Financial Matters
Leslie held Steve and let him cry himself out, not caring about the tears and the snot on her blazer shoulder. Without letting go, she leaned to the right and fished in her bag with one hand, pulling out the box of Kleenex. Fortunately it was already open. When Steve finally pulled away, she handed him a wad.
"Disposable tissues," she explained.
He wiped his eyes and then blew his nose a couple of times.
"Sorry," he said, abashed.
"You don't have to apologize to me," Leslie said, wiping sympathetic tears from her eyes. "You've lost so much, you deserve a good cry. And research says it's good for you. Removes bad chemicals in the body. Explains why women are so much more stable than men." She gave him a nudge with her elbow, which got a weak chuckle in return.
"I mean, I'm sorry for ..." he gestured at her damp shoulder.
Leslie regarded it, then shrugged. "I'll wipe it off with a wet cloth. I'll get one for your face, too," she said.
She went to the bathroom and used a wet washcloth to wipe her face, then scrub off her shoulder. She hung up the jacket on a hook to dry, thought a moment, then looked in her bag for a T-shirt that didn't have some pop culture reference she'd have to explain. She definitely couldn't wear her Los Angeles Dodgers tee! She settled for a bright pink shirt that read: "A day without reading probably won't kill me, but why risk it?" She also picked out a blue polo shirt for Steve. He couldn't go around in an SSR T-shirt. Someone might ask what it meant.
She just hoped the wardrobe people had gotten a shirt big enough for his shoulders. Heaven knew, they'd had plenty of time to measure him before he regained consciousness. Of course, these were the same people who put him to bed with boots on!
When she was dressed in her casual clothes, Leslie took a damp cloth out to Steve, so he could wipe his face. She couldn't help but stare. His red eyes and nose were clearing up as she watched, like a blush in reverse.
"What?" he asked defensively.
Leslie shook away her paralysis. "Sorry, I'm seeing your super healing in action. You don't look like you've been crying at all."
"People think I don't feel it, because I don't look like I feel it," he said glumly.
Leslie sat beside him and patted his knee. "I will try to remember. And you try to tell me what you're feeling, OK?"
She spit on her palm and held it out. Steve chuckled at the old timey gesture to seal a deal. He spit on his palm and they shook hands firmly.
Steve got another chuckle out of Leslie's T-shirt and pulled on the polo shirt she offered without comment. It still looked a little tight, but, to be honest, tight was a good look on him.
"So, we're going shopping. We're going to get food, right?" he asked.
His stomach growled at the mention.
"I'd guess we'd better before that lion gets loose," Leslie joked.
She got a man's wallet out of her suitcase. It held a few dollars, Steve's SHIELD-made ID (which was accurate except for the year of birth) and two plastic cards.
"This is a credit card. This is a debit card," she instructed.
Steve nodded. The two cards were different colors and the debit card was identified with those words on the front.
"You can use either of these to make purchases most places except, say, little hotdog carts and newsstands. When you use a debit card, the money comes straight out of your bank account. The credit card draws on a line of credit and you pay the bill later. So, if you wanted to buy something that you didn't have the cash for, but you knew you'd have enough come payday, you would use the credit card and that postpones payment to the end of the month or whatever date the credit card company uses. In the case of this card, it is the end of the month."
"Buying on credit can be dangerous," Steve said. Anyone growing up in the Great Depression knew that and probably had a distrust of banks, too.
"Yes, and people do get in trouble getting in more debt than they can handle. If you don't pay off the credit card bill each month, you will be charged interest on the balance. If you do pay the full balance each month, there's no financial difference between the credit and debit cards. There is a practical difference. When you use the credit card, you usually have to sign your name for identification. When you use the debit card, there's a PIN number — a personal identification number — that you enter on the keypad. I'll show you how it all works when we go shopping," she promised. "I set your PIN as 0718 for July 1918. It's not really smart to use an easily guessed number such as your birthdate, but I wanted something you could remember. I'll show you how to change your PIN later. Anyway, your birthday on your ID is 1981, not 18. Are you ready to head out?"
"Sir, yes, sir," Steve snapped, giving a salute.
Leslie saluted in return, then they collected jackets (not the wet one) and (finally) left the building.
On the way out, Leslie showed Steve how the security locks worked and had him record a voiceprint. "I feel like I'm in a Flash Gordon serial," he said dryly. That made Leslie chuckle. The lock didn't care.
As they walked to the elevator, Leslie added, "One more thing, don't freak out about the prices."
"Freak out?" Steve asked, though he could guess from the context what she meant.
