuckled dismissively. "Is that so? You know, Pepper speaks French. Her parents sent her to these fancy schools for culture and etiquette – and my old man left me in a garage and told me to get to it."
Steve narrowed his eyes, not quite knowing what to make of that. The lump on his head grumbled that he wasn't ready to pity the man who'd dumped him unceremoniously on his noggin. "Sorry, Stark. I'm a soldier, not a debutante. I only know the dirty words and drinking songs."
"See? You do have something useful to teach me!" A wicked grin splashed across Stark's face.
Pushing himself to his feet, the super soldier scoffed and examined the room. It was vacant except for himself, Stark, and Barton. Notably, Fury was missing and the sun was a good deal lower in the sky. He must have missed the Fury's presentation – and the beginning, and the middle, for that matter.
While the snarky billionaire appeared unconcerned over Steve's lapse in focus, they were scheduled to review a strategic analysis of the team's tactics conducted over the past couple of months designed to help formulate new strategies. It sounded dull, but the briefings were designed to save lives and reduce collateral damage.
And Steve had made a mockery of his CO by sleeping through it.
He groaned and pressed his palm to his forehead. An arm slide around his shoulders he resisted the reflex to pull-flip-pin-break his way out.
"So I can't help but notice you've been doing a pretty good impression of a raccoon lately. Got any plans to share with the rest of the class?" Stark queried in his mellow drawl.
Perched on the edge of the table with his arms folded over his chest, Barton furrowed his brow. "Captain, if there's something that we should know about…"
A chuckle of absurdity bubbled up from within before Steve could control it. "Fellas, wouldn't I tell you if there were something going on?"
For the first time, Stark didn't appear to be amused. "I don't know. Would you?"
That statement came pretty close to a trigger of his. Steve narrowed his eyes. "Of course I would. I wouldn't allow my team to be jeopardized by something personal."
The dark-haired man slipped his arm from his shoulders and came to stand directly in front of him. "See, I'm not so sure about that. If you're keeping something important from your teammates, I think we're already in jeopardy."
Irritation flared in his gut, overriding the cautious voice in his head. Steve took a step closer. "Are you questioning my judgment, Stark?"
The tension was broken when a pencil eraser went flying through the air and bounced off the super soldier's temple. Barton's voice rang clear from across the room. "Hey! Chill– ah, I mean, simmer down, Cap. We just wanna help."
Taking a step back, Steve let out a breath. "Look, I appreciate the concern, but I got everything under control."
Stark raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. "Good. And I'll be giddy as a schoolgirl when I see you prove it."
This was ridiculous. He rubbed the back of his neck. "Fair warning, Stark: you have no idea how unbelievably stupid this is."
The other hero's eyes sparkled with mischief. "Then you're the perfect guy to handle it."
"Another warning: say that again and I'll knock your block off."
WAHBWAHBbaddabaddaYEEEYEEEYEEE
He had tried appealing to their better nature. He had tried appealing to authority. He was sick of these kooky dames and their shenanigans. It was time to step up his game.
And no matter the time period, Steve Rogers was not a guy to chicken out of a challenge.
He tried to remind himself of that as he pushed the double set of glass doors inwards and entered the largest electronics store in Lower Manhattan.
Awash in a sea of light and sound, Steve found himself wandering down aisles stacked floor to ceiling with devices that he had never imagined in his thirty-to-ninety years on this planet. Everywhere he turned, advertisements screamed at him how fantastic their product was and how miserable his life was without it.
A song blared over the speakers that sounded vaguely familiar – had he heard it in the midst of one agonizing night, or did it all just sound the same?
Lost and miserable, the man out of time meandered the store in search of the music section. He found, instead, an ally.
"Need help finding anything, sir?"
Turning around and hoping he didn't look as forlorn as he felt, Steve spotted a friendly-looking young man with messy dark hair and thick-rimmed glasses. He wore suspenders and a red polo bearing the name of the store. His nametag announced him as Riley, but he had scribbled 'Jedi Master' in the blank space above with a permanent marker.
Steve wondered what a Jedi was. Probably not a formal title, but it probably meant some kind of computer whiz. Did that make Stark a Jedi, too?
"Uh, yeah. I'm actually here looking for a present for my… nieces." He rehearsed his cover story, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his bomber jacket. "They're really into music, so I was thinking about some kind of fancy headphones?"
Jedi Master Riley nodded appreciatively. "Good choice! You know you're in the router section, though, right?"
Staring helplessly at the boxes, Steve shrugged. "I, uh, guess you could say I haven't done this in a while."
Fortunately, Riley laughed instead of picking his words apart. "C'mon. Let me show you around. Maybe I can suggest a couple models they might be interested in. Who are your nieces into?"
Blue eyes widening as he tagged after the fast-moving youth, the captain spluttered and blushed. "What?"
Riley turned around, hooking his thumbs in his suspenders as he continued his march, backwards, to the audio section. "Who are they into? One Direction? T-Swif? The Biebster himself?"
It took him a moment to get it, but then it clicked. Music. The kid was talking about musical artists, not something crass. Steve nodded sagely and said as casually as he could, "Uh, I'm not sure. I hear they're into the doobsteps."
That stopped him in his tracks. Riley raised a dark eyebrow. "The what now?"
Puzzled, Steve repeated himself. "Doobsteps. Surely you've heard of it. Kids these days love their doobsteps."
Riley made a curious expression that looked as though he were suppressing a smile. "Do you happen to mean 'dubstep?'"
"Maybe." He sighed and raised his hands in helplessness. "Look, I'm a Glenn Miller kinda guy. The newest stuff I was ever into was Sinatra. My nieces drive us bonkers with their music at crazy hours. I want 'em to be happy, but I don't want to lose my mind, either. I figure if I get 'em something with all the bells and whistles, they might actually want to use them."
"Right. And sanity will be restored." The youngster replied, his expression softening. "I think I know exactly what you're looking for."
They spent about forty-five minutes discussing different options. Riley was very patient. He warned Steve that there were a lot of bells and whistles to be had and spent time talking to him to figure out the best option for his circumstance.
At last, Steve walked out of the store with a bag containing two exquisitely wrapped gift boxes and an album of Frank Sinatra's Greatest Hits. He'd dropped over $500 cash plus tax and gratuities for the headphones, but he told himself that it was a worthy investment towards his sanity.
Carrot acquired.
A semi-quick stop at the New York Public Library and he had the stick.
Time to play.
Musical inspiration for the shop: "Gold Dust," Flux Pavilion
Minor autobiographical note. I have a several family members in the Canadian military. When every one of them came back from basic training, they'd learned a whole bunch of Quebecois curses. You gotta figure that the military guy picked up some interesting words from his multicultural Commandoes.
Also, I'm a huge proponent of doing research on the places that you write about. My current job has my do a ton of research on venues and whatnot for NYC, so I'm hypersensitive when I see a show or read a fic and a character mentions they have a reservation at 'Mario's,' or some other cliché kind of name. Find a real place, figure out what makes it great, and write about that restaurant. At least make it sound like a place you'd like to go.
For reference: popular opinion based off the Avenger's movie is that Stark Tower is located in the same space where the Metlife Building is in Midtown, and I would put Steve's apartment somewhere in Bensonhurst, Brooklyn. Now picture the happy times of commuting from one to another.
Thanks for stopping by and happy researching!
Don't write the story. Live the story.
