Day: 20- July 22, 2011
It didn't really help that she saw the taxi about to swerve.
Well, maybe it helped a little, Bryn had just enough time to jam down on the left pedal and pull her foot off of the right one before the taxi clipped her rear tire. She let out a frightened yelp, tucking her arms and legs as the bicycle bounced off the light pole on the corner like a badly thrown dodge ball. The bike seemed to hang in the air for a span of seconds and then the pavement was rushing toward her as she clamped her eyes shut.
"Hey! buddy! Who do ya think ya are?" A male voice shouted after the driver from very close to Bryn's ear. it was another moment before she realized that the solid mass digging into her ribs was, in fact, not the twisted remains of her bicycle.
You okay, miss?" the owner of the arm that had caught her asked. Bryn pulled her feet under her with a shaky breath, her fingers clutching reflexively at the sleeve of the man's shirt as she wobbled. She nodded mutely, her limbs shaking with unspent adrenaline as she inspected them as if to assure herself they were all still properly attached.
"Yeah," she breathed out as the man steadied her, taking a step back. "Yeah I think I'm okay." She looked down at her feet and let out a groan.
"Damn it!" she swore, her voice descending into a pitiful whine. "my bike!"
"Yeah it was a nice one too," her rescuer remarked, nudging the bent tire with the toe of his running shoes. The bike was a mess, the rear tire was twisted up like a taco shell, the front one sported a sizable dent in the rim. The chain dangled uselessly from the gears, and a large crack was visible in one of the saddlebag bins, undoubtedly where the taxi had hit her. Bryn bit her lip, blinking back tears that she hastily brushed away with her arm.
"Are you sure you're alright?" the good samaritan asked, concern in his tone.
"Yeah," she sniffed. "It's my company bike. And I just started my job, too. I don't know what my boss is going to say." Her stomach pitched, a heavy weight sinking slowly from her chest to fill it with dread. She hadn't been at this job a month and already she'd flattened company equipment, very expensive company equipment. She flipped open the saddle bags, struggling with the latch on the broken one. the deli containers inside didn't appear to be damaged and she sighed, gathering them up. She'd have to take the groceries in and then come back for the bike.
"Well I hope he says he's glad you didn't get killed by a taxi," the man stated, a frown furrowing his brow. "Where do you work?"
"S.I." Bryn answered forlornly, shuffling her grip on the grocery bags and looking up at Stark Tower. "At least for now."
"Well I'll help you cary the bike then," he offered, crouching down to grasp hold of the frame, his muscled arms rippling under his tight t-shirt.
"Oh, you don't have to," Bryn began as he straightened, hoisting the bike up onto his shoulder.
"It's only across the street," he insisted, turning to her with a shy smile. He was pretty, in an old fashioned sort of way with his close cropped blond hair peeking out beneath his ball cap and his ernest bright blue eyes. He was tall, really tall, and the muscles of his broad chest barely flexed under the weight of the bicycle. "I'm heading that way anyway."
"The garage entrance," Bryn sighed with a hint of resignation as she nodded down the street. They hurried across traffic before the light could change again, the bike's front tire flapping uselessly behind them as they turned down the street in front of the cafe. Bryn glanced up at him as they walked his t-shirt and jeans were smudged with dirt but still looked fairly new. There was a scratch along one arm and his sneakers were covered in dust.
"You work in construction?" She asked curiously. He blushed, throwing her a soft smile.
"I've been helping with the cleanup in my off hours," he shrugged. "A lot of the small businesses are having a rough time rebuilding." She couldn't help but smile at that. He seemed almost embarrassed at being caught helping out.
"Yeah," She nodded. "I notice that running up and down the streets every day. The debris is cleaned up and most of the big buildings are under repair, but it seems like the little guys are having a tough time picking up the pieces."
