My appreciation to all the readers who keep pushing up those magical numbers. I'd especially like to thank the readers who've put this story on their favorites and alerts list, and also the readers who posted reviews, including Arrows the Wolf and Mystewitch.

Before the ball begins, a little side trip back into the other story that's woven into this fan fiction (lest anybody forget there are aliens trying to seize control of Earth while our two protagonists awkwardly stumble over their own lack of social grace).

And yes … I've posted two chapters today. So if you're subscribed to this story and clicked on the first email to pop into your inbox, you may have missed a chapter. If you find yourself saying, 'what party,' go back and read the previous chapter.

Thanks for reading!

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Chapter 25

"What's he doing?" Steve asked.

The S.H.I.E.L.D. guard glanced at the grey-skinned alien locked in the enormous circular glass jail cell like a fish in a fishbowl.

"Who the hell knows, Sir," the guard said. "He keeps acting as though he's trying to tell us something, but even JARVIS couldn't decipher a pattern. If you ask me, it's just some dumb animal they jacked up with a control collar to make it bite. Like one of those dog collars that zaps the dog to make it do what you want it to do."

Steve recalled the smooth way the aliens had fought and ease with which they handled the alien gliders. Their repertoire of skills had appeared to be formidable, but limited. Glider-riding aliens had been unable to fight once knocked off a glider, while ground-troop aliens had faltered whenever they'd encountered an unconventional battle situation. This alien, however, had tried to save its own life, not simply dropped dead like the other Chitauri when Tony Stark had nuked the mothership.

All of the compromised Chitauri technology had self-destructed the moment the signal from the mother ship had been lost, a failsafe device to make sure their technology didn't fall into enemy hands. What the Avengers were having trouble wrapping their brains around was the fact the Chitauri had bred and trained living soldier drones to be the same way. Even without the moral implications of breeding troops who were expendable, training and housing soldiers took time and considerable resources. It wasn't as though you could just put them on a shelf and…

"Oh. Crap."

The empty room full of maintenance beds, only the six weakest potential soldiers left behind. Steve smacked himself in the forehead. Talk about thick! Although at least this time, he wasn't the only one who was acting clueless. Grabbing the ridiculously small cell phone they made him carry, he fumbled with the tiny buttons, his fingers too large to hit the right numbers. His phone blinked with dozens of unanswered text messages, it taking him too long to wade through them and text back answers. All of the Avengers had learned the best way to convey information to him was in person.

There was no answer. A mechanical voice came on the line and suggested he leave a message. Steve hated speaking into the recording equipment people took for granted these days, preferring to keep calling back until he got a real person on the other end of the line, but this was important.

"Banner," Steve spoke into the voice mail system at the other end of the phone. "We've got to get those kids back and take a look inside their brains. They might be rigged to … I don't know … self-destruct or something. Like happened to the drones we took out over New York. I think that steel ring and wires they had running into their brains were some type of failsafe device."

He stared at the tiny keypad, trying to remember which button made the conversation end. He gave up, opting to close the cell phone instead, glad they'd let him get rid of the flat pad that had no way to close it. The phone chimed, reminding him he had dozens of text messages to answer. He stuck the phone in his pocket, turning to stare once more at the alien soldier who had come up to stand in front of the glass, watching him as much as he was watching it.

"I don't suppose you could just come out and tell me what you're trying to say?" Steve said aloud. The alien just stood there, its grey eyes watching him with curiosity. "No. I didn't think so."

A small commotion came from the entrance to the room. Another S.H.I.E.L.D. guard bringing through the creature's supper plus two additional ones to make sure the creature didn't try to escape the minute they opened the door. Steve watched with curiosity as the creature moved to the rear of the holding cell, sitting down upon the narrow bench that served as a bed, and placed its hands face-up in its lap. A position meant to convey a lack of threat. Two more guards aimed automatic rifles at the small hole next to the doorway while the guard slipped in a tray loaded with food. The Chitauri waited until the guard had closed and secured the tiny portal and the other two guards lowered their weapons before it lumbered up to get the tray, picking it up and carrying it back to the bench.

"Did you guys teach him that?" Steve asked. He had seen such behavior before in the prisoners his men had freed from the Nazi concentration camps. Those who had survived had done so by being as cooperative as possible with their Nazi prison guards, buying their lives one cooperative act at a time. It was behavior which had worked on an individual basis, the most cooperative and helpful prisoners buying one more day to live, but had been disastrous for the Jewish people as a species, their unwillingness to fight condemning millions of them to extermination.

