Not So Good Morning
Leslie woke up at 6:30, dammit. She always woke at 6:30, even when she didn't have to go to work. It was annoying. When she finished grousing to herself, she noticed a rhythmic thumping noise from the other room. It wasn't loud enough to wake her, but she couldn't help but notice it once she woke up. She pulled her nightgown around her and went out to the living room.
The first thing she noticed was the strong smell of pine cleaner. The second thing was the super soldier doing jumping jacks in his living room. Steve's face was set in grim lines, as if the exercise was helping him defeat an enemy. Which seemed reasonable to Leslie.
"Couldn't sleep?" Leslie asked, rubbing her eyes then putting on her glasses.
Steve brought his jumping jacks to a halt, but didn't answer.
"More nightmares? Want to talk about it?" Leslie pushed, just a little. "The experts say it helps to talk, honest. But if you don't remember, that's OK. I hardly ever remember my dreams."
Steve sighed and sat heavily in an armchair that was half facing away from his roommate.
"Unfortunately, I have perfect recall now. Including nightmares," he answered, staring at his hands the whole time. "The first one started out OK. Bucky and I were at the World's Fair, except sometimes it was the Stark Expo. You know how dreams jump around."
Leslie nodded, but didn't interrupt his words.
"We were walking around seeing all the amazing sights. Some were things you showed me, some were things from the fair and some were just wild imaginings, but we were enjoying ourselves, eating corn flakes out of popcorn boxes. We got money out of a wall — big red lips spit it at us — and we spent it on silly gifts for our families. And then, we were suddenly at the supermarket with two carts full of food and pennies in our pockets. The checker accused us of being thieves and we ran."
Steve looked up with a wry grin. "That's an old nightmare, from when times were bad," he confessed. "I always dreamed about not having enough money to buy food or medicine or something else. Then we'd be accused of stealing and try to run, but my asthma would slow us down and we'd get arrested and thrown in jail and Ma and Bucky's Ma would be crying ..." Steve sighed. "Anyway, last night in my dream the asthma hit and I couldn't run. Bucky tried to pick me up but I was too big to carry. We both fell — into a foxhole with shells bursting all around. And we charged out, with the Commandos yelling around us, and then we were on the train and Bucky was sliding toward the edge ... That's when you woke me up, and I'm glad because I hate the part when I see him fall. I see it all the time in my memories, but I hate it most in the nightmares, when it's just like being there all over again."
"Was the second nightmare the same?" Leslie asked, after Steve was silent for several minutes.
He took a breath. "No, that time I was alone in the supermarket, lost in huge aisles that seemed miles long. I could hear Bucky and Peggy and my friends talking, but I couldn't find them. I was running through the aisles, when I saw you at the exit, calling me, trying to help me get out." Steve hunched over. He looked ashamed. "But I didn't want to go with you. I wanted to find my friends. So I ran away from you, back into the empty aisles." He breathed deeply, blinking away tears. "Then I woke up and I needed to do something, so I started cleaning."
"Did you clean the whole kitchen last night?" Leslie asked, admiring the sparkling, pine-scented counters.
"And my bathroom," Steve answered. "I needed to do something. I wanted to punch something," he said fiercely. "I wanted to run until I was exhausted, but I didn't want to wake you up or get you in trouble by leaving the apartment, so I cleaned and then I started calisthenics."
"Do you feel any better?"
"A little."
But only a little, judging by his tense tone of voice.
"If exercise will make you feel better, I'll find places you can go to run and to punch things," Leslie promised. "I know there are a couple places around here that have been cleared for SHIELD use."
"Thank you," Steve answered. And now he did sound a little better.
"And do you want me to find you someone to talk to?" Leslie asked hesitantly. "Therapy is for trauma victims, not just for crazy people."
"I ... I don't know," Steve confessed. "I ... I don't mind talking to you."
"OK, we can stick to that for now. I'm no professional, though," she warned. "I think we should find you a professional, but we don't have to do it right now. This is only your second day here."
She hesitated. "Can I ask you one thing?"
"Yes." Steve didn't hesitate, but he did brace himself.
"Were you suicidal when you crashed the Valkyrie?"
That was plain enough speech, wasn't it?
"I want you to really think about it and tell me the truth," Leslie added. "There are some historians who have speculated that Bucky's death might have made you feel that way."
