Steve VI: Lieutenant Trouble

Steve sent a picture of the expanded gauntlet to the Avengers group chat, excited to show off the fact that he'd continued the legacy. He added a thank you to Parker for showing it to the two newcomers that he did.

"So you've met Monica?" he asked Steve in a text message completely separate from the group chat. Steve wondered why he'd done that.

"Yeah. But I can't go within six feet of her because she has CF," he replied, relaying information he'd learned from the girl just yesterday.

"So you haven't seen her room?"

"No. Why?"

"She's got some really cool photos."

"Oh, okay." Steve failed to understand why Parker felt the need to tell him this. Monica hadn't mentioned anything about photography, so why did Parker find the pictures cool?

"She didn't tell you how she knows you?"

"She said you talked about me."

"She didn't mention the rest?"

Now Steve was just confused. "What else is there?"

The three dots indicating Parker was typing popped up, then disappeared again. Then they reappeared, followed by a message Steve never expected to receive. "Her big sister was Carol's girlfriend."

"What? Really?"

"Yes, really. She told me Carol was like a second sister to her."

"Wow. That is so unexpected."

"I know, right? It's a small world."

"Yeah, no kidding. She has a brother named Steve and her girlfriend's sister has CF. It's almost scary."

"Whoa, I didn't even put those two together. That's crazy."

"Thanks for telling me."

"You're welcome. You should talk to her."

"I definitely will."

At the first opportunity, Steve sat down with Monica six feet apart in the common room and asked to talk about Carol while a few of the younger kids played with toys in the corner. Despite the grief surrounding her loss, Steve embraced every possible chance to keep Carol's memory alive, and talking to this little girl who knew her was an excellent way to do that.

"How long have you known her?"

"She moved here and started going to school with my sister when they were ten. They were friends that whole time, but they didn't start dating until the beginning of sophomore year. At least, that's when they announced it. From my observation, they were dating even before Carol broke up with her ex." Just the mention of this ex made Monica scrunch up her nose in disdain. Steve remembered Carol bringing her up one time, something about not taking dance just to avoid her. He wondered what had come about to end that relationship.

"Well I'm glad they finally got together."

"Yeah," Monica sighed. "I used to imagine that one day they'd get married and she'd by my sister-in-law for real."

"I'm sorry. I used to imagine that one day we'd be transplant buddies."

"Are you on the list for new lungs?"

"Not yet. But at this rate it probably won't be much longer."

"Yikes. I hope it goes well." Steve could tell by the look on Monica's face that she was scared for him. It made sense, given that he probably served as a crystal ball showing her future. Hopefully she'd make it much longer before she deteriorated as much as he did.

"Thanks. How are you doing?"

"PFTs are down a little bit—that's why I'm here—but otherwise pretty good."

"That's good to hear. Surprisingly, I don't know many other people with CF. I've never been one to join the online networks and all that."

"I know a few people from Instagram. But you're the first CFer I've ever met in person."

"And Carol knew us both. That's just crazy. How's your sister doing?"

"Okay, I guess. It's been hard, but she's doing okay. I think she just needs time. We all do."

"Yeah." They lapsed into silence for a moment before Steve elected to try and lighten the mood. "Do you have a favorite memory of the three of you?"

Monica grinned widely. "Definitely. There was this one Halloween a few years ago. We both wanted to be Amelia Earhart, but Maria said that there couldn't be two, so we flipped a coin for it and I won. Carol accused me of cheating—she used to call me Lieutenant Trouble because I was somewhat prone to cheating when I was younger—but Maria said it was fair and square. I think she was just pretending to be a sore loser for show. She even loaned me her jacket for the costume, even though it was way too big for me. I—I still have that jacket. Maria got it for me, because when Carol first came here she told her I could have it if she didn't…if she didn't make it."

"That sounds like a great memory," Steve said, reminded of his own holiday memories with his friend. The nickname Monica cited sounded exactly like the type of endearment Carol would bestow upon her loved ones, and he smiled remembering all the times she'd called him Rogers. "I'll bet you're glad to have that jacket. She gave me her blanket and I always curl up with it when I'm missing her."

"Me too. Except one time I got ketchup on it. Luckily, the stain came out, but I was too scared to wear it for weeks."

They both chuckled at that, and spent the rest of the afternoon until their next vest treatment exchanging stories. Steve thanked whatever twist of fate had brought them together, wondering if maybe, just maybe, Carol herself had something to do with it somehow.

~0~

That winter, Steve's mom convinced him and Bucky to come to Christmas Eve services with her. Actually, all six of them were going, and the Barnes spent almost the entirety of Christmas Eve at the Rogers' apartment beforehand. They arrived around noon, and Bucky shoved his dress shirt in Steve's closet because he didn't want to wear it all day. Instead, he had on his "It cost an arm and a leg, but I was able to negotiate" tee, which made Steve smile every time he saw it. He loved that Bucky was able to find humor in his circumstances.

"Did you get anything from Tony?" Bucky asked.

"Yep." The boy had hand-delivered a perfectly-wrapped package to his door and told him to put it under the tree. Steve's ears had gone red with embarrassment because he hadn't gotten anything for Tony—his whole life Christmas had been more of a family thing, but of course wasn't Tony now as much a part of that family as Bucky?—but he'd figured something out rather quickly and returned the favor. He really hoped Tony liked it.

"I wonder what he got you."

"I don't know."

"Did you shake it?"

"No, I didn't shake it."

"Why not?"

"What if it's fragile?"

"You don't go full out on the first shake. You start gently and then if it doesn't sound fragile you can shake it harder."

"What does not fragile sound like?"

"It just takes practice, which you clearly don't have."

"Maybe I don't want to guess what's in a gift before I open it. I'd just rather be surprised."

