April 2009
Sarah and Dave, along with Steve and Peggy, drove to Bath several times over the next few months to see Steven on the monastery's family days. Steven was openly glad to see them each time, although on their first visit he was even quieter than his usual self until about an hour into the visit, when he sheepishly admitted to them that he seemed to have forgotten how to talk after practicing so much silence.
He talked more after that, and he had a lot to say: about the monks he was getting to know, about the sacred artwork he was creating to sell in the gift shop to help keep the monastery running, and the things he was learning during the hours he dedicated to study and meditation.
"It's funny, but I don't get my best insights when I'm sitting at my desk," he told them. "It kinda comes afterward, when I'm taking my turn doing the laundry or working with the bees. Things just kind of percolate in my brain, and it's only when my hands are busy that they start to rise up to the top."
He had read a prodigious number of books in a short time — including the one his cousin Clint had sent with him, and he was enthusiastically complimentary about it and asked them to send his thanks along to Clint.
"I never thought I'd learn so much from a Pentecostal woman in Brazil," Steven said with a rueful smile. "But I think I owe as much to her as I do St. Augustine. The crazy thing is, she never intended to be a writer, much less a charitable worker. I mean, she pretty much transformed how services are being administered in the favelas, pulling together a bunch of different churches and governmental entities and getting them to work together ten times better than they did before... and heaven knows they have plenty of people in need down there. What happened to her was terrible — she lost her husband to suicide, and she ended up having to support two kids on her own — but it led her to places where she could do more, and be more, than she was before. At the risk of sounding cliche... well, God really does work in mysterious ways."
Steven seemed so much happier at the abbey that Steve and Peggy weren't terribly surprised when he called his parents two months before he had finished his postulancy to say that he had decided to enroll in Notre Dame's theology program in preparation to becoming a priest. When the time came, they had everything in place to move him directly to Indiana.
Once he was settled in, Steve managed to catch a few minutes alone with his grandson before the rest of them headed back to Winchester, and he asked Steven if he was sure this was what he wanted.
Steven nodded slowly. "I feel called," he said simply. "I think this is where I'm needed, and hopefully one day I'll know why. I don't know exactly how it's going to work out — I mean, I always figured I would have a family at some point — but maybe that isn't in the cards after all." He frowned slightly, and then his expression cleared somewhat as he added: "I'm working on making my peace with it."
May 2, 2009
A few weeks later, Steve had just brought over the materials Peggy needed to crochet a blanket for the baby that was coming to Joe and his wife in the summer and had just laid them in her lap when she did a double take at the tablet she was using to read the international news, gasped audibly, and then eagerly pressed the tablet into Steve's hands.
"Look at this, darling!" she said with a ring of joy in her tone.
He didn't have to search to see what she meant. The story was right at the top of the screen: Tony Stark had returned from months of captivity at the hands of terrorists, safe and sound against all odds.
That alone would have been news enough, but apparently the head of the world's most successful weapons manufacturing company in history had dropped a second bombshell in his welcome-home press conference: he'd announced that Stark Industries would no longer be making weapons.
Many of the experts didn't take it seriously, of course; Tony's right-hand man, Obadiah Stane, was doing everything in his power to soften Tony's bold pronouncement with a flurry of hastily arranged interviews, filled with hedges and insinuations and subtle reminders that Mr. Stark had just been through a harrowing experience and it would be some time before he was able to fully take the reins of the company back again. There was speculation about PTSD. They dredged up all of Tony's past, the scandals, the mercurial behavior. All Steve could do was smile and shake his head. For maybe the first time in his life, Tony could not have been more serious. They'd catch on. Eventually.
He and Peggy eagerly read every story they could find, and told each other repeatedly how much they looked forward to hearing the inside story from Harrison and Christina after they got off work. Joe, too, would have an inside scoop: they had been able to find his breaking news story on the Chronicle's site, and he was undoubtedly on the phone with his military contacts even now, getting their take on the situation for a more thorough piece to come later. Steve could only imagine the difficulty Joe must be having, trying to limit his reporting to what was known now, and not what he knew would happen in the future. Well, at least he'd had plenty of practice at that by now.
