IV: Iron Man, Part Three
Pepper showed up next Thursday with several carefully sealed film reels as promised. She also caught Bruce and Steve jamming to We Built This City.
"Starship. Really, Bruce?" asked Pepper, eyebrows raised.
"There's nothing wrong with stupid pop," said Bruce, while Steve blinked innocently.
JARVIS killed the music. "Welcome back, Ms. Potts. Dr. Banner has told me you will be watching a feature movie recorded on 35mm film. Shall I set up the movie projector, or should I convert the film to digital?"
Pepper thought for a split second.
"Convert to digital, please, JARVIS. Thank you."
Pepper placed the reels in a depository box so JARVIS could work on digitizing them. While they waited, Steve made popcorn on the stove, Bruce heated samosas and deep-fried crab wontons, and Pepper changed into comfortable clothes.
"How was your day?" Steve asked.
"Could've been worse," said Pepper. "Meetings, meetings, and more meetings … and I had to answer the board why our green energy line isn't profitable, and why we're still pursuing it."
Steve hummed thoughtfully. "Bruce explained green energy to me. Good ideas, not-so-good economics, sounds like. Are you in the red?"
"Blood red. Very red," Pepper sighed. "I know we're doing the right thing, but we still need to justify the expense. Anything that would let it generate revenue will be welcome, honestly."
Steve nodded, looking pensive. Bruce, who was now quite familiar with Steve's moods and mannerisms, especially when Steve was in the intermediate state, was intrigued because 'pensive' usually meant Steve was mulling over an idea. So he told Pepper.
Pepper looked positively devious when Bruce finished talking. She did not, however, make any mention of it, even as they settled down on the sectional couch and JARVIS dimmed the lights.
"I actually never saw the whole movie," Steve confessed.
"Didn't have the time or didn't bother?" asked Bruce.
"Both. I told the director to make me a sidekick to cut down my film time."
Bruce and Pepper shared a knowing look.
"Does that mean we can talk during the film?" asked Bruce.
"Don't be rude, Bruce," said Steve, not at all serious.
"But our commentary may be the only thing that'll make it bearable," said Pepper. "Oh, it started."
They looked. Indeed there was Captain America, marching into a dimly lit office. No one recognized him except Steve ("That's Jeffery Mace. He was good people. Just a bit … slow."). A Colonel, who was seated behind the single desk, dramatically threw a folder towards the Captain, saying it contained his latest assignment. Once Captain America finished reading it and stated the purpose of his mission ("storm the Nazi-captured city and rescue the allied prisoners"), the Colonel ordered him to gather his team.
"It's like every Captain America film cliché rolled in one," Bruce remarked.
"Actually, I think this is the only film where he's part of a team made of peers," said Pepper.
Captain America went around the base and gathered his men, all of them tall and big, and each one caught doing something that made their strength and role in the team clear. Once a team of six was assembled, a guy asked: "Where's Sarge?" In lieu of an answer, the camera dramatically cut to a bird's-eye view of a European city. It focused on a lone figure wearing a waterproof poncho, sitting on a roof. The person's face was half-hidden under a helmet that had a painted white star in the middle and tinted eyeshield. Then the radio at his feet cackled, and Captain America's voice came through:
"Sarge, we're suiting up. Report to base by 1500."
'Sarge' didn't reply, but remained perfectly still and silent. In the streets below and roof-tops adjacent, one could see soldiers wearing Nazi uniforms milling about.
"Sergeant?" Captain America repeated.
Sarge stood up. The waterproof pooled around his feet, revealing the circular Captain America shield. Bruce also noticed Sarge was built just like intermediate state Steve.
"Heard you loud and clear, Cap," said Steve's voice. "I'll be there in fifteen minutes."
No one spoke for a beat while on screen Sarge/Steve picked up the radio and shield.
"Ohmygosh, it's you," said Pepper, staring at Steve. "Sarge is you."
Steve smiled wryly. "I did ask to be the sidekick."
Sarge walked to the end roof. Then he ran towards the other end and leaped off the edge. The camera cut to the street, looking up, to show Sarge falling down, legs crossed at the ankles and arms spread to the sides. The next cut showed Sarge's face while freefalling. His mouth was set into an expressionless line until the last second, when it briefly curled into a small smirk. Then the camera cut again to the street, where Sarge landed in the middle of a small crowd of Nazis, visibly growing larger.
"That, was really good," said Bruce as he stared at the dramatic shoot-out scene that followed.
"Thanks," said Steve. "It took fifteen takes to get it right."
The rest of the film mostly consisted of extended battles sequences featuring Jeffrey-Cap & Beefcake Co., with propaganda speeches in between. Bruce and Pepper got tired of these quick, so they fast forwarded whenever they noticed the tanks, guns, and foxholes. Pepper resumed normal speed whenever a European city or Nazi base showed up, because that was usually the cue for Sarge to make an appearance.
Sarge was clearly the token stealth guy of team Captain America. He rarely appeared, but when he did, he was breaking into bases, rigging things to explode, and escaping the resulting flames using fantastic ninja moves that involved a lot of leaping over fiery pits, crashing through windows and jumping over ledges, all while saying something pithy and clever. Despite the short camera time, the film managed to include Sarge pulling several Captain America Is Disappointed In You, Son faces, and one epic I'm Surrounded by Idiots eye roll Bruce was sure was genuine.