"Boring."

"Whatever. Did you shake yours? What do you think it is?"

"My money's on an article of clothing. The rustle of tissue paper that people always layer in with clothes in packages is unmistakable. Knowing Tony, that probably means it's a quirky tee shirt."

"Sounds like a good guess."

"Boys! Are you ready to go?" Steve's mom called from outside.

"Almost!" Steve said back. He grabbed a face mask from his stash and shoved it in his pocket, not taking any chances in public in the heart of flu season.

Bucky returned to Steve's closet and pulled out the plain blue button down he'd stowed in there earlier. Steve thought nothing of it as he yanked his tee off over his head—they'd changed in front of each other countless times over the years—but he suddenly realized this was the first time since cancer. More accurately, the first time since amputation.

He'd only ever seen Bucky's stump covered in bandages or the sewn-together remnants of a shirt's armhole. Steve had beheld the absence of a left arm and the unnatural slope of what remained of his shoulder making shirts sit a little wonky, but he'd never laid eyes on the actual scar until now. The faded pink line ran a slightly jagged path from what used to be his armpit, across the upper edge of his pectoral, and finally ended about three inches from his neck. It certainly trumped any scars Steve had, except maybe the one across his abdomen from when he was a baby.

Bucky must have caught Steve staring at him open-mouthed, because he hurriedly shrugged into his shirt and snapped the magnetic strips together to button up the front. "What's the matter?" he asked.

Steve elected to go with brute honesty. "That's the first time I've seen your bare stump."

"Oh, really? I'm surprised it took that long. I wasn't hiding it from you or anything."

"You weren't?"

"No. Why would I?"

"I dunno."

"Man, are you okay? You look like you just went three rounds with the Red Devil."

"Is that a chemo reference I don't understand? What does that mean?"

"That you're about to puke or pass out or both—in either order," Bucky huffed.

"I'm fine," Steve assured. "It's just…bigger than I thought it would be."

"Yeah, they had a lot of surface area to cover. It's not as clean a chop as taking it off at the wrist or elbow."

"Does it still hurt?" Steve asked abruptly.

"You mean phantom pain?"

"Any pain."

"Yeah, I still get phantom pain, just not as bad or as often as it was in the beginning." Steve noticed he dug his tongue into one of his back teeth as he said this. "It mostly happens when I lie down."

"Which side do you sleep on?" Steve didn't know where these questions came from, but they must have been sitting in his subconscious all along. Seeing the scar just brought them to the forefront.

"Not left. It feels…weird, and sometimes hurts. I stick to right side or back. Now, aren't we going to be late?"

"You're right. Let's go. Sorry I sprang all that on you."

"Don't worry about it. Steve, you can always ask me those sorts of questions even if it feels awkward. God knows I spent my entire life bugging you with intrusive CF questions."

"Asking me if I can vomit through my G-tube is not intrusive, it's just stupid."

"It was a legitimate question!" Bucky defended.

"I'm still ninety percent certain Jim dared you to ask me that and you only did it for the money."

"You can believe whatever you want."

"So can you," Steve retorted. He'd never actually answered that question, though he knew the answer was a resounding no. No matter how food went in, if it needed to come back out it used only one path. But Bucky didn't need Steve to tell him that.

~0~

Christmas morning dawned. Steve did his morning vest treatment and headed into the living room to meet his parents. He was old enough now that this day didn't fill him with juvenile giddiness, but he still cherished spending this time with his parents and knew they felt the same. None of them mentioned that any Christmas could be his last, though Steve could tell they were all thinking it.

He decided to save Tony's gift for last, opening Parker's just before it. The kid had done something so incredibly thoughtful that he thought his heart might actually burst out of his chest. Steve reminded himself to talk to him about it later.

Steve didn't shake Tony's gift beforehand, though he thought of that conversation with Bucky as he tore at the wrapping paper without attempting to guess what was inside. He revealed a cardboard box, the type that ubiquitously held clothing. Sure enough, it contained tissue paper, which he peeled back to reveal—just as Bucky predicted for his own gift—a tee shirt. Steve pulled it out of the box and held it up to look at the front, only to immediately throw it back in the box and put the lid on, stifling a laugh as he did so.

"What's it say?" Mom asked.

"Nothing," Steve squeaked. "It's a bit of an inside joke."

She furrowed her brow at him suspiciously, but she let it slide. Once they cleaned up the wrapping paper, Steve asked if he could be excused for a minute before the movie. He headed back to his room and immediately called Tony, pulling out the shirt to gaze at it once again now that he could fully appreciate it.

"Merry Christmas," Tony greeted when he picked up.

"And to you. But maybe a little bit of warning next time you gift me something like that. I had to open it in front of my parents."

"You didn't show it to them?" Tony questioned.

"No! My mother would kill me if she saw this." Steve glanced back at the shirt, which pictured a set of lungs, only the space between them was shaped to form the outline of a middle finger. Beneath it were the letters, "FU CF."

"Oops. Sorry," he said sheepishly. "I guess you can't wear it then."

"You'd better believe I'm going to wear it, but only under a jacket when I leave here."

"Oh. That's good to hear. I thought it rather fitting."

"I love it. Thank you."

"You're welcome. And thank you for your gift, it's wonderful."

"You like it? I'm so glad." Steve had gotten him a book on basic techniques for drawing people based on a conversation they'd had a while ago in which Tony expressed an interest in learning how to draw better. According to him, he could only sketch inorganic things like machines with any sort of skill and he wanted to broaden his capabilities.

"Oh, for sure. Next Christmas, you're getting artwork from me. It won't be nearly as good as what you could do, but it'll be way better than anything I could make now."

"I look forward to it."