Over the next week, the Carters hardly talked about anything but Tony's return and the resulting hubbub. But one morning at breakfast, after Steve had read all the day's Stark Industries headlines and had scrolled down into the less important news of the day, his eye fell on the words: "Police investigate death of Idaho state trooper."
His attention abruptly redirected, he put down his fork and picked up the tablet to read more intently.
According to the story, the officer had been found near his car, dead of blunt force trauma, shortly after he had radioed in about a suspect who matched the description of a man who had been accused of stealing Army secrets, killing three people at Culver University and then going on the run. The story mentioned two Canadian hunters whose bodies had been found in the forest nearby, sporting similar injuries. Investigators believed their deaths could be connected.
Steve slowly put the tablet back down on the table, sighed heavily, and pushed away his breakfast plate. His elation had suddenly evaporated, along with his appetite.
Shooting him a curious look, Peggy pulled the tablet toward herself and read it in silence for a minute.
"Is that...?" she asked, looking up at him.
"Yeah," Steve said quietly. "That was Bruce."
Peggy was quiet for a moment. "He kept going north?" she asked.
Steve nodded slowly. "All the way up to the Arctic." He sighed deeply. "Where he'll try to kill himself."
Peggy put her hand on top of his and squeezed it comfortingly. "Isn't there something we could-" she started to say, but broke off as the sound of a portal opening came from the next room over. A few moments later, Harrison, Sammy and Steven walked into the room.
"Hey, Grandma," Harrison said, stooping to give her a quick kiss on the cheek. "Hey, Grandpa. Dad told you we were coming, right?"
"Looking over the lab's security system, he said?" Steve asked, trying to push aside his worry over Bruce.
Harrison nodded. "Yeah. Tony's latest sensor tech just hit the market. Happy's already got it installed at all our facilities at work. I figured if it's good enough for Stark Industries, it's good enough for us, too." He jerked his thumb in his sister's direction. "I brought the specs, so Sammy's just going to take a peek into the computer core, see if the hardware is compatible."
"Go ahead," Peggy said. "No one's working down there at the moment. Unless you want to sit down and have some muffins first. Clint sent them over to us last night."
"Oh, I won't say no to that," Harrison said readily.
"Me either," Sammy said, and they both promptly sat down at the table and helped themselves.
"Are you helping them, Steven?" Peggy asked curiously.
"No, I just hitched a ride over," Steven said as he joined them at the table. "My Gospels class starts in half an hour, but I'm so excited, I just wanted to tell you both real quick."
He had Steve and Peggy's attention instantly. "I'm excited" was not a statement Steven uttered often, and he did in fact have faint spots of pink on his cheeks, not the kind of look he usually wore unless he had just finished one of his obscenely long runs.
"What's happened?" Peggy asked.
Steven leaned forward, impatiently waving away the plate of muffins Harrison was trying to offer him. "She's coming as a guest speaker to Notre Dame next month. Maria Beatrisa de Sousa!" He was speaking more quickly than he usually did, the name tumbling out in a perfect Portuguese accent despite the fact that Steven didn't speak that language, as far as Steve knew. "I lent her book to one of my professors, Father Andreassen, and he was so impressed that he called her up to see if she could come to the school and speak to us. So I'll actually get to meet her!"
"Who in the blue blazes," Harrison said around a mouthful of muffin, "is Beatrisa de Santa Maria de Rodriguez, or whatever it was you just said?"
"Maria Beatrisa de Sousa," Steven said patiently. "You remember. Clint gave me her book before I left for the abbey. It was half the reason I decided to become a priest, really. I have so many questions for her. Father Andreassen said she'd do a Q&A afterward. I just... gotta figure out which ones I want to ask the most."