"Did Peggy … do you know if Peggy felt that way?" Steve felt like a fool for asking, because how could Leslie know? He didn't know that she and Peggy talked sometimes, two of just a few women in the agency at the time.
"She was often interviewed about you," Leslie said. "She always said that Barnes' death might have made you angry and a little reckless, but you weren't suicidal."
"I wasn't. I had a date," he said sadly. "I wanted to get back, but that plane was so damned fast and the controls were labeled in code, because Schmidt was a paranoid ba ... ah."
"You can say 'bastard' in front of me, soldier. Don't forget I was in the army, too," Leslie said, amused.
Steve took a deep breath. "I couldn't decipher the controls. I couldn't turn off the automatic pilot. Every time I let go of the stick, the plane resumed course for New York City. I couldn't ... I had to force it down and hold it until we crashed. And then I couldn't get out," he said simply. "I wanted to get out, but I couldn't."
"I believe you," Leslie said. "But I want you to keep talking to me about how you feel now, because this is such a traumatic event for you. I want you to be happy again. I want you to fit in again. I'll do everything I can to make that happen," she promised.
He looked so lost, so defeated.
"I want to go home," he said sadly. "But I can't."
Leslie asked if it was OK to touch him. When he gave permission, she draped herself over his back in a motherly hug. "I'm sorry you've been given this terrible burden. I'm sorry you can't go home again. But I hope I can help you make a new home here."
He took a deep breath and sat up a little straighter, calling on Captain America to help Steve Rogers. "Right."
"OK, now go take a shower, because you stink. Then I'm expecting you to make me breakfast," Leslie ordered, in a bossy a manner as she could manage.
It got a chuckle from Steve as she'd hoped. "Yes, ma'am," he barked and obeyed. Steve was very glad to follow Leslie orders. She was an interesting teacher and he wanted to learn about everything in this new world. Most of all, he needed to stay busy to stop from thinking about the world he'd lost.
Leslie got dressed quickly and set out the ingredients for pancakes, scrambled eggs and bacon. Electric griddles were the first lesson of the day. Lessons were always more memorable when they came with a reward.
Leslie had cooked for Steve the day before, but today she expected him to cook for her — with some instruction, of course.
"It doesn't matter if all these gadgets are unfamiliar to you," she said, when he rejoined her. He looked refreshed by the shower, no matter how little sleep hed gotten. "They're unfamiliar to everyone the first time. Even if you know how to use a toaster, each model is different, so they all come with instruction booklets which are all in this drawer." She showed him the small pile of booklets and pointed out each appliance, then they started to make a hearty breakfast.
When Steve got out French bread for toast, Leslie noticed all the loaves had been opened then neatly fastened shut again. And when she got out the jam and the marmalade, she saw the peanut butter was about a third gone.
"I'm glad you got something to eat last night," she commented.
Steve looked a little sheepish, but was reassured by Leslie's approving nod.
"I tasted each of the breads we got. I like this one the best, but all of them were good," Steve said. He admitted his standards weren't high, after living on army rations.
They put bread in the popup toaster and bacon in the microwave. Steve felt he was an old hand at the microwave, but he was impressed at how crispy it got the bacon.
Leslie liked an electric griddle for pancakes, because you could control the temperature so well, but Steve was relieved when she put a skillet on the stovetop for the scrambled eggs. This was something he was familiar with, though the stove controls were different.
"I was afraid no one cooked on the stove anymore," he said.
"Stoves get plenty of use," Leslie assured him. "We even still boil things," she added with a twinkle in her eye. "And you may cook all your food in pots and pans if you wish. I just want you to see all your options, before you decide."
One option Steve liked was the coffeemaker that even had a timer, so it would be ready when you got up in the morning.
"Buck would have loved this," he said, with just a trace of sadness. "He loved his coffee and I was never much good at making it. It was always watery because I was used to being stingy with the grounds."
"I'm a tea drinker myself," Leslie said. "I only like coffee when it has sugar, milk and chocolate in it."
"Chocolate," Steve chuckled.
"Oh, it's a thing. It's called a mocha," Leslie said. "Remember, I told you about the $4 coffees. There are many coffee houses with fancy flavored coffee — half-caf hazelnut latte with soy milk and no whip," she chanted.
"I'm a little alarmed that the only part of that I understood was 'soy milk,'" Steve said. "And I'd never heard of soy milk until yesterday." He took a sip of his coffee with sugar and cream, because he always needed extra calories. He savored the taste, then nodded. "I can see that chocolate would be a good addition."