"Did they use special effects here?" Pepper asked as they watched Sarge crash through a third-story stained glass window backward and throw a grenade at the Enemy™ at the same time.
"No, that was me actually crashing through a prop window," said Steve.
There were two more fights after the crash-through-a-window scene, all of them meant to highlight Captain America's battle prowess. At last the movie took a breather and transitioned to the-hour-before-last-battle reflective moment. Captain America first checked the troops, and then cornered Sarge, who was standing alone and staring at the Last Fortress at the distance. The two talked about the fight they were going to face tomorrow, and what would happen after.
"With any hope, tomorrow's fight will herald the end to the war," said Jeffrey-Cap.
Sarge remained dark and sombre. "Maybe. But what if it isn't? We sacrificed a lot, and I dunno if there's anything left to give."
"No, I'm sure tomorrow will the beginning of the end. As for sacrifices, it was all worth it. We fought for the hope of a future where there is peace and quiet and prosperity for our children. I can think of no worthy goal than that. Don't you agree, Sergeant?"
Sarge did his signature one-sided smirk.
"Sure, Cap. I gave all my hope to that future. I kept none for myself."
"That's a foreshadow, isn't it?" muttered Bruce, while Pepper hugged a cushion breathlessly.
They didn't skip the Final Battle™. After five minutes of badly choreographed fisticuffs, Captain America punched out Hitler. Almost predictably, Sarge sacrificed himself so the rest of the team could make their escape: there were heartbreaking last words ("I've got this"), and a single manly tear on Sarge's stoic and helmet-less face before a massive explosion took out the fortress with Sarge still in it.
"Oh my heart," breathed Pepper while Captain America & Co. screamed "SARGE!" in anguish and unison.
A tearful mourning scene ensued. Then team Captain America faced the burning fortress, faces stoic to a man and saluted their fallen comrade.
"Here comes the flag. Yep, there's the flag," said Bruce as Captain America broke into his final speech that was no-doubt meant to be inspiring.
The end credits rolled. Everyone seemed to sag into their seats and exhale. A mark of a good movie experience if there ever was one.
"Well, that wasn't too horrible," said Bruce, at last.
"It's a decent summer blockbuster type of movie, all things considered," Pepper agreed.
"Not worth the week I had to spend on set," Steve grumbled. "Peggy and Bucky weren't at all pleased when they heard what I had to do."
Pepper grinned. "I still say you make the movie worth watching. Would you mind if it was released again?"
Steve looked bewildered. "Why would anyone want it re-released? And these films are government property. How do I have a say?"
"PR," said Pepper. "There's been a lot of renewed interest in Captain America since New York. Naturally, people want to see the old films. While you don't have rights on the film themselves, you do get a say on what you prefer to see released because the US army wants you to like them."
Steve twitched. So did Bruce. Neither of them paid any sort of attention to the media reaction to the Avengers. The most Bruce did was see if he was caught bare ass nude on camera (he wasn't). Now it sounded like they would have to think about it.
"I'll … do what you think is best, Pepper, if you don't mind," said Steve.
"Me, too," Bruce muttered.
"Good choice," said Pepper, beaming. "I'll get in touch with SHIELD public relations. Steve, I'll call you when I get more information. Okay? Okay."
oooo
In the days that followed, Steve spent at least an hour teleconferencing Pepper. Bruce couldn't say he was paying much attention to these meetings because he was preoccupied with coordinating his and Steve's temporary move to DC. And if the meetings were about PR, then he'd rather think about moving, thanks.
Planning the move itself wasn't as bad as it could've been. Bruce had JARVIS, and SHIELD was going to cover his and Steve's relocation costs. SHIELD also gave them a list of recommended accommodations, but the prices left both Bruce and Steve feeling faint. So Bruce hit craigslist and AirBnB to find something more affordable. He knew from his time at Culver University that while DC was expensive and sometimes dangerous, Maryland had sublets that were relatively cheap. So Bruce made JARVIS search Maryland.
"Why not Northern Virginia, Dr. Banner? Springfield may be a viable option," JARVIS asked.
"I'm not going to NOVA," said Bruce flatly.
"As you wish, Doctor," said JARVIS. If Bruce didn't know better, he would've thought the A.I. sighed.
Before long, JARVIS found five potential locations. Bruce presented them to Steve over lunch (pita bread and curried chicken for Bruce; power smoothie #15 for Steve).
"This one is in a university district, and that one is close to JHU in Baltimore," said Bruce, as they pored over five printouts. "The one in Ellicott City is probably the nicest, but it's far from everything. The one in Rockville is the cheapest, but it has the strictest house rules of the lot and we have to share it with the landlord."
Steve frowned at the choices. "Which one do you prefer?"
"I'm rather partial to the Bethesda location. It's Metro-accessible, NIH is down the street, sort of, and 30 minutes away from DC. In theory. DMV has awful traffic."
Bruce called the rentals/sublets, went through the phone screening process if any, and made appointments to visit. The university district landlord sounded a bit shady, so Bruce crossed it off the list. He and Steve then made travel arrangements. Bruce advised Steve against motorcycle travel ("It's best to assume the drivers on I-95 are out to get you"). Since neither of them was partial to planes or buses, and Steve vehemently vetoed trains, they borrowed a car. One of Tony's Audis, to be exact.
