(A/N: I'm so sorry, guys! I thought I had uploaded this already! I'm working on May and will get that out soon! In the meantime, hope you enjoy this!)
3. Interlude: Geek Lessons, part 2
"How did you like Star Trek?" Tony asked Loki, when they gathered in the study for the next round of "geek lessons."
"It was . . . interesting. I liked the series with the android the best."
"Next Generation?" said Bruce. "Yeah, it's very popular. I think the reason it succeeded was that it wasn't a retread of the original; it was a new ship, a new crew, in the same universe but at a later time. The thing about both Trek and Wars is that they're both such expansive universes, filled with so many different concepts, that you can tell any kind of story, set in that framework. But enough about that. Today's lesson is about geek literature."
Tony slapped a rather thick-looking hardcover on the desk. "This is the best of classic science fiction, from all the masters: Heinlein, Asimov, Clarke, Bradbury . . . required reading for geeks. And then there's the fantasy version." He dropped another book, smaller and less heavy, beside it. "Terry Pratchett's Discworld series. The interesting thing about the Discworld books is that they started out making fun of the traditional fantasy tropes, and over time, they evolved into this whole world of their own. There are spinoffs: there's a young adult series about a girl who learns to be a witch. It's not like Harry Potter, though; well, not really. And it's funny. That's the best part."
"Really."
"Now, the question often comes up as to what distinguishes science fiction from fantasy. Is it just that one has spaceships and the other has dragons? Or is it something more fundamental? There's a really good article on this on David Brin's blog. Just Google his name, and you'll find it."
"David . . . how do you spell Brin?" Loki paused, pen to paper.
"One N," said Bruce. "His Uplift books are considered classics of science fiction. Amazon should have them."
"Amazon has everything," the god said. "What else?"
"Well, of course," said Tony, "if you're talking about fantasy, the classic fantasy trilogy—in fact, the books that established modern fantasy—is the Lord of the Rings trilogy. Any reputable bookstore should have them. Or you could just watch the movies—they're pretty faithful to the books."
"I don't know. There's a lot of stuff they left out," said Bruce.
"Well, they had to. Otherwise, they would have ended up with three twelve-hour miniseries. I think Peter Jackson did a great job with them, and I can't wait to see the next part of The Hobbit. That's the prequel," he explained to Loki.
"Hobbit . . ." Loki wrote in his notes. He'd started writing all this down because he knew he'd never remember all this information on his own. There was so much to take in.
"Just go online and Google 'essential sci-fi reading list' for the classics no geek should be unaware of," said Tony. "There are some disagreements when it comes to modern sci-fi, but I think the classics are pretty universal. Most libraries should have a pretty good selection. And of course, Amazon has everything. But if you just want to read it before you put down money for it-cause some books start out fine and lose steam halfway through-get it out of the library. You have a card, right?"
"I do." It was one of the first things he had done upon taking up residence at the tower.
"You know how to request books online, right? Through the website?"
"I can do that?"
"Sure," said Bruce. "We can show you how right now. Have a seat and we'll get started."
It was so simple, when they showed him. Sign into the library's website with his card number and a password that he chose himself. Then he could search the database for a particular book, just like searching Google: type the title, author, or subject into the box, click SEARCH, and wait to see what came up. If the local library didn't have that particular volume, it could be shipped from any other library belonging to the same network, in a few days (depending, of course, on how popular the particular volume was).
"Can anyone look up what books I request?" Loki asked, concerned that his reading habits would become public record.
"That's kind of a gray area," said Tony. "The library staff has the record, of course, but they won't give it out to just anyone."
"SHIELD is not just anyone."
"Don't worry about SHIELD. Unless you're checking out a lot of books about how to take over the world or Automatic Weapons for Dummies, they won't care what you're reading. You're not planning on reading those kinds of books, are you?"
"Do you think I would tell you if I were?"
"Okay, good point. Your assignment for this week is to check out or request five of the top ten classic sci-fi essential books on the list. Pick whichever ones you want. You could get all of them, if you have the time."
"Not in a week." He read fast, but not that fast.
"It might be another month before we can do this again. I've got business trips till the end of this month. And read Color of Magic, too! Pratchett is brilliant; you'll love it."
"I guess I have some reading to do, then." Loki gathered up the books and nodded to both men on his way out.
Between the library system, Google, and Wikipedia, the entire wealth of Midgardian knowledge was at his fingertips. Loki looked forward to exploring as much as he could. He loved books. Books didn't judge you; they didn't lie to you about where you came from; they never abandoned or betrayed you. They were his best friends. And there were so many books here to explore! He could never make it through even a hundredth of a percent in a lifetime!