Leslie wracked her brain for an older synonym. "Uh, flip your lid? Blow a gasket? Fly off the handle?"
Steve nodded. "I understand."
"Prices are much higher than they were in your day," Leslie said. "Prices and wages have gone up steadily since the 1940s."
That was an oversimplification, but Leslie was no economist.
"I didn't want you to think someone was trying to cheat you, if you saw a $4 cup of coffee," Leslie said.
"Four dollars?" Steve choked.
"And that's exactly what I meant," Leslie said. "You can say 'I can't believe this costs so much,' because everyone says that. But don't hyperventilate or make a scene, OK? I'm supposed to keep you under the radar for now."
"I understand. I don't want to get you in trouble," Steve said. She was the only friend he had right now.
The concierge tried and failed to hide his smirk when the mismatched pair left the elevator. The tall, handsome blond man and the short pudgy woman made an amusing sight.
"What are you grinning at, Carlos," Leslie said with mock aggression.
Feeling Steve bristle beside her, Leslie patted his arm. "It's OK. I've known Carlos since he was a baby agent who couldn't figure out how to file his reports."
"Aunt Leslie teaches all the new agents how to fill out and file reports," Carlos said.
"Some people need more help than others," Leslie said, giving Carlos a quelling look.
"Aunt Leslie?" Steve asked.
"All the young agents call her Aunt Leslie," Carlos said. "You should call her Aunt Leslie."
"Um."
"No, I mean it," Carlos said seriously. "You don't look like you belong together, unless she's a relative."
"He has a point," Leslie admitted to Steve. She looked him up and down. "You are such a handsome specimen and I'm pretty ordinary. Obviously my sister married very well."
"Dad always said Ma married him for his looks and he married her for her cooking," Steve joked, getting into the spirit.
"There you go," approved the agent who masqueraded as a concierge.
Finally — finally! — the two of them set forth on their foraging expedition. It really wasn't as late as Leslie expected. They'd be able to get to the ATM and still get to the diner by 5 o'clock.
The building was a quiet haven for stressed SHIELD agents and assets. Stepping onto the busy New York street was like being hit by a thunderstorm. Steve flinched.
"Too loud?" Leslie asked, realizing his super senses might be a problem.
"Not as loud as artillery," Steve replied. "Just give me a minute."
He compartmentalized the noise, the brightness and the smells and mentally set them aside. He'd had to learn that in self-defense when he first changed. Leslie offered him a pair of sunglasses from her capacious purse. He donned them gratefully.
"OK, where to?" he asked.
They walked two blocks to a bank and Leslie introduced him to the ATM.
"That means Automated Teller Machine," she said. "With this, you can get cash even when the bank is closed. You need to be careful no shady people are spying on you to find out your PIN or steal your cash." She reconsidered. "Well, I need to be careful. Anyone who attacks you will be sorry."
She pointed out the security features — the cameras recording transactions and the guard lingering within view. She wondered what the guard thought about her teaching a grown man how to use an ATM. Did he think Steve had grown up in a cult? Probably he just thought she was an officious busybody giving Steve advice he didn't need. She tried to look very bossy, while she showed Steve how to insert the debit card, where to enter his PIN and where the money came out. The instructions on the ATM screen were self-explanatory, really, once you understood the basic concept.
Steve would have pushed the button for $40, but Leslie directed him to the $200.
"Two hundred?" he asked doubtfully.
"I told you about the prices," she reminded him. "We'll spend at least half that much on dinner tonight. And we're going to a diner. Nothing fancy. I expect you to eat a lot and, I just realized, I haven't had lunch, so I'm starving."
Her stomach growled in agreement.
"Better feed your lioness," Steve teased.
Two blocks down and one block over, they reached the Five and Diner. Steve appreciated the pun.
"Look, we're in time for the early bird special. That will be handy for someone with a super appetite," Leslie chuckled, as they slid into a red leather booth. "They also offer a discount to people age 65 and older. I don't qualify, but you do," she said playfully.
Steve looked down his nose and said snootily, "Madam, I'll have you know I was born in 1981. My birth certificate says so."
They both laughed as if it was the funniest thing.
A/N: Chris Evans was born in 1981.
Guiding Steve around the city where I'll have problems. I spent a grand total of one day in New York City 36 years ago. There are many things I do not know. For instance, do restaurants serve glasses of water automatically? You have to ask for it in Southern California. Because of our recurring droughts, we don't like to waste water, not just the unwanted water in the glass, but the water it takes to wash unused glasses, too.
My prayers are with all the people impacted by the hurricanes.