The drive took nine hours. Bruce inflicted pop music of the last thirty years on Steve for the duration. By the time they checked into a hotel late at night, both Steve and Bruce were utterly done with each other. They remained moody and nonverbal until morning, at which point they started their rental check-up tour.
The basement sublet near Baltimore had mold, therefore not worth a second glance, but Steve thought this was ludicrous because it had heating and a bathroom. This led to a long talk on what was acceptable living conditions in 21st century North America vs that during the Great Depression. Speaking of which, Steve liked the Bethesda apartment, but it had no ventilation in the bathroom, a clear violation of code if there ever was one, so Bruce rejected it. The Ellicott City apartment was very nice, but simply too far from everything, so it was a no go. That left the Rockville sublet.
Bruce knew where he wanted to live for the next three months the moment he stepped inside the Rockville rental. It was nestled in a neighborhood that was quiet and walker friendly. The house itself was a detached two story single-family home, one of the unfortunate products of the mid-seventies, which had hardwood floors and an open-floor plan that let in a lot of sunlight. The living room beyond the raised foyer was decorated like a cozy private library: all the walls had tall bookshelves made of solid wood, and there were lamps, oil paintings and comfortable couches scattered about. Then they met the landlord, who turned out to be a tiny, skinny and pale-faced woman who barely reached Steve's nose.
"Welcome, I am Lucy Le," she said.
"Hi, I'm Bruce Banner," said Bruce. "This is Steve."
Lucy smiled warmly at Steve, but attempted no small talk. Instead she went straight to business by offering them a tour.
The rest of the house was very much like the living room. There were books everywhere, even in the garage. Lucy said they could use her laundry room, second fridge and kitchen ("but not my things"). Then she showed them the available bedrooms. They were all on the second floor: two furnished small bedrooms to the west, and a larger unfurnished room with cathedral ceilings to the east (Lucy occupied the master suite facing north). The full bath available for renters was clean and very much in code (and a bonus stand of pamphlets).
"This is very nice. Very nice indeed," said Bruce after the tour.
"Thank you. Now will you be sharing a room, or does your son prefer to have his own space?" Lucy asked.
Bruce was so unsettled by Lucy's words that his brain automatically latched on to the most easily answerable question: "Uh, separate. The two small ones."
Steve blinked at Bruce. Lucy, on the other hand, appeared oblivious.
"Okay. And you will be staying for three months?" she asked.
"Yes," Bruce mumbled.
"The rent does not include utilities," Lucy went on. "Since there are two of you, I expect you to pay 66% of the heating, water and electric fees. I do, however, include Wi-Fi in the rent."
"That's reasonable," Bruce replied.
"I require a month's rent for deposit. That is for both rooms. So it is $1300 total."
"Okay."
"Good. I only need two more things from you, Mr. Banner: proof of employment and a credit check."
Bruce clumsily produced a copy of the contract letter he got from SHIELD. To his mild surprise, Steve also pulled out some sheet of papers and gave them to Lucy.
"Very good, very good," said Lucy as she read Bruce's documentation. Then she read Steve's and her eyebrows went up. "Oh, you are an intern for Stark Industries. I heard it is very difficult to be one. Your son must be very smart, Mr. Banner."
Bruce was not, strictly speaking, capable of responding to this comment.
"I use an online service for credit check," said Lucy, after she put the letters to the side. "I will send you the link to your email. It will ask you to create an account and enter the necessary information. The site will return the results to me after you submit. I will not have access to any personal information you enter. There is a $20 non-refundable processing fee you are responsible to pay. If all is well, I will call you."
Bruce nodded numbly.
"I think that is all. Do you have any questions?" Lucy said.
Bruce was about to say no, when Steve raised a hand.
"What kind of roommate are you? If we're gonna share living space, we should know what we're like in general, if not necessarily the worse about each other."
Lucy raised her eyebrows. Steve briefly glanced at one of her many bookshelves, and grinned. It made Lucy side-eye the same spot and then smile slyly like she understood what Steve was getting at.
"I work from home three times a week," said Lucy. "I prefer to spend my evenings quietly on my own. I go to my friends, but they rarely come to me. I cook a lot, and often share the results. You?"
Bruce reclocked himself in time. "We're both workaholic hermits. We'll probably use this place mostly for sleeping. I cook sometimes. Steve eats a lot of smoothies because of stomach problems."
"So you will use the blender a lot?"
"Yes. At least three times a day."
Lucy nodded. "I can live with that. Any more questions? No? Well then, it was very nice to meet you and son, Mr. Banner. I hope to call you soon."
They shook hands and left. Bruce and Steve said nothing for a long time as they drove back to New York.
"She thinks I'm your son," Steve blurted suddenly.
"I'm sorry," Bruce babbled. "I didn't think. I mean, she wanted a credit check, that's pretty standard for good sublets, and I'm pretty sure your ssn has expired and-"
Bruce stuttered to a halt, because Steve smile was absolutely dazzling.
"It's okay Bruce. I liked it."
oooo
Bruce and Steve avoided talking about the Lucy situation until she called Bruce to say his credit check was clear. Afterwards, by unspoken agreement, they decided to go along with the unintentional charade, as it made their living situation easy to explain.
But then JARVIS somehow found out, and ratted it to Pepper and Tony.
