Note: Thanks to all the people who've read this story so far and added it to their favorites list. I'd like to give special thanks to AoiKuroNekoSan, Jen Lennon, Pati G W Black and IlikeKnightsInBangedUpArmor for leaving reviews. I love receiving feedback, comments, ideas, and sometimes I even grant wishes (of the plot variety). This chapter has a few tasty little pieces of candy corn people asked for along the way … it's time to take down that pink post-it note.

And for those who are wondering about poor brain-dead Natasha and whether or not Steve will ever get a grip on his role as leader of the Avengers … the mysterious hooded Other aka Herr Klaiser is still out there (the Other was the bad guy who made a deal with Loki) and I'm not done writing yet…

X

Chapter 10

Bernice stared up at the tower stretching towards the sky until her head was bent so far back, it felt like it would snap right off of her neck. Stark Industries. The first 100% off-the-grid alternative-energy skyscraper in New York City, now workplace of her best friend in the whole wide world. Jacquie, lucky dog, had just landed a job with the architect renovating damage suffered during the alien attack.

Scaffolding surrounded the building like training wheels, cranes lifting plates of unbroken glass skyward like a child's erector set. Whistles assaulted her ears as construction workers shouted things like 'sweetheart' or 'whoo baby!' at anything remotely female who walked by. Bernice blushed, wishing fervently she'd brought her portfolio to hide behind as she navigated the gauntlet of building supplies, workmen, and areas cordoned off with yellow 'caution' tape. Every building in Midtown was in the process of being repaired or, if too badly damaged, torn down, but only Stark Towers was nearing completion. With so much focus on rebuilding infrastructure and people nervous about survival in light of the unexpected confirmation of hostile aliens, there wasn't a lot of work out there right now for a starving artist.

The guard asked her to fill out paperwork stating who she was and why she was here. The building was new, but it had been decorated in a style reminiscent of the art deco architecture of the Empire State and Chrysler buildings. As she waited for Jacquie to come down to the lobby, she studied the artfully inlaid wood, steel, and stone. She could see why Jacquie, who specialized in modern art, would have landed a such a plum job.

"Bernice!" Jacquie squealed as she exited the elevator. She gave Bernice a hug, even though they'd seen each other this morning. They were, after all, roommates. Although with graduation only weeks away and Jacquie now having a 'real' job, Bernice had to wonder how long her friend would tolerate the drafty attic they shared in Brooklyn Heights, far from all the action. Greenwich Village was where you wanted to be if you were anybody in the art world.

"This place is spectacular," Bernice said, staring at the intricately inlaid brass and chrome patterning as they waited for the elevator. "Why do they want to renovate it?"

"Not this part," Jacquie said, giving her a smug smile. "I'm helping them redecorate the penthouse!"

"Really?" Bernice asked. "You're painting the penthouse?"

"Um," Jacquie said, giving Bernice a sheepish look. "Actually … it's just a bathroom in one of the guest quarters a few floors beneath it. They're letting me hand-paint a line of trim accenting the tile work."

"But that's such an honor," Bernice said. "I mean … think about it! Stark Tower! And they're going to pay you to do it!"

"Yeah," Jacquie said, giving Bernice a triumphant grin. "And besides … it's a pretty cool bathroom. Even if it is the tiniest one in the entire building."

She dragged Bernice inside the elevator, a perfect recreation of art deco style. Instead of pushing the 'down' button to the cafeteria, she pushed a button three knobs from the top. A feminine voice asked Jacquie for her access code. Grinning like she'd just won the lottery, Jacquie punched a string of numbers into a keypad.

"But," Bernice said with dismay, looking down at her tired digs. She'd dressed for a casual lunch in the cafeteria, not hobnobbing with the powers-that-be in the tallest skyscraper in town. She'd cast off her trendy ripped jeans for less edgy ones, but her blouse was way too casual for a ride up in the elevator instead of down. Unlike Jacquie, who looked every bit the part of a chic artist. Jacquie's flaming red hair was now streaked with black, cut in sharp feathered layers like one of those Japanese anime cartoons or the girl with the dragon tattoo. Her clothing had changed, too. More professional. And black, of course. All the hippest artists dressed totally in black.