But he was willing to try.
He opened the science fiction volume, and was instantly swept away.
4. Peggy
The twenty-ninth of April was marked on Steve's wall calendar in red. That was the day that he would board his flight to London, and finally keep a date that had been waiting for sixty-seven years.
It had taken months to finally talk her into letting him come visit. He had wanted to see her last year, after the whole New York mess was over, but she had insisted on keeping their contact to the occasional phone call. She had claimed that between his busy schedule and hers, it would be too difficult for both of them to find the time to get together. Steve suspected that the truth was that she didn't want him to see her as she was now: ninety-five years old, white-haired, wrinkled, bent and sagging with age. But he insisted that it didn't matter to him. He just wanted to keep his promise to her, no matter what.
The February snowstorm had delayed their plans a bit, but finally he had gotten her to agree on April. The first commercial flight he could arrange was on the twenty-ninth, with a return date of May sixth. A week wasn't nearly long enough to catch up on all he had missed, but it would have to do. Maybe in the summer, he could make a return trip—or possibly even fly her to New York.
Departure was still eight days away, but he was already packed. Nothing flashy, nothing fancy; just his everyday clothes. He had thought about bringing his uniform, just in case, but decided against it. If something came up, whoever came to get him could bring it along with them.
At least he didn't have to make hotel reservations. When he had mentioned it, Peggy had laughed and said that he was welcome to her spare room. It wasn't much, she said, but it would save him some money, as well as travel time and aggravation.
Well, it was dinner time now. And since Tony was making his famous spaghetti sauce, there was no way Steve was going to miss this. He checked the tickets one more time, pinned them back up on the bulletin board where he hung all his important papers, and went upstairs to join the others.
Nathan had gone back to his school, but Thor was finally back. Which meant that Loki had finally left his room for more than five minutes at a time. He wasn't Steve's favorite person, but it was good to see him come out of his shell at last.
"I've checked the weather for London," Tony said, as Steve sat down. "It's supposed to be nice next week. Maybe you won't need to pack the umbrella after all."
"Weather changes. So many things change. Whether you want them to or not."
"Change is good. Sometimes."
"Not this much change. I'm beginning to think that maybe she was right. Maybe I don't want to see her like this. Maybe I'd rather remember her as she was. Should I cancel the tickets?"
Pepper came around and put a hand on his shoulder. "You're just nervous. It'll be fine. She'll be glad to see you again. And don't worry about catching up on seventy years in one go. Start with right now, and work your way backward slowly. It'll be fine."
"I . . . all right. I'll try." It was good to know he wasn't alone in this, that he had friends to hold onto when he needed a hand.
The phone call came two days later, just as he was going over his final packing checklist. It took a few minutes for him to realize that the phone was ringing—not the one in his pocket, which was his work phone; the old-fashioned table phone in the middle of the room. He crossed over to it and picked it up. "Hello?"
"Is this Captain Rogers?"
"Yes, it is."
"Steven Rogers?" It was a woman's voice, with a crisp British accent, but unless Peggy had lost seven decades since the last time he had talked to her, it couldn't be her. But whoever it was sounded remarkably like her.
"Yes, who's this?"
"You don't know me, but . . . you knew my grandmother. Peggy Carter?"
"Yes?" Her use of the past tense worried him. Oh, no . . .
"I'm afraid she . . . she passed away last night. In her sleep, very peacefully. I came this morning to take her to the shops and found her. I thought . . . I thought I should call and let you know."
"Thank you for that. For calling, I mean." He kept his voice calm, but inside he felt numb. This couldn't be happening. She couldn't be . . .
As the woman on the phone—she had told him her name, but he had already forgotten it—went on about services and memorials, he heard, but his brain was a million miles away. He kept seeing her, in his mind, as she had been the last time he had seen her. Now we'll never have that dance, he thought, and felt a fresh wave of pain rip through him.
"Hello? Are you still there?"
He realized he had been holding the phone to his ear all this time, without speaking a word. "Yes," he said. "Yes, I am."
"Good, I thought I'd lost you. We can hold everything till you come, if you can't change the tickets for earlier ones."
"I think I should be able to. Thank you. I'm so sorry for your loss." The words came out automatically; he wasn't even really hearing them.
There was silence on the other end of the line for a moment, and he thought the connection had been lost. But then the woman (girl, really, she sounded so young) said, "She talked about you all the time, you know."
"Really?"