"Oh, that's just precious," Tony crowed. "Should we call him Steven Banner now?"
"Shut up, Tony. Seriously, shut up," groaned Bruce.
"How old did she think he was?" asked Pepper, a twinkle in her eye. "Twelve? Thirteen?"
Bruce didn't want to answer, but whatever resolve he had withered under Pepper's scrutiny.
"High school. Clever, over-achieving high schooler doing an Internship with Stark Industries."
Pepper and Tony shared a commiserating look. Bruce wasn't sure he wanted to know.
"You should've asked me about digs in DC, Bruce," said Tony. "I have a house down River Road, you know. But this makes it worth it. Absolutely and totally."
Bruce definitely didn't want to know. "Sure."
The days passed, and finally the time to occupy their new digs came. Steve resolutely insisted on taking the motorcycle, so Bruce splurged on a bike of his own — a beat up Triumph Scrambler that was half rust — and the two drove south. Dangerously preoccupied drivers trying to hit them aside, their second trip from NY to MD was much more pleasant than their previous one. Something about the open air and racing … Bruce felt ten years younger as he cut through the wind.
Lucy raised an eyebrow when she saw the two motorcycles on her driveway. Then she shrugged, and told them to NEVER get in the way of her Honda Fit, ever. Bruce and Steve both brought little in terms of belongings, so in no time at all they were situated and ready to report to the Triskelion — i.e. SHIELD HQ.
Well, as ready as they ever could be. Bruce spent a sleepless night wondering what SHIELD would strong arm him to do this time around.
Bruce didn't remember falling asleep, but he woke up when his alarm went off at 6AM. Bruce blindly donned a bathrobe and stumbled downstairs. He found Lucy cooking oatmeal in a pot, and Steve hovering over her shoulder. The narrow farmer's table shoved against a wall had a pot of coffee brewing. Bruce beeline to it.
"Good morning," said Steve brightly. "Lucy's making us breakfast."
"Just this once, Steven, I am not your housekeeper," said Lucy.
"GmrrrhgnghCoffmmg," Bruce mumbled.
"Yes, you may have the coffee," said Lucy.
Steve poured a mug and handed it over to Bruce, who took it and then fell into a chair. While Bruce hunched over his mug, Steve joined him with two large bowls of oatmeal, looking far too excited about it.
"Can we have sugar?" Steve asked.
"Not your housekeeper," said Lucy sternly.
Nevertheless Lucy put down a pot of sugar on the dining table. Steve dumped a tooth-rotting amount into Bruce's mug, and just as much into their respective bowls of oatmeal.
"Going to work today, both of you?" asked Lucy.
Steve and Bruce nodded wordlessly.
"Bruce, you need to wake up before the morning rush," said Lucy, "Steven, your suit is too big."
Bruce groaned. Steve, who always dressed with Captain America in mind, therefore destined to look like a nineties kid when smaller, said nothing.
Lucy had five egg-and-avocado sandwiches and four ham-and-cheese made by the time Steve and Bruce came back downstairs, washed and ready. She brown-bagged all but one egg sandwich and shoved the lot into Steve's hands like it was the most natural thing in the world. Then she stuffed two Fuji apples into Bruce's pocket and shooed them out of her house.
They walked Rockville Metro Station. Steve transformed to Captain America on the way. Bruce, who was now used to seeing Steve as a frail looking teen about 5 foot 7 and 110lb (max), found this very upsetting.
"I know I've got no leg to stand on, but I don't think there's a reason for you to be nervous," said Bruce as he trotted after Steve's now longer strides.
"I'm not," Steve sighed. "Just … mirrors."
Bruce felt the urge to break every reflective glass in their vicinity. "Right."
The Metro ride to DC was interminable. Bruce had a nice nap and Steve got halfway through a paperback before they arrived at the Triskelion. Like at the Avengers Initiative, Natasha Romanoff came to escort them. Unlike the Avengers Initiative, SHIELD had Bruce to fill out paperwork.
"Has Bruce been showing you how to dress?" asked Natasha, while Bruce signed the nth non-disclosure document. The remark made Bruce picture Steve's outfit in his head: khakis, a deeply tragic red half-turtleneck and even more tragic taupe jacket (both too small).
"No, he told me about Carl Sagan," said Steve.
Bruce could feel Natasha's condemning look on the back of his head. It made him feel victorious.
Natasha took them to Triskelion's training facility (i.e. gym) once Bruce submitted his paperwork. There she introduced Steve and Bruce to Brock Rumlow, a tanned, dark-haired and extremely fit man around Bruce's age.
"SSR had a file on what you're capable of, Captain, and we want to confirm the contents," said Rumlow. "Dr. Banner, we'd like you to preside and take measurements."
"I'm not that kind of doctor," Bruce protested.
"But you can be," said Natasha.
Bruce sighed. He supposed he could.
"The file also said your body has a 'stealth' mode," Rumlow continued. "We're not sure what that is. Can you show us?"
Bruce tensed. Here it was. He and Steve were expecting this. The words still jolted him, though, because Bruce was still uncertain about SHIELD knowing Steve's intermediate state. But, as demonstrated this morning, Steve couldn't exactly control when the transformations happened. Better show it voluntarily and have SHIELD's good will than not. Except right now it was going to be a challenge. Triskelion's gym, like most gyms, had a wall of mirrors. Should he ask to have them covered? But before Bruce could say anything, Steve told Rumlow and Natasha:
"Give me a sec."
