Home Again

"How are we going to get all this home?" Leslie said, exasperated at herself.

"We can't take the carts home? It's only a couple of blocks and I'll bring them right back," Steve said.

"The wheels will lock up, if we take them past the parking lot," Leslie explained. "Too many people have stolen them. And, like I said, I'm supposed to keep you undercover — and the residence, too. It's a hideout," she whispered. "If I attract attention to it, all of us will be in trouble. It would be like leading a grocery parade."

Steve subtly hefted each cart. "I could carry all this," he determined. "But it would be an awkward load."

"And still a parade," Leslie said glumly.

"Call a cab?" Steve suggested.

"Hideout," Leslie reminded him, pulling out her cellphone. "But, maybe something like that. I'll do what hotel guests should always do, call the concierge. Hello, Carlos."

She explained their dilemma.

Steve's enhanced hearing could detect Carlos laughing on the other end of the call. But when he'd expressed his amusement sufficiently, he promised to take care of it. "I'll be there in 10 minutes."

As the left the store, shoppers glanced at the mismatched pair with their overloaded shopping carts.

"Aren't we attracting attention here?" Steve asked.

"Some, but here we're just shoppers waiting for their ride. Our purchase is impressive, but not bizarre or particularly memorable. Parading through the streets, that's memorable. People might even take photos. People take photos of every damn thing these days, now that phones have cameras," Leslie said.

Steve nodded understanding. A moment later, Carlos came through the door. He was dressed in a deliveryman's coveralls with the sleeves rolled up to reveal tattooed forearms. He was pushing a dolly with two large boxes on it. Carlos unpacked the largest box, taking out a big backpack and several cloth grocery bags.

"Now, let's split up the load," he said.

They neatly portioned out boxed goods and heavy items such as cans and jars, then packed more fragile items, such as meat and frozen goods, on top. Steve put heavy, awkward items, such as the bag of potatoes, in the backpack, settling his precious oranges on top. He shrugged on the heavy backpack, then picked up two cloth bags, one loaded with produce and one with eggs and dairy items. Leslie was left with two bags of lightweight and fragile goods, such as bread and chips and cookies.

When everything was stored to Carlos' satisfaction, he tipped back the dolly. "I'll go first and take this to the service entrance, while you two stroll home. OK?"

"Perfect. Thank you, Carlos," Leslie said.

"It was smart of you to call me," Carlos replied. "We'll make an agent of you yet."

"God forbid," the file clerk said fervently.

After a few minutes, Steve and Leslie followed Carlos out of the store. He was blocks ahead by then and turned on a side street to approach the residence from the rear. Steve and Leslie walked home with a normal load of groceries.

Carlos and a bald white man in a concierge uniform were waiting at Steve's door. "This is Paul. He comes on at 6, then Manny is on from 2 to 10. "

"I'm sorry for keeping you past your time," Steve apologized, because it was nearly 7 p.m.

Carlos shrugged. "I was briefing Paul about the new resident."

"They were gossiping," Leslie translated.

"Maybe," Paul said, in a surprisingly deep voice. He held out his hand. "I'm hon ored to meet you, captain."

"Just Steve," he answered, shaking the man's hand. "I don't think I'm a captain any more."

No one could think what to say in answer, so they just went inside.

The four made quick work of stocking the cupboards and refrigerator with supplies. They let Steve decide where things went, because it was his kitchen. Leslie offered suggestions only when he asked.

"If I put the cereal on the top shelf, you won't be able to reach it," Steve said,

"Put it on the lower shelf," she suggested. "Put baking mixes and things we don't need every day on the highest shelf. Anyway, there's a footstool next to the refrigerator, so I can reach the top shelf if I need to."

The Man with the Plan quickly sorted out the most used items and assigned them to the most easily reached places.

When Leslie stored the root vegetables in a bin in a dark corner of the pantry cupboard, she remembered she planned to make stew with them. It was a curse of hers that she was always thinking ahead to the next day's activities. Sometimes it made it hard to sleep, but sometimes it was handy when she forgot something.