"A… friend of mine runs a charity that's helping with the rebuild," he nodded. "So for me it's kind of great, if I'm out helping and I meet someone who clearly really needs a hand I can always tell him and it's like the next day and they have what they need. It makes me feel good, seeing people come together like that."
"Things in this part of town sure have been different," she admitted grinning up at him brightly. "before the attack I'd have never expected anyone to offer to cary my bike home."
"My mother raised me better than that," he admitted, a bright flush coloring his cheeks. Bryn let out a soft laugh. She turned to see the entrance to the parking garage and her stomach twisted up in fresh knots.
"This way," she nodded, leading him down the ramp.
"Thanks," she offered as the private grange door rattled open and they headed past the row of sports cars. "I really do appreciate the help. I have no idea how I would have wrestled it across the street on my own."
"Bryn, my goodness, what happened?" Jarvis' startled voice over the garage speakers made her shoulders tense and she winced.
"She's okay, Jarvis," her good samaritan replied, easing the bike down to the pavement. "A taxi driver knocked her into a pole. Messed up her bike pretty good but she isn't injured." Bryn stared at him, mouth agape.
"That's certainly a relief," Jarvis remarked. "The bike looks awful, Captain."
"Well the headlight and the back tire are goners," He observed, studying the bike with a calculating eye. "So's the one saddle bag. The chain's bent and the shift's broken. I'm pretty sure the brakes will need to be replaced too. But the frame hardly has a scratch so it's fixable. If you want to tell me where Tony keeps his tools I'd be happy to get started on it."
"Unnecessary, Captain," Jarvis assured. "I am already ordering a suitable replacement."
"Captain?" Bryn squeaked out.
"Are you sure?" he asked with a frown, lifting his ball cap to drag his nails over his scalp. "Seems kind of a waste."
"There is a youth bicycle program in Brooklyn that the Maria Stark foundation supports," Jarvis replied. "I'm sure one of the children would be overjoyed to restore it to working condition."
"Fair enough," he nodded with a pleased expression.
"Captain?" Bryn declared, wide eyed. "Captain America?"
"Steve," he said blushing. "It's… you can call me Steve."
"Captain America just rescued me from a taxi," Bryn declared, her face screwed up in a dazed, shocked expression.
"Bryn are you quite certain you're entirely all right?" Jarvis asked. "You seem a bit unsteady. Did you sustain a head injury of any kind?"
"No I…" her voice trailed off and she paused, staring at Steve with her mouth drawn up like a carp. She let out a tiny whining sound. "Captain America rescued me and I can't even tell anyone!" Steve's ears and neck turned bright red.
"As per your nondisclosure agreement," Jarvis confirmed. "Bryn I believe I would feel better if our in-office medical staff gave you a check up just to be safe. I will call up to forty and make an appointment for you."
"I didn't even hit the ground," she shook her head. blinking up at the ceiling. "I… you're not mad about the bike?"
"It's hardly your fault that someone hit you," Jarvis pointed out.
"They didn't even stop," Steve declared sourly.
"I'll be sure to go over the building's security footage and see if I can find something suitable to submit to the police," Jarvis huffed out angrily.
"You're really not upset about the bike?" she asked worriedly.
"A bicycle can be replaced," Jarvis reminded, his tone less harsh. "people cannot. Captain are you quite certain she was not injured?"
"I don't think I grabbed her too roughly," Steve replied, giving her an apologetic smile. "I tried to be careful. Your ribs don't hurt, do they?" Bryn ran her hands down her sides on reflex where she could still feel the fading warmth of Captain America's arm around her. She shook her head, her lip trembling as her eyes watered.
"Bryn?" Jarvis asked, alarmed.
"I think it's probably just shock," Steve declared, propping the heap of the bike against the garage wall and taking Bryn's arm to steady her. "It could have been a lot worse. She should sit down and rest for a while." the storage door at the end of the garage rolled up and Steve Rogers planted a hand on her back, steering her into the small office and onto the sofa.