They waited. For a moment it looked like Steve fell asleep standing. Then Steve started to shudder and shrink.
When transformation was over, Rumlow looked at lost for words and Natasha was similarly astonished.
"I," said Bruce, in what he hoped was a stunned tone, "am going to need two separate folders."
Rumlow regained his voice. "What's the difference between the two? Besides the obvious, I mean."
"I lift more when I'm bigger. I'm faster when I'm smaller," said Steve simply.
"This I gotta see," Rumlow muttered. "Right. Romanoff, you spar Cap. Doc and I will record and observe."
Natasha smirked, looking predatory. Steve looked a bit dubious, but nodded.
Bruce and Rumlow cleared the floor so the two could spar. Steve and Natasha then stood in the middle, barefoot and no protective gear. Bruce couldn't help but note skinny-Steve was about the same height as Natasha, but didn't look anywhere near as healthy or fit, and worry over it.
Natasha made the first move. She kicked, aiming at Steve's left knee. Steve raised a foot to parry. Natasha used it to spin and wrapped her legs around Steve's neck. For a moment, Bruce thought Natasha was going to win.
Then Steve simply vanished.
Natasha landed on her hands, and quickly rolled back to her feet. She was clearly astonished. Everyone looked around: ceiling, floor, and corners. Still no Steve. Something was moving inside the gym, though, because they could hear the air ripping.
Then, all of a sudden, Natasha was on the ground, knocked out clean. Steve was crouching over her on the next blink.
"Oi, you okay?" said Steve, worried, and lightly tapping her temple.
Natasha's green eyes shot open. She was breathing fast.
"Holy Sh!t…!" she rasped, eyes wild.
Steve turned distraught. "Sorry. I'm so sorry..."
Natasha took a moment to calm down, while Rumlow swore a blue streak.
"Why wasn't this recorded?!" he shouted.
"They couldn't catch me at 24 frames per second," Steve explained.
"They could've said that!"
Steve shrugged helplessly.
"Why didn't you use this at New York?" Natasha asked.
Steve flinched. "I couldn't. I rarely can in the heat of battle. That's why it's stealth mode."
Natasha licked her lips. "It requires concentration, huh?"
Steve paused, and then nodded.
"Well," said Rumlow, dark eyes glinting, "let's see if we can change that."
oooo
Rumlow put Steve through several rounds of different sparring partners, and thrice spared Steve himself. None of them stood any kind of chance; Steve in either mode wiped the floor with them in twenty seconds or less.
(Bruce got a sense the SHIELD agents collectively decided while mere mortals cannot defeat Captain America, they could at least take comfort in the fact they could see him … unlike intermediate-state Steve, who was so fast it was piss-in-your-pants terrifying. Bruce supposed that accomplished Steve's goal to become too strong and fast for SHIELD to touch.)
After the bouts at the gym, Natasha said Steve was expected at SHIELD medical. Rumlow left to give his report, presumably.
"Are they gonna run tests?" Bruce asked while Steve transformed back to Captain America. "Shouldn't they have done it before all the sparing?"
"We weren't expecting Steve's 'stealth' mode to be like this," Natasha said. "Like you said, it deserves its own folder, not just a footnote."
Bruce had a bad feeling about this. "The SSR file didn't have anything on it, huh. Can I read it?"
"You can ask Dr. Fernando. He has access."
Natasha escorted them to SHIELD medical. There, Bruce shook hands with Dr. Ajith Fernando, head of SHIELD medical department and board certified trauma surgeon ("my skills are, unfortunately, in high demand"). When Bruce asked him about Steve's file, one of his assistants handed over an old folder that had the SSR ("Strategic Scientific Reserve") logo on it.
Bruce read through the clinical list of "Captain America" mode Steve's physical capacities:
- Subject is capable of extreme muscular endurance due to the lack of fatigue related acid buildup.
- Subject has enhanced metabolic functions, to an approximation of 400% increase in metabolic rate compared to the average human adult.
- Subject is approximately 350% more vulnerable than the average adult to the effects of starvation and dehydration, due to the roughly equivalent stomach capacity but extremely enhanced metabolism.
- Subject is immune to drug intoxication.
- Subject is highly resistant to toxins. Resistance is approximately 850% greater than an average human adult.
- Subject is highly resistant to mind-alteration.
- Subject is approximately 400% more resistant than the average human adult to the effects of electric shock.
The moment he read about Steve's heightened resistance to electric shock, Bruce knew why SSR didn't record anything about intermediate-state Steve. After the first round of tests, Steve would've been too traumatized to stay there. Not for the first time, Bruce wished he could grab the old scientists of SSR and shake them until their teeth rattled.
Bruce returned the file in disgust after reading it through. By then Steve was standing rigidly in attention, as though bracing for pain. Dr. Fernando noticed.
"I want you to know, Captain Rogers, that we will not be performing any of the … tests SSR had subjected you to," he said earnestly. "I asked you to come here due to my concerns that, should you be significantly injured in the field, we will be forced to operate on you without the benefit of anesthesia. If there is a way to avoid the situation, I want to have it as an option."
Steve relaxed a bit. "Understood."