She fetched her cellphone and called Hill.

"Maria, could someone get the slow cooker from my apartment and bring it to Steve's?" Leslie asked. "That's one thing I couldn't fit in my suitcase."

"I'll do it!" a voice said in the background.

"You're going to Russia!" Maria said.

"It's on the way," the voice called back.

"Wheels up in 40!" Maria shouted.

Leslie heard a door slam. "Was that Natasha?" she asked.

"Yes," Maria said dryly. "She was in wardrobe when the captain made his great escape. She ended up in lockdown with the noncombatants and is pissed she missed the action. She's dying to get a look at the famous Captain America that Coulson is so fixated on."

"I could have told her where to find my spare key in my desk," Leslie said.

"It's Romanoff. She won't need a key," Maria predicted.

Leslie hung up and turned to the men. "Romanoff is bringing me my slow cooker," she told Paul.

"I'm not likely to try to stop her," he said dryly.

"Smart man," Leslie agreed.

"Is she dangerous?" Steve asked.

"There's no one more dangerous," Carlos said.

"She's always surprising. She heard what I said to Hill," Leslie said. "She was trained to concentrate, so she can hear the voice on the other end of the telephone."

"I can do that, too," Steve offered. "But that's because of the serum, not training. Is your home really on the way?"

"Not even close," Leslie said. "My place is on the opposite side of headquarters from here. And then she'll have to go back to catch her flight."

"I hope she's not late," Steve said, worried someone would get in trouble for helping Leslie.

"She'll manage," Leslie said dryly. "She's the best."

The guys had left and Leslie and Steve were setting out the vegetables she wanted for the stew the next day, when Leslie got a text that Natasha was on her way up.

Steve answered the door to see a small, red-haired woman carrying a large stone crock.

"Hey," the woman greeted him.

Steve was taken aback by her friendly yet appraising stare.

"Uh, hi," he stammered. "Here, let me take that. It looks heavy."

"It is," Natasha agreed.

It was heavier than Steve expected. Romanoff was stronger than she looked. When he took the slow cooker, Natasha swung a bag off her shoulder and gave it to Leslie. Bottles of wine clinked together.

"Thought you might need a drink," she said.

"We're good, but thank you."

"Your cat says hello," Natasha added, never taking her eyes off Steve, in a calculating manner, not a salacious one.

"Hill said you have a mission to get to," Leslie said. "Stop staring and scoot."

Natasha grinned at her. "You're welcome," she said, and moved off gracefully.

Leslie rolled her eyes and shut the door.

"Wow," Steve commented.

"Yes, she's a force of nature," Leslie agreed.

"Um, you have a cat?" Steve asked.

"Just one. Not like Melody. My neighbor is feeding her."

"I'm sorry to take you away from your life," Steve said humbly.

"Pssh, I'm having the time of my life. I'm getting paid to shop and cook and play with electronics. And I'm making a new friend. Best week ever," Leslie said, making Steve smile. She really enjoyed making the lost soldier smile.

Leslie directed Steve to set the slow cooker on the counter. She really liked Steve's apartment, especially the kitchen. There was enough room on the counter for all the appliances she could think of. In her own, smaller space, she kept lesser used appliances on a shelf and toted them to the counter when needed.

Leslie knew the residence apartments were well supplied. They were for newcomers to New York, visitors and temporary assignments and needed breaks for operatives who spent most of their time elsewhere. Some liked to cook for relaxation, because they got tired to eating on the run all the time, so the kitchens were stocked with almost everything, and everything else was in storage if an agent asked for a six-speed juicer or an automatic bread machine.

The apartments were also thoroughly sound-proofed so residents couldn't bother each other with nightmares or loud music.

It really was a nice place, Leslie thought.

"Are we going to set up the 'TV' now?" Steve asked.

They both looked at the several boxes and the pile of cords that Bourkin had thrown on the floor, a pile which, in the manner of Christmas lights, seemed to have grown larger and more tangled while they were out.

