The Sidewalks of New York
Steve and Leslie wandered the streets, enjoying the late afternoon sun. Leslie amused herself by introducing Steve to modern fast food chains. Every one they came to, Leslie took Steve in and bought him a couple of representative items: double-decker bacon cheeseburger and fries, footlong submarine sandwich with no onions (because Leslie took a piece of it for her dinner and she couldn't abide raw onions), chili cheese dog (Leslie got one for herself, too), burrito and taco combo. She even bought a chicken nuggets Happy Meal, so Steve could see what one looked like. And see what a chicken "nugget" was. Steve donated his toy to a mom whose daughter was unhappy over the prize she'd received.
Steve ate all the foods, impressed by the speed of service and unbothered about the taste and quality.
"I've eaten worse," he said. "After the Depression and rationing and Army food … this wasn't bad at all." His eyes twinkled. "It's a hundred times better than anything Bucky or I cooked for ourselves. We tried our best to recreate some of our mothers' recipes, but our stove was an old crock."
They enjoyed their moveable feast, finishing with ice cream, then returned to Steve's apartment to watch a Dodger game. They had a peaceful evening. Leslie enjoyed a respite from answering difficult questions. Fortunately, the game didn't run long, so they got to bed early.
Leslie got up before dawn, which she hadn't done since she got out of the army, unless she had to catch an early airline flight. She poured hot water from her electric kettle over a tea bag and sat back, yawning, while Steve fixed his breakfast.
"Do you want something?" he asked.
"No, my stomach's not up yet," she replied. "We'll stop for breakfast after we check out the track. I deserve eggs benedict for this."
After Steve finished his cereal, they walked to the college field. The track opened at dawn and was already occupied by half a dozen people jogging, sprinting and, in one instance, running up and down the stairs determinedly.
Steve sighed.
"I agree, not enough privacy for you to go all out," Leslie said. "I'm sorry. Let's get some breakfast and check out Carlos' list of gyms."
Steve enjoyed the eggs benedict — the fanciest egg dish he'd ever had. He also enjoyed the Mexican skillet hash browns and the stuffed French toast. The waitress was impressed, and got a big tip for not making a big deal about it and just asking, "Anything else today?"
The mismatched twosome strolled down the street to the first gym. It was all steel and glass and looked really ... breakable to Steve.
"One down," was all Leslie said.
As they headed toward the second gym on their list, Steve felt a strange buzzing, as if his pocket was full of bees. He jumped, startled, and slapped his pocket, then felt the outline of his phone. He pulled it out. The screen showed an "answer call" slider and the message "unknown."
Steve looked a slightly panicked question at Leslie. "Answer it," she instructed. "Don't say your name," she added.
When they practiced, he'd always answered "Rogers."
Leslie was morally certain that Steve would never get a random sales call over a SHIELD issued phone, but better safe than sorry.
It was funny to think Steve had damn-all experience in answering phones. He and his mother hadn't been able to afford one, neither had he and Bucky. He'd made calls, but he'd hardly ever answered a phone. Even on the rare times during the war when he was in an office in London, a secretary or an aide had answered and then handed him the phone.
With a gulp, he slid the button and said, "Hello?"
"Captain," the hearty voice was familiar and Steve relaxed.
"Director Fury," he acknowledged. "Can I help you?" Leslie raised her eyebrows, but couldn't say she was shocked.
"Just called to see how you're getting along," the director answered. "Reynolds treating you all right?"
"She's great, sir," Steve said with real warmth. "She's been showing me around."
"Finance and foraging," Leslie said, which Steve repeated.
"I've gotten money out of the wall," Steve said dryly like a joke, the same way Leslie said it. "I've been to a supermarket and used a microwave. She told me about the Dodgers. I'm ... learning. Right now we're trying to find a place I can exercise without attracting attention."
He told Fury about the gym in the residence, the overcrowded running track and about Carlos' suggestions for approved gyms. Fury snorted.
"Those are all fancy new places," the director said. "You'll want something old school, like a boxing club."
Steve was relieved that Fury understood. "Someplace I can punch things. Sometimes I really want to punch things," he said plaintively.
"I hear that," Fury answered. "I think I know a place you'll like. Use my name and they'll hook you up."
He gave an address. Steve tucked the phone under his ear and pulled out his notebook to write it down. (More habit than necessity, based on his eidetic memory, Leslie thought.)
"Anything else I can do for you?" Fury asked.
Steve hesitated, then plunged ahead. "I'd like to find out what happened to my team, to ... Peggy Carter. Leslie said she needs your authorization to release the information."
There was silence on the other end of the line, then Fury asked to speak to Leslie.
"Director," she greeted.
"I know you have those files," Fury said.
Steve's head jerked up. Leslie patted his arm.
"Now Steve does, too. Super hearing will be something to keep in mind in the future," she said calmly.
"Sorry." Damn, he actually apologized!
"I have the files, but you never actually authorized me to release the information," Leslie pointed out.
"I didn't actually authorize you to take the files out of the building either," Fury countered.
"Keeping records is what I do," she answered, unperturbed.
"You don't think he's ready yet." It wasn't a question.
"Who could ever be ready for that?" she replied, her unflinching eyes on the Super Soldier. "I want Steve to have a solid grounding in the here and now, before he starts looking at the end of the war and what happened to his friends. It's going to be hard. I don't want him to feel lost. He needs an anchor."
Steve slowly nodded and the incipient anger faded. He patted her shoulder in understanding.
"You're in charge," Fury agreed. "But ... don't wait too long. Something's coming. I can feel it."
Some people wondered if Fury was enhanced. His "feelings" generally proved accurate.
"It's only been four days," Leslie pointed out. "Give the man a chance to recuperate."
"Right. I'll see what I can do about the running problem. Good work, Reynolds. Anything else?"