"Water?" Steve asked, looking up at the ceiling.
"There are several bottles in the mini fridge under the counter," Jarvis replied and Steve hurried to open it, pulling a bottle out and cracking the cap before handing it to Bryn.
"Give yourself a minute," he advised, crouching in front of her as she forced down a swallow. "and once you're steady again I think maybe Jarvis is right and you should have a doctor check you over. I, well, I was on a mission once and one of my men fell off a wall and I caught him, broke three of his ribs. I don't know my own strength sometimes."
"I don't hurt anywhere," Bryn insisted, her skin felt too tight and she made a fist with one hand, flexing and releasing it as if she could stretch it to fit. "If you hadn't caught me it could have been really bad."
"I'm glad I caught you then," Steve gave her warm smile, a soft blush coloring his cheeks.
"You are absolutely adorable, how are you even real?" Bryn asked, she pulled a face almost immediately. "I'm going to pretend I hit my head. Can we pretend I hit my head?" Steve let out a laugh.
"I'm not entirely certain you didn't," Jarvis stated drily. "If you're feeling well enough, the SI employee clinic is expecting you."
"Yeah, okay," Bryn relented, her own face turning a delicate pink as she eased off the couch.
"I'll walk you up," Steve offered. "I was on my way home anyway."
"Do not return without a clean bill of health," Jarvis insisted firmly after them as Steve opened the door for her and they headed out into the corridor.
"So you're in hiding but you just parade around Stark tower like you own the place?" Bryn asked as they climbed the stairs to the lobby level.
"Well I don't," Steve shrugged, pulling his ball cap down over his eyes and hunching his shoulders slightly. "But Rodger Stevens does." He dug in the back pocket of his jeans, pulling out an SI security badge, his picture and the name Stevens, Rodger F. emblazoned on the front.
"That is the lamest fake name ever!" Bryn hissed out, barely able to contain her glee as they crossed the lobby.
"Nobody's going to suspect anything so obvious," Steve answered, shrugging. "I keep my head down going in and out of the building because of the… Stark called it 'face recognition software'. Anyway, as far as anyone knows I'm nobody."
"So what do you do here at SI Mr. Stevens?" Bryn questioned with exaggerated politeness as they boarded the lift, moving around a group of researchers and executives leaving for the day.
"I'm an artistic consultant for product advertising," Steve declared, barely keeping a straight face as the doors closed. He blew out a breath, tugging off his ball cap and running his fingers through his hair.
"Do you even know what that is?" She asked in wonder. "Because I don't even know what that is and I have a business degree."
"Haven't the foggiest," Steve admitted, grinning. "But apparently it has something to do with the fact that I keep telling Stark his commercials and magazine ads are visually offensive. I think he meant it as a joke."
"They're selling the new Stark phones faster than they can make them," she pointed out.
"It has to be entirely on product merit," Steve insisted, shaking his head. "Because that thing they ran in the Times was awful." Bryn let out a laugh as the doors opened on forty.
"This is me, thanks for all the help, Rodger, see you around!"
"Yeah," Steve faltered a moment before giving her a nervous half wave. "See you!" The elevator doors closed on him and Bryn covered her mouth to muffle her laugh as she turned down the corridor toward the employee clinic. She'd only made it a half dozen steps before she stopped.
"I think I was just flirting with Captain America," she whispered half under her breath. She caught herself instantly, covering her mouth and she looked around wide eyed but the corridor was empty. She let out a sigh of relief, heading down the hall once more.
Recycle-A-Bicycle is a lovely program in Queens, Brooklyn, and the East Village that teaches young people how to repair bicycles and allows them to earn one for themselves by restoring donated bikes for the less fortunate and for resale in the program's bike shop. If you're in the New York area and looking for a bike, or if you have a bike that's at the end of its life, I'd like to encourage you to support them. If you are not in the New York area I hope you'll look for similar programs in your own neighborhood.