"I don't think I'm up for that right now," Leslie confessed. "We can do it tomorrow, OK?"

Steve agreed with relief.

"But we can watch a movie on my laptop," Leslie said. She pulled her computer out of her bag and sat on the couch with it on her lap, demonstrating the origin of the name. "Some people work like this all the time, but it makes my arthritic knees ache, so I mostly use it on a table."

"What should we watch?" Steve asked.

"Hmm, how about you tell me an actor you like and I'll find something they made after the war," she suggested.

Of course Steve couldn't come up with a name when challenged out of the blue. His gaze roamed the apartment for inspiration, landing on a framed photo on the wall. The apartment had been decorated with items designed to not remind Steve of his past, but the desert landscape did remind him of something.

"There was a movie I liked, 'Beau Geste,'" Steve said.

"Battle scenes and brotherly love, sounds like your cup of tea," Leslie teased. She hadn't seen the movie, but had read the book. "Who was in it?"

"Gary Cooper, Ray Milland and Robert Preston were the brothers," Steve said.

Leslie grinned. "We can work with that. Do you want a serious, suspenseful Western that's considered one of the best westerns ever made or a light-hearted yet highly acclaimed musical comedy."

"I think I'm too tired for a serious film," Steve admitted.

"OK, 'Music Man' it is. It's Robert Preston's best known role. 'High Noon' was Gary Cooper's masterpiece, which I've never seen because it's too serious," Leslie confessed. She found "Music Man' in her provider's file and queued it up, then paused it. "Do you want popcorn to go with the movie?" she asked.

Steve's agreement was fervent enough to make Leslie frown suspiciously. "Are you still hungry?" she asked.

"I just ate two full meals an hour ago," Steve replied.

Leslie's eyes narrowed. "That was not an answer, mister," she said sternly. "If you're hungry, tell me. We just bought out half a grocery store."

Steve's shoulders hunched in embarrassment. "I don't like to be a glutton," he said in a small voice. "I fell like I'm taking more than my share."

"Steve, we're not on rationing any more. There's no reason for you to go hungry."

And yet there were still people who went hungry every day, Leslie thought. But she was NOT going to get into that right now. Steve didn't need to feel guilty about the extra caloric intake he needed.

"Have you ever actually eaten until you were full?" she asked.

Steve actually thought about his answer. "Not since I was a kid, before the Crash," he decided. "After … there was enough to go around, but not enough to feel full, except when we splurged at Christmas. In the Army, we go three squares a day, except when we were out in the field. Then we had C Rations and whatever we could scrounge." He grinned suddenly. "There was one time, we found a half-burned farmhouse. The people had escaped but hadn't been able to take everything with them. There was a ham, two wheels of cheese, a loaf of bread that was only a little stale and, in the well, a small crock of butter," he said it almost reverently. "We feasted that night and prayed for the family who had been forced to leave it all behind."

Leslie shook her head in wonder.

"So that's the only time you've really been full since you had your growing spurt. I can't believe you survived on such short rations. Your body runs at high revs. You need high octane food."

"Dr. Erskine said my body would be more efficient," Steve offered.

"I don't understand it, but I know you can have as much food as you want here and now," Leslie said firmly. "And since you're recovering from trauma, you need to build your muscle back up."

Leslie pointed out some quick snacks Steve could make without having to understand the kitchen equipment — peanut butter or lunch meat sandwiches, cheese and fruit and his orange scones. "If you get hungry in the middle of the night, just take what you want. It's all yours. And, in the meantime, let's fix a couple of hotdogs and some popcorn to go with the movie."

"That's too much trouble," Steve protested.

Leslie grinned at him. "Not so much. I'm going to show you the magic of the microwave."

Leslie told him about microwave ovens that use radiation to cook food from the inside. "As I understand it, the microwaves vibrate the molecules in the food. It's great for reheating food and cooking simple things like hotdogs. It's not real good for baked goods."

She showed him how to reduce the power and set just a few seconds to warm up a scone or a muffin.