Steve gestured and Leslie handed him the phone. "Sir, when they found me, did they find my shield?"
"They did, captain. It needed a little paint and some new straps, but otherwise seems undamaged. It's safe in our armory. Do you want it?"
Steve thought about it, but shook his head. "I guess it would be a little conspicuous if I'm supposed to be incognito. I just wanted to make sure it wasn't still in the ice."
"It's safe," Fury assured him
Leslie took the phone back. "Are people posing for pictures with it?"
"That would be a security nightmare," Fury said. "The vault will only open for Cap, Hill, Coulson and me, and Coulson is in New Mexico."
"Just as well," Leslie said. Everyone knew about Phil's Captain America obsession. "There's one more thing. Steve would like a helicopter ride."
"One second." Leslie heard paper rustling. Fury liked to keep schedules on paper. So he could chew and swallow them if captured, he joked. "Tomorrow at 10?"
"That would be fine. Thank you, sir," Leslie said.
"Keep up the good work, 'Aunt' Leslie," Fury said, then hung up.
Steve thought it was strange. They'd carried on a whole conversation on the sidewalk and no one had given them a second glance. He missed the privacy of phone booths.
Leslie met Steve's gaze. "Are we good?"
"We're very good," he teased.
She smiled. "I can show you the files as soon as we get back," she offered.
Steve thought about it, then shook his head. "No, you're right. I'm not ready yet. Let's find that boxing club, instead."
"Use the map app to find this boxing club," Leslie suggested.
Steve said he didn't need to, because he knew the streets. "It should be two blocks up and three blocks over."
"It's good to practice," Leslie said.
Steve accepted that and one-finger typed the address into the map app. He showed Leslie the result, two blocks up and three blocks over. They'd have to pass his building to get there, so it wasn't far from the residence at all.
"Good to know that you can still find your way around," Leslie said. "That's one of the milestones I wanted to reach."
"Navigation." Steve nodded. He recited all the locations the two had visited, telling Leslie where the grocery store and the bank were, both their addresses and their location relative to where he was standing. He listed the diner they'd first eaten at and the fast food places they'd visited the day before.
"Do you know where the 'office' is from here?" Leslie asked. She didn't want to say "headquarters" on a public street.
Steve had still been in shock when the kindly nurse had accompanied him to the residence. But he closed his eyes and found a memory of their brief car ride. He told Leslie where the building was and described it. "I didn't notice the address," he confessed.
"I'd call that a passing grade," Leslie said with a chuckle. "Also, you can find food and cook it. A-plus-plus, soldier."
They walked in comfortable silence, looking for the boxing club. Suddenly Steve stopped, tilting his head as if listening. He looked over his shoulder. A boy was running gleefully in their direction, dodging in and out of the pedestrians. When he got closer, Leslie could hear his heavy breathing. The boy stopped, bent over with his hands on his knees, audibly wheezing.
Steve hurried toward him. "Are you alright? Can I help?" he asked anxiously.
The boy looked up, more exasperated by his situation than frightened. He gave Steve the OK sign. He slapped his pockets, then looked annoyed. He closed his eyes and began slow, careful breaths.
"Billy!" a woman's voice called anxiously.
The boy stood up straight and looked around.
Steve stood taller and saw the woman hurrying up the sidewalk.
"Ma'am! Over here!" he called.
She came up, saw the boy, rolled her eyes and fished a small device out of her purse.
The boy put the tube in his mouth, pushed the plunger and inhaled. Like a miracle, the wheezing died away.
"I told you to stay with me," the mother scolded.
"I wanted to see the puppies, before all the good ones are gone," he protested.
"You're not going to get a puppy if you collapse on the sidewalk and have to go to the hospital!"
"It's just asthma," the boy said dismissively.
"You ran off without your inhaler," his mother pointed out.
"I won't do it again," Billy promised, showing how he was putting it in his pocket.
"I wish I'd had one of those when I was a kid," Steve said in admiration.
"You had asthma?" the mother asked.
"Yes, we didn't have ... money for those." He hastily amended his statement, not knowing how long inhalers had been around. It was true anyway. If they'd existed in Steve's childhood, he wouldn't have been able to afford one.
"Single mother," Leslie explained.
The woman nodded. "We're lucky my husband has excellent health insurance."
Steve echoed her nod. Health insurance had been in its infancy before the war, but he knew the concept.
"Puppies," Billy reminded his mother.
"Pet Junction is holding an adoption fair," the mom explained to Leslie and Steve. "We're hoping to find one that doesn't trigger Billy's allergies."
"I always wanted a dog," Steve said wistfully. "But they all made me sneeze."
"But you outgrew your asthma?" Billy asked.
"I did." In one fell swoop.
The boy nodded. "The doctor thinks I will, too. Until then, I have to be 'patient'."
He was obviously quoting his mother, who laughed.
"Patience was always a problem for me, too," Steve agreed.
"Thanks for your help," the mom said, and followed her son to the pet shop. Steve followed behind, curious, and spent a few pleasant moments fussing over puppies and poking a finger for kittens to bat at. "Sorry, little guy," he apologized to one excited pup, a mass of curly apricot curls. "I'm not in a place where I can adopt a dog right now."
Billy gave the curly pup a big hug, then looked at his mother in delight. "No sneezing!" Looked like that pup was going to find a home after all.
Steve pulled himself away.
Outside, Leslie said, "We can stop by my place sometime and you can play with my cat."
"I might like that," Steve said. "So, tell me about medicine these days. They have a cure for asthma?"
A/N: I was going to carry this clear to the boxing club, but it keeps getting longer and I'm still sick, so we'll carry on next week. I hope. I'm also working on some Reconstruction stories. I'd like to get all three that I have in mind finished before I post the first. If only I had some energy.