"Thank you," Dr. Fernando said. "Now, I was given to understand you can shrink your body. My hope is that the smaller body mass means we can use our normal procedures, albeit modified to suit your heightened metabolism. Unfortunately, this does mean we need to test its efficiency."
Steve sighed. "I understand. And I appreciate what you're doing. My old teammate, Grant, he got hit by a shell. The serum … it took him a long time to die."
Dr. Fernando and his assistants somberly took a step back after Steve said this. Then they all waited for Steve to transform. But for a long time, nothing happened.
"…Sorry," said Steve at length. "I'm going to need some help."
"What do you need?" Bruce asked.
Steve didn't reply. Bruce guessed Steve either didn't know what kind of help was needed or else was too embarrassed to ask. So Bruce tried to recall what Betty did to calm the Other Guy down two years ago. (Two years; had it really been that long…?)
Bruce offered a hand. Steve looked at it for a moment. Then, with utmost hesitation that bordered on shyness, clasped it.
A profound, heavy quiet settled in the lab when Steve finished shrinking. Bruce glanced at Dr. Fernando. He had turned a milky brown shade, and looked absolutely aghast.
In a blinking, Bruce knew what was going through his head. Dr. Fernando had access to Steve's old medical files. Therefore he would know Steve was originally five foot four and ninety-five pounds, would know the super-soldier serum Steve received may only work for a very specific age group, and that the shrinking implied Steve was returning to the pre-serum state. There was really only one conclusion he could make when he saw just how heartbreakingly young Steve looked when smaller.
"…Excuse me," Dr. Fernando choked.
He stormed out. A few of his assistants ran after him.
Bruce took in a deep breath in the awkward silence that followed. It was good to know there were good people within SHIELD.
oooo
Bruce and Steve's first day at the Triskelion ended a few hours after Dr. Fernando returned, looking furious and dejected. He grimly tested Steve on various forms of regional anesthesia, and made plans to test Steve for general anesthesia. Then he took Bruce aside for a word.
"I couldn't convince Director Fury that he's underage," said Dr. Fernando. "I'll do what I can, but I don't think I can prove he's younger than eighteen. At least he agreed Captain Rogers should be sent to the field sparingly, knowing what may result if or when he gets seriously injured."
"Won't you get in trouble?" Bruce asked.
Fernando shrugged. "He reminded me of my own children. They're older than him."
Natasha met them outside the Medical Department. She took one look at intermediate-state Steve and pounced.
"You're so adorable, looking like this," she cooed, clinging like a limpet, and rubbing her entire body against Steve's. Bruce felt violated just by looking at them.
"What are you doing? Get off," Steve squeaked, turning bright red.
Natasha just tightened her grip. "You know you'd look a lot cuter if you didn't dress like Carl Sagan. We should go shopping. Are you free this Saturday?"
Steve pried Natasha off and stood stiffly.
"Any word on my documentation?"
"Last I heard, SHIELD and the US Army were still fighting over who gets to sponsor your soon-to-be-reissued-papers," Natasha replied.
"So I still need to prove I'm worth the trouble," Steve huffed.
Natasha shrugged. "If you got any alternatives, I suggest you pursue them. Now back to shopping: Westfield Mall on a Saturday? You won't regret it, I promise."
"Fine," Steve sighed. "Just don't cling."
Natasha grinned. "Deal."
oooo
Steve and Bruce fell into a routine after the eventful first day at work. They'd commute to the Triskelion, various SHIELD personnel would put Steve through the paces, and Bruce would monitor the progress and results. In the afternoons, Bruce would join Dr. Fernando and his team, while Agent Rumlow oversaw Steve's physical training for 2 hours. Natasha was often present during these exercises. Once in a while, Nick Fury would stand ominously in the back and watch Steve do something that shouldn't be humanly possible.
(Like run close to half the speed of sound. Bruce and Dr. Fernando told Steve to never use it because the resulting G-forces left internal damage [but left the cardiovascular system intact; it made no f&#-ing sense]. Steve protested the prohibition because all of the damage healed within hours. Definitely a sign of young person immortality syndrome, Bruce thought.)
After a month of tests, everyone, including Bruce, started calling Steve's intermediate state "optimal mode" (Skinny-Steve for short; because no matter how much Rumlow pushed Steve to eat, Steve didn't gain weight). Steve, at 5 foot 7-8 inches, could achieve 80% of Captain America's physical abilities, but without needing to consume as much as Captain America (only 20% as much in fact). Also, Skinny-Steve was arguably much smarter than Captain America, at least certainly when it came to large-scale tactics.
To measure Steve's mental capacity, SHIELD made both Cap-Steve and Skinny-Steve sit through conventional IQ tests, Raven's Progressive Matrices, and more recently developed intelligence measuring exams on a computer. Cap-Steve scored higher on spatial orientation and visual attention, but Skinny-Steve scored several orders of magnitude higher on pattern recognition, impulse control, logic and abstract reasoning (mathematics and memory were two areas Steve scored roughly the same). In short, Skinny-Steve had better brains overall, though how or why was anyone's good guess.
