Art Project

After half an hour of high speed running, Leslie asked Steve if he was confident he had full control of the treadmill. He demonstrated by slowing to a walk, then braking to a halt.

While he was stopped, Carlos pressed some buttons on the screen between the handlebars to link the treadmill to Steve's cellphone.

"Press here if you want to call Leslie and here if you need me," the concierge explained.

"Can I get music?" Steve asked, remembering his cellphone lessons.

"You can find your playlists here." Leslie pointed out the music icon. "We can even set up video if you want, but we haven't done that on the phone yet."

"Music will be fine," Steve assured her.

He tapped a playlist of 1950s and '60s music, then began to speed up again, humming along to "I Want to Hold Your Hand." The Super Soldier settled into a ground-eating jog, only half as fast as he'd been going at first, still faster than an Olympic athlete.

Leslie shook her head in admiration and went upstairs to start dinner, while Carlos returned to the concierge desk.

Carlos had made a grocery run for her. Necessary when she had a Super Soldier to feed.

She set out her supplies and got out a bright blue Dutch oven. She browned some bacon, then seared cubes of beef in the same pan. She took out the meat and added vegetables to brown them. Searing means flavor, she remembered several Food Network hosts saying. She put back the beef and bacon, then added red wine, beef broth and thyme. She covered the Dutch oven and put the stew in the oven.

Leslie was not a speedy cook. She had to keep double-checking the recipe and going back and forth to refrigerator and pantry for things she'd forgotten to set out. When everything was simmering away in the oven, she checked the clock and realized more than an hour had passed since she came upstairs. That was more than enough time for Steve to spend in his first session on the treadmill.

She found him still jogging along, now humming along with "California Girls."

"I wish they all could be California girls!" he sang out loud when he saw the California woman entered the room.

Leslie chuckled, happy to see him in such high spirits.

"I think that's enough for today," she said. "Dinner's in the oven and you need to shower before you come to my table." She waved her hand in front of her nose. In fact, he wasn't as sweaty or as smelly as she expected. His T-shirt was damp and beads of moisture collected on his brow, but he wasn't drenched, because he was running in the air conditioned room, she supposed. He didn't even look tired. He looked revitalized, glowing with energy.

Freaking amazing, she thought.

Steve obediently brought the treadmill to a halt and locked the belt in place. He pocketed the key and gave the machine a pat, as if it was a well-behaved pet.

"Do you think Fury would let me send a thank you note to the builders?" he asked. "This is one of the best presents I ever got."

"You can't sign it," Leslie warned. "They guessed, but you can't confirm the guess. Why don't you write a note and we'll send it to Hill. Let her decide."

"I'll do that."

Steve drew a deep appreciative breath when they entered the apartment. "That smells wonderful." His stomach growled agreement. "What are you fixing?"

"Beef bourguignon," Leslie replied.

"Beef stew with burgundy," Steve translated. He'd spent a couple years in France, after all.

"More like beef stew with California merlot, but yes," Leslie said.

"That was one of Jacques favorites," Steve remembered nostalgically. Leslie was glad she didn't hear any notes of pain in his voice. "Hearty enough to fill up men who'd been trekking around the forests for a month on half rations. He'd make it with any vegetables he could find and meat that wasn't always beef, but the process was the same. The same as my ma's stew, actually."

"Yes, I can make beef bourguignon, stroganoff, goulash and Irish stew and the process is the same, just the spices and the add-ins are different."

"When my ma made it, all the stew was Irish," Steve said solemnly, but the twinkle in his eyes gave him away.

Leslie smacked his arm lightly. "Go wash up," she said.

She got the pearl onions and mushrooms ready to go in the stew, then began preparing the rest of the meal, including a tray of appetizers. When she was satisfied, she went to the living room to sit for a minute. She found Steve had set the table and pulled up a chair at a clear spot.

Hair still damp from the shower, Steve was eating an apple while he regarded a piece of paper before him. A pencil and several markers were arrayed beside him.

Leslie was glad to see he was making himself to home and eating if he felt hungry. It's not as if an apple would spoil his appetite.

"What are you working on?" she asked.

"I thought I'd draw a card for the treadmill builders, but these markers don't give me much control," he said.