"Couldn't stop her. She was so proud of you and what you'd done. She would have waited for you, you know."
"But then you wouldn't be here," he pointed out.
"There is that. Well, I'll leave you to it. See you soon."
"Goodbye," he said, and replaced the phone in its cradle. It was a familiar object, in this unfamiliar place, and right now, he felt as if he'd just lost the last link to the life he had known, long ago. He sat down on the floor and stared at the wall for a long time, not knowing what to do.
When he came out into the living room, the others noticed the look on his face and instantly knew. "Oh, Steve," Pepper said, coming to him and putting her arms around him, "I'm so sorry."
"She . . . I . . ." He tried to explain, but only burst into tears. He couldn't help it. She had been the world to him, and now she was gone. Forever. How could he go on, without her?
"You're already packed, right?" said Tony. Steve looked up and nodded. "Good. We'll leave as soon as you're ready."
"We?" He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.
"What do I have a private jet for, if not something like this? Save those tickets for a nice long vacation somewhere pretty. I'll go with you to England."
Steve looked at him. "You don't have to do that."
"She came to my father's funeral. Least I can do is return the favor."
The others spoke up, all at once.
"We should all go—"
"Someone should notify SHIELD—"
"Can we send flowers internationally?"
"All right, hold it!" Pepper held her hands up in the universally recognized "stop" gesture. "One at a time. No, I think it would be a bad idea if a whole group of us all showed up. As for calling SHIELD, I think I can do that. If they haven't heard already, that is. And I'll check on the flowers, too. For right now, we need to just back off and give Steve some room."
"No . . . I need . . ." He was having trouble putting it into words. "I don't want to be alone, right now."
"Group hug!" Thor called out, and suddenly Steve was surrounded by his teammates, all murmuring words of comfort and encouragement. He'd never felt so loved in his life.
"Thanks, guys," he said, when he could breathe again. "That means a lot, really."
Two hours later, when the Stark Jet was taking off, Steve looked around and thought again how lucky he was to have friends. Especially high-powered friends with private jets stocked with an entertainment center, plush seats, and a full bar.
"I met her once, you know," Tony said.
"When?"
"When I was home on a school break, once, when I was about fourteen. My father had this big party for all his business associates, and she was there. We were introduced, but I don't think I made such a great impression. I really didn't want to be there, and . . . I think I might have mouthed off a bit."
"No. Really? Cause that is so unlike you." Steve grinned at the thought of a fourteen-year-old Tony acting up out of boredom. Nothing new there.
"I was trying to get sent to my room, but Dad was too smart for me. He made me sit in the corner . . . and she came over and sat with me. And she talked to me about my school, and the things I was working on, and she told me about my dad, when she first met him. He was studying engineering at the University of Edinburgh, and . . . I'm boring you, aren't I?"
"What? No, not at all."
"Then why are you staring out the window?"
"Just admiring the view."
"Sure you are. What's wrong? Tell me."
Steve didn't want to tell him at first, but then he thought of all the man had done for him, and he gave in. "I feel like I wasted so much time. I wanted to go see her, but she kept putting me off . . . I thought we'd have plenty of time to catch up, so I let her talk me into waiting a little longer . . . and in the end, it turns out I waited too long. I missed my chance."
"You always think there'll be time to fix things. But then . . . shit happens."
"I knew she wouldn't be around forever, but . . . a few more months, at least. Why didn't I come to see her sooner?"
"You can't blame yourself. She was . . . what, ninety-five? She had a good long life. Not like . . ."
"Your father," Steve said quietly. He hadn't asked how Howard had died, figuring that if Tony wanted to talk about it, he would. Now, it seemed, that time had finally come.
"It wouldn't have been so bad if we hadn't had a big screaming fight the night before. He thought I was wasting my life, and I said I had plenty of time to settle down and be responsible. I just had some stuff I needed to get out of my system. But he gave me all this stuff about family duty, and I hung up on him. Correction: I told him to go to hell, and then I hung up on him.
"I woke up the next morning and remembered all the things I said, and I was just reaching for the phone to call him and apologize when Obadiah called me. He told me . . . what had happened. The moment I hung up the phone, I sat down on the floor, in complete shock. All my options had suddenly been taken away, and I didn't know what to do. So I got drunk. And I stayed drunk for the next seven days. I don't remember much about the funeral, but I think I leaned over the casket and screamed at him at one point. How could you do this to me, how dare you die on me, you bastard . . . that kind of thing. They had to drag me out of the church and I walked all the way home."