"It's best to start with a short time, because you can always add time, you can't take it away. Over-microwaved food gets tough and can burn." She studied the controls. "I haven't used this model before. It's a higher power than the one I have at home. Let's try one minute for two hotdogs."

She pricked holes in the hotdogs — "to let the steam out so they don't explode, wrapped them in a paper towel and put them on a plate. She let Steve set the time. While they waited, watching the carousel go around inside, she told him about what dishes were safe for the microwave.

"Glass and paper and most ceramics are good. Never, ever put anything metal inside," she warned. "It can cause sparks, maybe even a fire. No tin foil, no metal cans, not even a plate with gold rim or silver stripe. Nothing metallic at all."

"Understood," Steve said with a salute.

When the oven beeped, Steve took out the food and poked at it. "It's warm, but not really hot," he reported.

"Give it another half minute, then."

While the hotdogs cooked some more, Leslie showed Steve the labels on the bottoms of some cups and dishes and plastic storage containers, so he could tell which were microwave safe, which were OK for the oven and which could go in the dishwasher.

"Microwave, freezer, dishwasher," he recited, pointing at one plastic container. "Never in the oven."

"Excellent."

While Steve put condiments on his hotdogs, Leslie got out a bag of microwave popcorn.

"This is a favorite trick," she said. "Remember what I said about making holes in the hotdogs so they didn't explode? Well, popcorn is made to explode."

She pushed a button marked "popcorn." In a moment, the popping sound began and Steve watched in fascination as the bag expanded. The popping tapered off before the time was done and Leslie turned the machine off. "Always listen for the popping to stop. Otherwise it will burn and smoke up the place."

With their food settled, they returned to the living room to watch their movie. They sat side by side on the couch with the laptop on a kitchen chair pulled close and Leslie started "The Music Man."

It was funny and the music was great. Steve enjoyed it, though he got melancholy at one point.

"I suppose they're all gone now," he murmured.

"Some of them," Leslie admitted. "But Shirley Jones is still going strong and the little boy, he's become a famous director."

Steve was interested. "Can we see something he's done?"

"Of course," Leslie said, then thought, we can watch "Apollo 13," but not until after I tell you about the space program! So many things to cover!

Smiling, Steve went to bed with the ridiculous song "Shipoopi" going through his head.

Leslie went to bed with the feeling of a job well done.

Of course it didn't last.

Leslie always had trouble sleeping in a strange bed. She was trying to shut off her mind, which was overly busy overly planning the next day's activities, when she heard a clatter from the other bedroom.

Though her nightgown was muumuu style, perfectly respectable to wear on the streets, she still put on a robe when she went to Steve's bedroom. She rapped on the door, which swung open because it wasn't latched.

Steve was having a nightmare, thrashing amid the covers. He'd knocked his alarm clock off the nightstand, which is what Leslie had heard.

Leslie was not a brave person. She had no intention of going close to a Super Soldier who was flailing around, but she couldn't leave him in such distress either.

She got a broom and poked him with the handle a few times, calling for him to wake up.

He came awake with a shout of "No!" accidentally snatching the broom out of Leslie's hands. She hissed at the pain this caused her arthritis, which brought Steve fully back to himself.

"Leslie?" he almost sobbed. He saw she was holding her hand. He saw the clock and the broom on the floor. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

"Shh, it's just my arthritis. You didn't do anything wrong." She moved toward him, but he hunched away, so she stayed where she was. "Do you want to talk about it?" she asked.

Steve shook his head. "Just .. go back to sleep, please?" he asked.

"OK, you try to get some rest, too. And come and get me if you need me. It's not a problem. Honest."

"I'll be OK," Steve promised. Leslie didn't believe him, but she left him alone.

After a long while, Steve did go back to sleep and woke again after another nightmare. This time he didn't wake up Leslie. He just curled around his pillow and wept for the life he'd lost.

Steve Rogers' first day in the 21st century ended in tears.

A/N: Poor Steve. It can't all go easily, can it? Hope you liked Natasha's cameo.