He showed her that he'd smeared the drawing of a monkey running on a treadmill, legs a cartoon blur. But most of the monkey's face was also a blur because the edge of Steve's hand had touched the paper before it was dry.

Leslie fingered the glossy paper. "Not the best for markers."

"I haven't tried to draw with them before," Steve said. "Guess I'll go back to pencil. I'm most used to sketching."

"We can do better than plain gray pencil," Leslie decided. "After dinner we can go out to the local craft store."

"What kind of art supplies do they have?" Steve asked.

"More than you can possibly imagine," Leslie quoted.

"That's every store we've been to," Steve answered.

Leslie sighed. "We have to watch 'Star Wars' tonight. You missed your cue," she teased.

"None of my directors would be surprised," Steve said dryly.

"After we get back from the craft store, we'll watch 'Star Wars,'" Leslie said. "But during dinner, maybe I'd better show you some Roadrunner cartoons. He might be a better choice for your treadmill runner, if you don't want to confirm your identity."

She pulled up a photo on her cellphone. The page was called "The Art of Captain America" and it featured a couple of the dancing monkey cartoons he'd done during his show career, along with some of his more serious works and even a sign he'd done for a local store in Brooklyn.

"I'm famous? For my ART?" Steve was incredulous.

"Yes. People who knew you were very proud. Your art teacher said he always knew you had it in you, despite your color blindness."

Steve was nodding. "That's true. He always encouraged my sketches when others said I couldn't be an artist if I couldn't see colors."

"And the Barnes girls kept drawings you made for them throughout their lives, though they did allow some to be photographed for books. And they permitted a Brooklyn museum to mount an exhibit."

Steve looked a little teary eyed at this display of loyalty. He wondered again if any of Bucky's sisters were still alive, but he didn't say anything. He'd remind Leslie to look them up another time.

Leslie checked the stew, made a few additions and put it back in the oven. With about an hour to wait, she grabbed her snack tray and went to join Steve in the living room.

Having given up on the drawing for the moment, Steve was scrolling through the guide on Leslie's TV.

"You look like the epitome of a modern man, remote in his hand, ready to conquer the TV," the woman teased.

Steve chuckled. "You taught me everything I know," he pointed out. "What's that?" he asked, when she set down a tray with cut vegetables, two kinds of chips and a bowl of something creamy in the center.

"I'm about to introduce you to the modern party classic, chips and dip," Leslie replied. "And vegetables," she added, "Because I don't have a super soldier's metabolism. This is called ranch dip, the same as the salad dressing."

She demonstrated using a potato chip to dip into the bowl. She dearly loved chips and dip, but it was so fattening, even when she used low fat sour cream. She stuck to vegetables, allowing herself only an occasional chip as a treat.

Steve made serious inroads on both the potato and corn chips, but he also happily cleaned up half the vegetables. (Exactly half, since Leslie favored them.) She needed to remember that fresh vegetables were a treat for the man who grew up in the big city during the Great Depression.

While he ate, Steve continued to scroll, looking for something to watch. He lighted on a movie title. "This isn't about me, is it?" he asked, pointing out the listing for "Born on the Fourth of July." Leslie had said people had made a lot of movies about him.

"No. It is about a crippled soldier coming home from a war and becoming an anti-war activist," she answered. "Based on a true story."

He made a face. "Not what I'm in the mood for," he grumbled.

"Is it true," Leslie asked curiously. "Were you born on July 4? Some people have wondered if that wasn't propaganda rewriting your history."

"No, the other way around," Steve answered. "Senator Brandt was trying to think of a good name for his bond-selling showman. He was leaning toward Captain Courage, until he saw my birthdate on some of the forms. He said that proved I was an 'all-American boy' and decided on Captain America for my stage name."

"That wasn't in any of the books I've ever read about you," Leslie said in delight. "Not even in Margaret Carter's book."

"Peggy wasn't there and I sure never brought it up," Steve said. He eyed Leslie's elated expression and laughed at her. She was a file clerk. She was THE file clerk. She loved knowing a piece of information that no one else did. "There you can file that away under top secret where no one else will find it for at least another 70 years."

"I will," Leslie promised gleefully.

A/N: Happy Independence Day to my U.S. readers. Stay safe this year. It's more important than ever.