To measure Steve's tactical and operational readiness, SHIELD used a simulation war game that reminded Bruce of Ender's Game meet Star Craft meet Mafia. A level's complexity was, as far as Bruce could tell, determined based on scarcity of resources, intelligence, and enemy-to-friend ratio. It wasn't long before a pattern emerged: Cap-Steve preferred to do things on an individual-ground level, and struggled to keep things under control once the number of people under his command went above 150. In contrast, Skinny-Steve could lead several hundred thousand strong armies no problem. Some of the things Skinny-Steve did as commander left people babbling about it for days. Bruce would never forget the one time Skinny-Steve led a hideously out-gunned and out-numbered splinter group that was very close to getting decimated by the opposition. To achieve the technical definition of victory, Steve first identified the main players of the opposition. Then, by arrangement, Steve "died" via friendly fire. This threw the opposition in confusion, because everyone thought Steve was part of the splinter group (one of the game's challenges was no one knew for sure who belonged to which group; a true spy game). The splinter group cut down main players of the increasingly confused opposition until they retreated in defeat.
"Commander Rogers, please remember to use a Life Model Decoy if you ever decide to pull this kind of Thanato's gambit shit move," Nick Fury said at the end of that particular game.
"I'll try, sir," said Steve.
So went the first month. Then, as the second month in DC grew older, the demand to measure Steve's physical capabilities died down, but the demand for 'Commander Rogers' went through the roof. This meant Bruce had to spend hours sitting next to Steve, monitoring vitals, while Steve played war games. Because, try as they might, SHIELD couldn't find the trigger that made Steve abruptly change to Captain America in the heat of battle, and the only person who could calm Steve back to skinny-mode was Bruce. If anyone thought this was weird as all hell, no one remarked upon it.
(Okay, maybe a few people stared.)
(Maybe)
And so another month went by. Bruce started counting the days he and Steve could leave the DMV. As fun as the war games could get, what they implied started to really bother Bruce.
Case In Point: Bruce met Agent Clint Barton, who had been ordered to report to the Triskelion so he could participate in a simulation that recreated the Helicarrier attack.
"Are you okay with that Agent Barton?" Bruce asked. "I mean, considering…"
"It's sh!t orders, yeah, but it's still orders," said Agent Barton. "And I did kind of lead the real one, so."
Bruce made a face. Barton looked at him and pulled a twisted smile.
"Aw, Doc, it's okay. This isn't the first Helicarrier war game I did against Cap. It's just first one I'll do in DC. Hey, did you know Fury's making us call him Commander Rogers when he's skinny?"
Bruce was startled. "Aaaah, no, actually I didn't. Why would he do that?"
"Well, rank matters, even in paramilitary," said Agent Barton. "There's different expectations for Captains verses Generals. So maybe Fury wants people to think Skinny-Rogers as a General. Or commander. Or whatever the hell SHIELD's supposed to call the General-equivalent."
Bruce thought about this. He wasn't sure if liked the idea of Fury liking Commander Rogers more than he did Captain America.
"Do you mind?" Bruce asked.
"Nope."
"Do other people mind?"
Barton shrugged. "I don't know. Personally, I feel safer when he's on the helm. Like, I don't have to worry about getting thrown under the bus. First time I felt like this since I joined SHIELD."
"I guess I can always assume you represent the sentiment of many," Bruce remarked.
Agent Barton grinned. "Aw, Doc, you say the nicest things."
Bruce brooded over Fury's machinations during three non-stop hours of simulations. In the end he decided he was completely out of his depth. He needed to talk to someone, but he didn't know who. The only one who he knew for sure was on the same page as him was Tony, but how was he to arrange it? SHIELD monitored everything, often literally. He knew this because Steve, for whatever reason, was terribly interested in SHIELD's IT infrastructure and data/energy consumption, and asked SHIELD's IT guys all sorts of questions. (The IT guys were quite awed at these QA either because Captain America was talking to them, or Captain America was capable of asking them penetrating questions that left them scrambling for answers.)
Bruce got his lucky break at lunch. After the simulations, Bruce, Steve, Natasha and Barton decided to have lunch together at the Triskelion's cafeteria. Steve was given nutritional gruel, Natasha picked a colorful salad, and Clint ordered burgers and fries. Bruce ordered nothing; Lucy, for all her protests that she was not their housekeeper, kept giving Steve and Bruce—mostly Steve— brown bag lunches, even after Steve threw up all over her dinner table.
"What's that?" Steve asked, staring curiously at Agent Barton's lunch.
Barton blinked incredulously. "A hamburger."
"Looks like a Salisbury steak sandwich," Steve remarked.
Bruce resisted the urge to Google "hamburger NYC 1940". From the corner of his eye, he saw Barton and Natasha take out their phones and type away. Bruce envied them.
"Never had one before?" asked Bruce.
"I've only seen pictures," said Steve.
Bruce felt his throat tightened. "Wanna try it? We can order another."
"I don't think I can stomach it," said Steve regretfully. "And you know I'm not supposed to have bread or potatoes."
"Aw, man, they put you on a low-carb diet. That's brutal," said Barton sympathetically.
Steve couldn't have looked more dejected. "If my Nan knew I'm voluntarily forgoing 'taters, she'd defy the final resurrection and to give me an earful."
The rest of lunch consisted of Barton ranting SHIELD had no right to grumble over Steve's lack of weight gain when they were denying Steve nice things like pizza and burgers. Meanwhile, Bruce texted Tony:
News Flash: Steve never had a hamburger
Tony called him in two minutes.