"You're going to love this!" Jacquie said, oblivious to Bernice's discomfort. "This has got to be the coolest job ever!"

The elevator dinged. The doors opened. Bernice stared, open-mouthed, as Jacquie dragged her through an upper-level lobby that had an enormous chunk out of one side, as though some animal had taken a bite out of it. She had seen the alien ships come down from the sky on television just like everyone else, but seeing the aftermath up close had a way of bringing what had happened home to her in a way it never had from her 19" television.

"Yeah," Jacquie said, dragging Bernice along by the arm. "That was my reaction the first time I took a look at this part of the building. But I've been assured it's still structurally sound. Just don't go past the yellow tape or you'll get yelled at."

This floor of the building, at least, was populated entirely by construction workers and maintenance staff. Bernice breathed a sigh of relief. The last thing she wanted was to reflect poorly on her best friend, especially her first week on the job. Jacquie dragged her into one of the rooms, some sort of guest suite for visiting corporate VIP's, complete with a small bar and magnificent view of the shattered city, and plopped down onto one of the couches. Above a gas-fired fireplace sat a replica of Malevich's Supremacist Composition. Jacquie grinned at her, the black stripes she'd added to her hair giving her the air of a Cheshire cat.

"This is nice," Bernice said. She walked over to admire the painting, noticing the raised corners where paint had been deposited and created texture. It was a painted reproduction, not just a print. "Whoever recreated this did a really good job. Even the signature looks real."

"It's not a replica," Jacquie said, grinning even wider. "It's the original."

"No!" Bernice said. She stared closer at the subtle layers painted one on top of the other to give the geometric shapes a three-dimensional quality. Bernice had never been impressed by reprints of modern art, preferring the freedom afforded by pairing the latest digital technology with her taste for human realism and fantasy, but now that she was standing mere inches from an original painting that didn't have armed guards instead of viewing it from afar, she could see why modern art had appeal.

"There's more," Jacquie said. For the next forty minutes, Jacquie dragged her through suite after suite of bathrooms, closets, and back hallways she'd been charged with enhancing. Not as glamorous as decorating the suites themselves or a high-impact area such as a lobby, but it was one heck of an impressive job for someone straight out of art school.

"I'm jealous," Bernice said, happy for her friend. Her stomach rumbled. "And I'm hungry, too. How about that food you promised me?"

The cafeteria, although artfully decorated, had enough of a milieu of businessmen, maintenance staff, scientific personnel, and construction workers to make Bernice feel more at home than she had in the upper levels of the skyscraper. They dined on salads and homemade bread sticks, bouncing ideas off of one another to enhance the intricate tile work in the one tiny bathroom Jacquie had been given free rein to hand-paint in any way she saw fit. Bernice looked up and froze.

"It's him," Bernice said.

"Who?" Jacquie asked. She followed Bernice's gaze to the tall, hunky guy who looked like something straight out of a World War II propaganda poster, engrossed in a conversation with a statuesque redhead who had to be at least six feet tall.

"Capt… uh … my grandmother's friend," Bernice stammered, catching herself before she blurted out information her grandmother wanted kept secret. If it was even true. Grandma had been tight-lipped about the identity of her new friend, but word had gone through the family about Grandma's reaction upon seeing the guy in the red, white and blue suit take on the aliens on the television that terrible day.

"Do you know who that is?" Jacquie hissed, frantically tidying up the lunch debris scattered all over the cafeteria table.

"Yes," Bernice said, surprised Jacquie knew him too. Maybe he was a regular visitor here and everybody knew who he was? Disappointment sat heavy in her chest, making her salad feel as though she had poured lead into her stomach. Of course... The guy was drop-dead gorgeous. Of course he had a girlfriend. She didn't realize she had stood up until he glanced in her direction and froze, their eyes meeting across the crowded cafeteria like a bad metaphor out of a Sam Spade novel.

Steve's head tilted to one side as though scrutinizing her to make sure she was who he really thought she was, and then bent close to the redhead's ear. The redhead glanced their way and laughed, one hand touching his arm with familiarity. Steve guided the eloquent redhead in their direction. The woman was the most beautiful women Bernice had ever seen. A tall, slender greyhound amongst a cafeteria full of mutts. Four-inch Louboutins clicked in their direction, her shoes alone costing more than Bernice's entire month's earnings at the coffee shop she worked at part-time.