"Wow." Steve didn't know what to say.
"I just didn't know how to deal with it. I still don't. It would have helped to not have been alone that weekend, but I pushed everyone away because I couldn't face them. But I'm here for you now, buddy. I've promised Pepper that I won't touch a drop until we're on our way home."
"You didn't have to do that."
"You, however, can have as much as you like. Oh, that's right, can't get drunk, can you?"
"I wish I could." He slumped back into the plush seat, closing his eyes. "I have the feeling I'm gonna need something to get me through this."
"Well, you have me. For what it's worth."
"Thank you. I don't think I could do this on my own."
"You don't have to. We're a family, remember? Always here for each other. Which reminds me." He reached under his seat and pulled out a box about three feet square, wrapped in bright paper. "You can open this now."
"You got me a present? But my birthday's not till July."
"It's not a birthday present. It's just . . . the others got together and decided to give you this, as a gesture of consolation. Hope you like it."
Steve carefully unwrapped the paper, which had Avenger symbols all over it, and folded it carefully before setting it aside. He then lifted the lid off the box, and looked inside. "It's . . ."
"It's something for your collection. I saw it in an antique shop and thought it'd be perfect. She's missing a shoe, but I found a replacement pair on eBay. They're in the box."
"It looks just like her." The centerpiece of the collection of items in the box was a doll, about eighteen inches high, dressed in an approximation of a women's Army uniform.
"There's more. Keep looking."
He set the doll aside and examined the contents of the box to see what else was in there. He found the shoes, along with a miniature American flag, and two large round buttons, like campaign buttons, only these had his face on them. There was a yellowed copy of Life magazine, in a plastic bag, from May 1944. And at the very bottom, he found a record album-not a CD but an actual, honest to God record-with Forgotten Classics of the Big Band Era written across the front. He turned it over and found that he recognized almost all of the songs.
"Wow, this is great," he said, putting everything back in the box and fitting the lid down tightly. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me. Not my idea."
"Well, thank whoever had the idea for me, would you?"
"I can do that."
They watched two movies, one an action thriller and the other a buddy comedy with Owen Wilson and someone else Steve didn't recognize. He only knew Wilson because they'd watched that movie about the dog in February. Tony didn't like the comedy much, but Steve thought it was pretty funny.
About an hour before they were due to land, Steve suddenly asked, "When did you stop blaming yourself?"
"Huh?" Tony, who had been dozing off, suddenly jerked upright. "What do you mean?"
"You said you used to blame yourself for how things ended with your dad. When did you stop?"
"I . . . actually, I had a talk with Peggy. She told me not to spend my life mired in regret, and that spending all my time worrying about what could have been was a waste of my energy. And you know what? She was right. When I stopped going over and over that last day in my mind, I did feel a lot better."
"And when did you talk to her?"
"About a year ago. After they found you, in the ice." He shifted in his seat. "Steve . . . the reason she didn't want to see you wasn't because it would be too hard for her. She had moved on. A long time ago. I don't mean that part of her didn't still love you, and miss you, but she just couldn't live in the past all her life. She would have ended up a lonely old woman with a hundred cats, and no family. And I know you wouldn't have wanted that for her."
"No," Steve said, shaking his head slowly. "No, I wouldn't. I'm glad she had a good life, and a wonderful family. I just wish . . . I wish I could have said goodbye."
"Isn't that what we're doing? That's what a funeral is. You'll finally have closure. And I know it's not the ending you had hoped for, but . . . you have to move on. There's a whole big world out there, full of women who'd just love to get into your pants."
"Must you be so crude?"
"Yeah, I know, kinda ruined the moment there, but you know what I mean. I'm sure there are nice women who want a stable relationship in which sex is only a small part, and only after you've gotten to know each other really well. I'm sorry, I'm messing this up, aren't I?"
"And this is you sober?" Steve raised his eyebrows at this.
"I'm not good at all the emotional stuff. But I'm trying. Anyway, she wouldn't want you to live in the past. You've been given a second chance; go out and make the most of it."
"She really said that?"
"She did. I wouldn't lie to you about that. So take your pieces of the past, go put them up on the shelf where you can look at them once in a while, and then go out and live in the present. We're all here for you, Stevarino. Just say the word."
In all his life, Steve had never known anyone who could be so frustrating, annoying, and yet so perceptive and loyal. That's some boy you've got there, Howard, he thought.
He smiled. "Thanks."
A short while later came the announcement that the plane would be landing shortly. He was ready. For whatever came his way.
Ready to say goodbye and move on.