"Brucie Bear! You don't call, you don't write, and the first text you send me in three months is Captain America never had the most American food in modern history. It breaks my heart. Now get him three all-American Cheeseburgers, stat!"
Natasha and Barton snickered while Bruce answered calmly:
"I'm calling now, you never called me either, SHIELD put Steve on low-carb diet, so no burgers."
"Bullsh!t," said Tony emphatically. "I'm bringing you burgers. The juiciest, most American burgers money can buy. And we're all gonna eat them like one big happy family."
Three hours later, on their walk back to Rockville, Steve received a phone call from Lucy.
"Steven!" she shouted. "Why is Iron Man on my driveway?!"
Steve was a picture of bewildered surprise. "Stark?! What-"
"Get off my lawn!" Lucy interrupted.
The call ended there. Bruce and Steve shared horrified looks.
"He's really here," Steve whispered.
"Oh god," Bruce groaned.
They ran. The first thing they noticed in their neighborhood was the crowd of kids and parents staring at Iron Man, who was leaving burn marks on Lucy's lawn with his feet repulsors.
Then Tony look up and noticed Bruce and Steve gaping at him.
"Steve! Bruce!" he exclaimed, raising his face plate (Steve turned red and looked away, in a clear body-language of: "Please, I don't know this man!") "Just the people I'm looking for! Hey, kids, did you know Steve is awfully smart? Like, borderline genius smart? In a few weeks you're gonna learn what happens when you use your brain well. Like Steve."
Now the parents were looking at Steve with considerable interest. Steve cringed and turned redder.
"You should've just taken up the Amazon offer," said Bruce, patting Steve's shoulder.
"Don't remind me. Dad," Steve groused.
Bruce and Steve ushered Tony into Lucy's house while he rambled something about rescuing Steve from evil people who did not let interns have hamburgers and brandishing an oily paper bag. Tony turned only slightly less manic indoors and even thoughtfully put away his armor before sitting on a chair (Bruce was absolutely sure none of Lucy's chairs would hold up five hundred pounds of Iron Man armor). Lucy was still not impressed.
"Are you drunk, Mr. Stark?" she asked.
"Mmmmno," said Tony. "Hey, don't worry about the lawn, I'll fix it. Well, I'll pay someone to fix it…"
"That is missing the point," said Lucy sternly. "Why are you here, acting as though you are drunk?"
Tony stared at Lucy with bloodshot eyes. "Have you heard of contractions? They're very useful. It makes English sound less painful."
"Stark, when's the last time you slept?" said Steve.
Tony blinked. Then he opened his mouth.
"I know the difference between drunk and sleep deprived," Steve said before he could say anything. "You don't stink of alcohol. Ergo, you haven't slept. And don't imagine you're only one who has trouble sleeping for the last three months."
Tony closed his mouth. He and Steve stared at each other for a moment. Bruce wondered how they were interpreting what they could see. On the one hand, there was Tony, who looked like a hot mess with his haggard face, overgrown goatee, ragged black t-shirt and oil-stained jeans. On the other hand, there was Steve, who when not Captain America, as currently the case, looked like a perpetually starved street urchin with dark circles around haunted blue eyes.
At last Tony let out a long sigh and his whole body deflated.
"Fine. I admit it. I can't sleep. Nothing's been the same since New York."
Steve nodded.
"You experience things and then they're over and you still can't explain 'em," Tony went on. "Gods, aliens, other dimensions. I … the only reason I haven't cracked up is probably because Pepper moved in. Which is great. I love her, I'm lucky. But, even with her, I can't sleep. She goes to bed, I go down to my workshop. I do what I know, I tinker." He paused. "The threat is real and imminent, and I have to protect the one thing that I can't live without. My suits, they're uh…"
"Your protection," said Steve, "your shield against the world."
"They're part of me," Tony said.
"So they are. So you make yourself stronger," said Steve quietly. "So strong no one can hurt you. Or anyone else. But. It's not enough."
"Never enough," Tony whispered.
A long pause.
"Go to bed, Tony," said Steve. "I'll stand watch."
Tony stared at Steve incredulously. Then he covered his face behind his palms and let out a groan that sounded more like a sob.
"You think Captain America standing watch is going to help me sleep?"
"Hey, I punched out hundreds of aliens. That counts for something, right? Besides, we also have Hulk," said Steve, grinning.
Tony groaned again.
"I'm supposed to tell you a bunch of stuff. Stark Cloud stuff. Pepper had a bunch of stuff, too."
"You can tell me later," said Steve firmly. "C'mon. My bed's upstairs. Take it."
Tony's protests grew weaker as Steve pulled him to his feet. "Doesn't your rental have an overnight guest policy?"
Steve immediately aimed a pleading look at Lucy. It was extremely potent. Lethally Potent.
"He is a refugee, not a guest," said Lucy simply. "I can take refugees."
"Thank you," said Bruce.
"Do not mention it," said Lucy. "Now, who in the name of world-wide sports is Captain America?"
Note: I got Captain America's stats from various Marvel sites. I also read a few fanfic that explored the negative consequences of his enhanced healing factor, particularly what happens when drugs simply don't work.
It occurred to me hamburgers, as THE staple American fast food, didn't happen until the 50s. Some back research confirmed while they existed earlier, they weren't called hamburgers because of its German name. Hence, "Salisbury Steak Sandwiches".