And to think she'd thought she might have a chance with the man she'd spent the last few months fantasizing about!

"Ohmygod ohmygod ohmygod ohmygod," Jacquie squee'd, tugging at her arm, trying to get her to sit down. "They're coming over here."

It felt as though everything was happening in slow motion. Bernice was acutely aware of just how confident Steve appeared to be here, in his natural environment, with his girlfriend on his arm. This was not the man with the sad eyes she'd met in her grandmother's nursing home. Whoever this man was, he was the leader her grandmother had claimed he was before she'd realized she was spilling what the family jokingly called 'spy secrets' and clammed up.

"S-s-steve," Bernice stammered.

Jacquie elbowed her in the ribs. Hard.

"Steve tells me you're quite the artist," the redheaded woman said.

Bernice felt like a songbird trapped in a raptor's sights, about to become lunch. The woman's smile was friendly, but not a single detail escaped those brilliant blue eyes. Oh god oh god oh god … she was getting sized up by the guy she'd been fantasizing about's girlfriend!

"Y-y-yes," Bernice said, and then realized she sounded conceited. "I mean no!" Jacquie kicked her in the shin. "I mean … I'm an artist. But I'm not … I mean … um…"

"Bernice is too modest," Steve said. He gave her a conspiratorial grin. "You should see the pictures she drew for her grandmother. She's got quite an eye for the human form."

By the eyebrow raised in amusement, Bernice knew exactly what human form sketches he was referring to. Her cheeks felt as though they were on fire as she remembered Steve crouched beside her, gathering them up.

"Oh, really?" the redheaded woman asked. She gave Steve a look as though she was skeptical of his claims. "What kind of art does she prefer?"

Oh … god. Don't tell her. Don't tell her. PLEASE don't tell her!

"Well she drew a very realistic picture of me," Steve said. His face lit up in a smile that took her breath away. "Helmet head and all."

Bernice cringed, expecting daggers to shoot out of the redhead's eyes. Catfight. Guys were clueless, but his girlfriend would know the only reason she'd drawn Steve's picture was because she had the hots for him. The eloquent woman looked like she was capable of chewing Bernice up and spitting her out for breakfast.

"It-it-it's nothing, really," Bernice stammered. Oh! God! This was even more mortifying than when her nude sketches had splattered all over the nursing home floor in front of the hottest-looking guy to cross her path in … ever!

Steve stepped closer, his broad chest mere inches from her nose. She'd realized before he was tall, dwarfing even the six-foot redhead at his side, but his presence now was almost enough to make her swoon. Ever since the first time she had laid eyes upon him, she'd fantasized about every tiny detail of his face, the line of his jaw, his high cheekbones, the curve of his ear, the way his brilliant blue eyes appeared far older than his youthful features, but why, before now, had she never noticed how very long his lashes were? The detail had eluded her that first pastel she'd drawn of him. Or just how very broad his shoulders were compared to all the other men in the room?

Jacquie stood beside her, her mouth open, looking between Bernice, Steve, and his girlfriend. Bernice caught Steve's girlfriend giving her an appraising gaze.

"Perhaps you might be interested in Bernice's work, Pepper," Steve said. He was so close Bernice could smell the clean scent of Ivory soap and an underlying, musky odor that screamed 'sex!' He smiled down at her as though she were some little sister he wished to indulge. "Her grandmother used to work for Tony's father doing what you used to do before you became CEO."

"Really?" the redhead asked. She looked Bernice over from head to toe as though sizing her up. "Make an appointment with my secretary. I'd like to look over your portfolio."

Bernice's mouth opened and shut, no words coming out as she noticed the sprinkle of freckles hidden beneath the redhead's makeup. The woman tugged at Steve's arm, pointing to a box he held in one hand.

"If you want to catch Doctor Nyi," the woman said to Steve, herding him away from what she was obviously perceptive enough to see was a wanna-be challenger for her boyfriend's affections. "We'd better hurry. He's due on a flight back to Los Angeles at fourteen-thirty hours."