"No," the original guard said. "He does that on his own."

The creature gave the food a wary sniff and, one by one, moved items that didn't meet with its approval to one side. It finally settled upon the applesauce, fruit juice and the water. When it was done, it got up and carefully placed the tray in front of the portal and went back to its bench.

"Is that all he eats?" Steve asked.

"Yeah," the guard said. "Though Doctor Banner thinks it may be because it can't swallow due to its throat. He's hoping it will eat more normally once its throat heals up. We're supposed to keep track of what food it eats and how much."

The creature no longer had that pleading quality. Could it sense Natasha had been a victim like the Melanesian Island children it had been holding captive? Did it even understand the notion of holding a grudge? The creature was growing thinner by the day, its paltry diet not enough to sustain its mass, but in a fair fight without Natasha's special skill set, it should otherwise be able to best a woman her size. The fear it had demonstrated of his co-Avenger, though understandable, was out of proportion to the visible threat Natasha presented.

"What about written communication?" Steve asked.

"We tried pencil and paper," the guard said. "It just picked them up and studied them, but didn't seem to have any idea what to do with them."

Steve noted the way the creature had come up to the glass when he had pulled out his cell phone. He did so again. The creature came up to the glass and pointed to it.

"Give me the pen and paper," Steve called. He slipped the pad of paper and pen into the portal. The creature regarded the instruments with disinterest, coming back to point to where Steve had put the cell phone in his pocket.

"Like I said," the guard said. "This thing isn't too smart. It has no idea how to write."

"Hey … you got another one of those?" Steve asked. He grabbed some loose sheets of paper and a pencil, pulling up a chair to the edge of the glass. He sat down and began to rough out a sketch of the Chitauri prisoner, capturing the outline of its form in a few broad strokes and then filling in just enough details to make the creature recognizable. He lifted up the picture to the glass so the prisoner could see it.

The Chitauri prisoner stared at the picture, then him. There was real intelligence in those eyes as it looked over at the writing materials they had given it and strolled over to retrieve them. The creature sat down cross-legged on the floor and placed the materials in front of it, like a little kid trying to finger paint for the very first time, and picked up the pencil. It took a few false tries, but after Steve showed it how to correctly hold a pencil, or at least as correctly as a man can teach a six-fingered alien to use a pencil, it painstakingly eked out what could, in the kindest possible terms, be construed as a stick figure of Steve sitting in his chair. The creature held the picture up to the glass.

"I'll be damned," the guard said. "The thing can communicate."

The creature pointed to the picture and then pointed to the pocket where Steve had put his cell phone.

"I don't think they use manual writing where he comes from," Steve said. "It recognized the cell phone as a way to communicate, but it didn't recognize the paper until I showed it how."

"I'm going to note that in its record," the guard said. "Doctor Banner's assistant isn't due back until first thing Monday morning."

Steve suppressed his annoyance. Everyone was off at another one of Tony Stark's parties. One of many the party-hearty former playboy was forever throwing in honor of this event or that. Steve had made the mistake of attending one shortly after they'd defeated the alien armada. It was a mistake Steve swore he'd never make again. Not even for Pepper, who he liked, but didn't really know well enough to go crashing her birthday party.

The phone buzzed in his pocket, signaling another text message had just been delivered. He ignored it and turned to a fresh sheet of paper, drawing a picture of the alien sitting on the floor, drawing a picture. He showed it to the alien, who grew excited and began to draw another picture. Its pencil broke. The creature stared at the pencil which no longer wrote, a puzzled expression on its face. Steve had the guard fetch a tiny manual pencil sharpener and showed the creature how to use it. A good twenty minutes later, the Chitauri finished its stick figure and showed it to him, nodding proudly at its own efforts.

Steve gave the creature a thumbs-up. The creature stared at him, stared at its own hands, and then figured out the gesture was one of approval. He did his best to replicate it.

"The alien just flipped you the bird," the guard laughed.

"No he didn't," Steve said. "He's got an extra digit. He's trying to give me a thumbs up."

His phone rang this time. A real ring, not just the buzz of yet another text message coming through. Annoyed, Steve flipped it open, wondering who the hell had been texting him nonstop for the last few hours.

"Rogers."

"Don't you ever answer your phone," Tony Stark's voice came over the phone.

"I did just answer my phone," Steve said.

"No," Tony said. "I mean … answer your text messages. Nobody has time to actually talk to anyone on a phone anymore!"

"But isn't that what phones are for?" Steve asked, perplexed. "To talk?"