"We will need to go to Starbucks for coffee, and McDonald's for hamburgers. They are cultural phenomena, so you need to try them at least once," Leslie said, only half teasing. "Though I suspect you'll prefer small mom and pop diners and cafes."
Steve capably whipped up a skillet of scrambled eggs and flipped pancakes on the griddle. With just a little instruction on the appliance controls, he fixed the food by himself, reading the instructions on the pancake mix without any prompting. And he got pancakes and eggs ready at the same time, which was a trick Leslie didn't always manage. Leslie applauded and meant it.
When breakfast was done — a small portion for Leslie and a mountain for Steve — Leslie turned to the slow cooker.
"I like this because I can set it up in the morning and the food will be hot and ready when I get home from work. It's the equivalent of letting a pot sit on the back burner, but safer and less likely to burn the food," she said. "We can have the stew cooking while we sort out our electronics project."
There was a box inside the heavy brown crock. Leslie took it out and unfolded a plastic slow cooker liner, which she smoothed out in the crock as best as she could.
"What's that for?" Steve asked.
"It keeps the crock clean," she answered. "I have a hard time washing it, because it's so heavy, so I use the liners." When it was arranged to her liking — she had a small slow cooker, so the liners never fit smoothly — she began to prepare the food. She set Steve to cubing the root vegetables while she browned the chunks of stew beef. She saw that onions still made Steve's eyes water, but the redness faded as soon as he turned away. To her, that was as impressive as any show of strength.
Cubes of turnip and potato, slices of carrot and wedges of onion went into the pot with the meat. Steve was fascinated when Leslie squirted a mound of minced garlic from a tube onto a table knife and spread it across several pieces of meat. "I am too old to spend my time mincing garlic. It makes my hands hurt," she told Steve.
Then she mixed the spice packet with canned beef stock and a quarter cup of red wine from the bag Natasha had brought. She poured it all over the food in the crock, then guided Steve through the process of switching it on and setting the temperature and timer. They set the glass lid in place.
The soldier studied it for a long moment. "Nothing's happening," he said in disappointment.
Leslie chuckled. "It's not the microwave. It's a slow cooker. If you check in a few minutes, the lid will be steaming up and eventually the smell of stew will begin to escape."
"And then I'll be hungry all day," Steve joked.
"That goes without saying," Leslie teased him in return. "Setting this on low, it will take about eight hours to cook, just right for dinner. If we wanted it for lunch, we could put it on high. Now, shall we dare the tangled pile of electrical cables?"
Steve straightened his back as if facing a firing squad. "How do we do this?"
"One step at a time," Leslie answered, leading him to the living room.
One step at a time was the new story of his life, Steve thought.
When Leslie surveyed the boxes and devices, she was relieved to see it wasn't as complicated as she'd feared. It had the basic boxes to control the TV (which also had a radio tuner and a built-in Internet capability), the cable connection and a Blu-ray/DVD/CD player. The mess was mostly cables and speakers that had been taken out of their boxes, so it looked like a lot more than it was.
"First untangle the cables, while I find the instructions." Fortunately Bourkin hadn't taken the instructions out of the boxes, because he distained to use them.
Leslie showed Steve how the different kinds of cables had different connectors on the ends, which matched up to plugs on the devices. "Honestly, I don't know what all they do or even what they're all called," she said. "But I know to match up the pieces."
While they studied the components, Leslie set up her laptop and clicked on her favorite music stream. It filled the room with a Mozart piano concerto.
"My mom loved classical music," Steve said wistfully. "We'd always listen to concerts on the radio and even went to a couple of free concerts in the park."
"I seem to be a music purist," Leslie said with a laugh. "I like classical music with no words and a capella singing with no instruments."
"Like barbershop?" Steve asked.
"Yes. I'll have to introduce you to the group called Pentatonix. They won a competition show in November. They're going to be big, I hope."
A/N: I'd intended to get through the electronics installation, but I found myself at 3,000 words and still not close to my intended stopping place, so I decided to stop here. I adore Pentatonix, who won "The Sing Off" in November 2011. Next time, a history of recording technology and the development of television. I didn't realize until I was researching that even vinyl LP albums weren't developed until after World War II.
Fair warning, with the Dodgers going to the World Series and Halloween coming up, I may be too distracted to get much writing done.