"Yeah," Steve said, glancing back at his beautiful redheaded girlfriend. He looked down at Bernice, his smile brilliant and happy, unlike the sad expression he'd worn both times she'd bumped into him at her grandmothers. "I'll catch you some other time. Okay?"

"Y-y-yes," Bernice stammered, her mouth opening and shutting like some pathetic fish gasping for air. She expected daggers to shoot out of the redhead's eyes, but the woman gave her a friendly smile and herded the handsome muse who'd been using up far too many sheets of paper and pencils out the other end of the cafeteria, their heads pressed together in friendly rapport.

"Oh my god oh my god oh my god!" Jacquie repeated, furiously tugging at Bernice's arm. "Do you know who that was?"

"Yes," Bernice said, feeling deflated. She plopped back down in the hard, plastic seat, the remnants of her salad suddenly appearing about as appetizing as a plate full of fried grasshoppers. "So much for that."

"What are you talking about?" Jacquie asked, her brow wrinkling in confusion. "You just landed a job interview with the CEO of Stark Industries."

"Huh?" Bernice asked. "What are you talking about?"

"Don't you know who that was?" Jacquie asked.

"That was Steve Rogers," Bernice said. "My grandmothers … uh … friend. And obviously his girlfriend. Like I ever had a chance with the guy. Or anything." Her voice trailed off into a mortified mumble. She realized the people seated in the tables around them were all staring at them.

"That was Pepper Potts," Jacquie said, bursting out laughing. "Oh my god! You should have seen the look on your face when she ever came over here! I thought you knew who she was!"

"Um … no," Bernice said. "I had no idea. Oh! She said … oh! She's not his … oh! You mean she really just offered me a job?"

"You've got to get through the interview, first," Jacquie said, her black eyes sparkling in laughter. "Your drop-dead gorgeous friend just came through for you in a big way! Even –I- didn't get an interview with the great Pepper Potts, CEO of Stark Industries. I just work for her architect."

"Really?" Bernice said. The reality of Jacquie's words sank in through the fog that was her hopeless crush on Steve Rogers. Her grandmother's mystery man and, if what Grandma Peggy wasn't telling her was true, the man on the television who'd helped take down an alien invasion. "You mean … that wasn't his … girlfriend?"

Jacquie burst out laughing, her laugh taking on a honking snort as she slapped her hands on her thighs and needed to sit down.

"Ohmygod!" Jacquie gasped for breath, unable to stop. "I've got to go to the bathroom and pee! You've got it so-o-o bad! How many pictures have you drawn of that guy?"

"Shhh…" Bernice hissed. She glanced over the eyes and ears which surrounded them, all pretending to be interested in their lunches when every one of them was intently interested in why the CEO of Stark Industries and Iron Man's fiancé had just deigned to speak to two little peon art students. Her face lit up in a happy, shit-eating grin as she realized the guy she'd been lusting after didn't have a girlfriend after all. At least not that female friend.

Jacquie looked at her expectantly, waiting for an answer to her question. Yes. How many pictures had she sketched of Steve Rogers, her grandmother's enigmatic friend? Including the one itching at her hand right now to get down on paper the moment she got back to her loft? The one that would highlight his gloriously long eyelashes and his radiant smile?

"A lot."

X

This whole chapter was totally off-canon, but I'm trying to bring 21-year-old Bernice to life –and- begin pulling her into the Avengers universe without making her another S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. When Bernie Rosenthal was first introduced as Steve's love interest in 1980, she was a nieve young Jewish artist (glass, not fine art) who'd just broken up with a guy who turned out to be a white supremacist. Marvel then decided 'ordinary' was too boring as that version of Steve had been around since WWII and not aged, so they turned her into a lawyer. They then scrapped her completely in favor of another S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. In Avengers as filmed, Steve Rogers was born in 1920, was frozen in the ice in 1945, and then awoke 67 years later. Despite having shouldered unbelievable leadership responsibility at a young age, you have to remember (after subtracting the 67 years he was frozen) that this version of Steve is only 25-years-old. I chose fine art instead of glass blowing because, well, it's kind of hard to sculpt the guy you've got a hopeless crush on and then have him discover you're idealizing him if you work with blown glass! LOL!

Thanks for reading! Be sure to hit that big blue button on your way out the door and let me know your thoughts! Reviews make me smile…