He noted the way the Chitauri watched him intently, even though it couldn't hear what he said. The creature appeared to understand he was speaking to somebody on the other end of the line.

"Whatever," Tony said. "Listen. Pepper's feelings are hurt you haven't answered any of her text messages."

"What text messages," Steve asked.

"The 500 text messages she's been sending you for the past three days inviting you to come to her birthday party," Tony said.

Steve glanced at the creature, wondering if it was schooled enough in human nature to recognize the expression of dread which must have come across his face at the thought of being dragged to another one of Tony Stark's parties. Steve hated parties. Everyone always put him under a microscope and asked him stupid questions he couldn't answer … like about everything which had happened in this country for the last 67 years!

"I don't think that's such a good idea," Steve said.

"Listen," Tony Stark said. "If you want that phone number, you're going to have to ask Pepper for it yourself. Nicely. Otherwise, I'm going to stop pretending my security cameras don't pick you up lurking outside the entrance to Stark Tower every day trying to catch a glimpse of your pretty lady friend and have you arrested as a stalker."

Steve held the phone away from his ear, suppressing the urge to throw it against the wall. The Chitauri had its head tilted to one side, watching his every move. He put the phone back on his ear, having no choice but to play nicely with the arrogant little pain-in-his-neck if he wanted to get that phone number.

"You're not going to make me dance again, are you?" Steve asked warily.

He remembered the one and only party he'd been foolish enough to let Stark drag him to. Stark and Thor had dragged him out into the middle of the dance floor and tried to teach him a modern dance called the Macarena. Steve had just stood there, unable to grasp why on Earth anybody would flap their hands all over their bodies like that and call it dancing. Thor, on the other hand, had embraced the kooky dance with his usual zeal for life.

"No dancing," Tony Stark said. "Not unless you want to dance."

"I'm immune to the effects of alcohol," Steve said. "Remember? So don't think you can get me drunk like you tried the last time."

"No, no, no, no," Tony laughed. "Just get your butt over here. The party starts in less than an hour."

"I have nothing to wear," Steve said.

"Pepper took the liberty of renting you a tuxedo," Tony said, his voice overly conciliatory as he avoided laughing at Steve out loud. "It will be here when you get here. You can get cleaned up in one of the suites below."

Steve noted the overwhelming urge to crush the phone in his hands, throw it against the wall, and scream obscenities at it at Tony Starks … brazenness! Steve wasn't prone to fits of emotionalism, but Tony Stark had a way of arousing the worst in him.

"Fine," Steve said, his voice flat. "What time do you want me there?"

"6:45," Tony said. "Dressed and ready to join the party at 6:45. Not showing up looking to shower and change your clothes at 6:45. I don't have time to babysit you."

"I'll be ready to endure whatever torture you have planned for me at 6:45 on the nose," Steve said.

Tony laughed.

"See you then."

Steve flipped shut the phone, still having no idea how to otherwise end the conversation, and stared at it. How the hell had he just gotten roped into being made a side-show at another one of Tony Stark's parties?

The Chitauri gave him a thumbs up. Or more precisely, a middle finger.

"If you'd ever met this girl," Steve told the creature who couldn't understand a word he said, "you'd be putting up with Tony Stark's antics, too."

Giving the creature a thumbs up back, he directed the guard to keep it supplied with plenty of writing materials and stalked out of the maximum security area to shower in the Triskelion locker room. He'd be damned if he was going to do it at Stark Tower, where JARVIS monitored everything that went on there and would probably brief Stark on exactly how many times he nicked himself shaving.

Flipping open his pocket watch, he stared at the picture of Peggy he'd kept there since the day she had coaxed him to go rescue the 101st Airborne and turn himself into a real super-soldier.

"If I didn't think she was as special as you keep telling me in those dreams you keep sending to me," Steve said, caressing the faded picture. "I wouldn't be going through all this trouble to get her phone number."

Closing the watch, he closed his eyes, gave the lid with her picture mounted on the inside of it a kiss, and slipped it back into his pocket. Just because he was taking the first tentative steps towards putting himself out there didn't mean he was ever going to forget the woman he had loved, and lost.

X X

Note: I thought this story needed a little comic relief. All romance and drama makes for a dull story. The original Captain America comics and especially Ultimate Avengers always make fun of how awkward Steve is when it comes to dealing with women. This story is about a man who is out of his own time, so in a way, Steve would be able to relate to the alien, who comes from a culture so much more advanced than Earth that he can't understand what paper and pencil are the way Steve can master any weapon but still can't figure out how to send a text message.

The party scene is rattling around in my head, waiting to be written down.