"Calm down and eat a muffin," Harrison said, shoving the plate toward him again, and Steven shot him a slightly irritated look before grudgingly giving in and taking a muffin. The moment the last bite had disappeared, though, he sent a quick text message to Tien and then excused himself to take her portal back to the university, not wanting to be late for his class.
As soon as he had disappeared, Harrison gave a knowing look to Sammy, Steve and Peggy.
"You know what's going to happen next, right?" he said.
"What?" Sammy asked blankly.
"Trust me," Harrison said. "Speaking as someone who sees his old childhood idol on a daily basis... let's just say the bloom is about to get brushed off that rose. No public figure can ever live up to a fanboy's expectations. If I had to count the number of times I've seen Tony Stark being the consummate selfish jerk..." He rolled his eyes meaningfully. "Although I have to admit, he's been better since he came back," he added.
"Come on," Sammy said, standing up and tugging on her brother's sleeve. "Let's go take a look at the lab. My shift starts in a couple of hours."
"Well, we can't leave Mr. Jobs waiting now, can we?" Harrison quipped.
"Yeah, because I totally see him in person on a daily basis," Sammy said, rolling her eyes at him in return. "I'm just a peon there, Harrison. Flying under the radar, remember?"
"Yeah, yeah, I remember."
Steve was pulled out of a deep sleep a few weeks later by a whispered "Grandpa! Grandpa!" coming from his bedside. He opened his eyes to see Steven standing there, illuminated by the faint moonlight coming in through the window. He was fully dressed in a button-up shirt and slacks and was practically jittering with energy. Steve blinked up at him, bemused.
"What?" he mumbled groggily. Peggy was sound asleep beside him. "What's wrong?"
"Grandpa!" Steven whispered again. "I just came from school. Sorry, it wasn't the middle of the night there. I forgot about the time difference until I had already gotten Amanda to portal me over. Can we talk? I want to tell you something. Here, I found your slippers under the bed." He pushed them into Steve's hands eagerly. "I'll... just wait in the kitchen."
He slipped back out of the bedroom and closed the door behind him, leaving Steve to sit up in bed, rubbing his eyes wearily and reflecting that he had retired from fatherhood and moved on to grandparenthood precisely to avoid this kind of thing. Still, a few minutes later he shuffled out in his slippers and robe, mostly awake, to find Steven pacing the length of the kitchen.
"Grandpa?" Steven said breathlessly, not bothering with a preamble. "Have you ever seen a woman and just... felt this instant attraction, this instant connection, and you felt like you just had to get to know her, like you'll never be satisfied with anything else until you find out everything you can possibly find out about her? Did you ever feel like that?"
Puzzled, Steve glanced back toward his bedroom door where Peggy was sleeping. "Well..."
"Yeah, exactly! I've felt that before too." Steven's shoulders heaved up and down to match his quick breaths. "But that isn't at all what just happened to me. It was so weird. It was like... like I already knew her. Like we were already connected. And the only thing left to do is just remember everything about each other that we already knew somehow. I never, ever felt like that before. Am I making any sense here?"
"Steven?" Steve said.
He made a visible effort to still himself. "Yeah?"
Steve cleared his throat roughly and wished that Steven had thought to make him a cup of coffee, if it was going to be this kind of a conversation. "Who on earth are you talking about?"
Steven looked taken aback. "Beatrisa, of course."
"Beatrisa? You mean that author?"
"Yeah. I told you she was speaking at Notre Dame, didn't I? That was today."
Steve was struggling to keep up. "And you got to talk to her?"
"I went up after her speech with Father Andreassen and a couple of others and we kept her talking as long as we could. Father Andreassen had to drive her back to the airport pretty quick so she could catch her plane back to Brazil, but he invited me and another student to ride along to chaperone. She's great. Really good speaker, a lot of good things to say." Steven was talking so fast that he sounded out of breath. "Father Andreassen wants me to go with him to the interfaith council and help convince them to incorporate some of her ideas into the community pantries that we partner with. And the crisis centers, too, but... one thing at a time, I guess. Gotta start somewhere."
"And you felt like you already knew her?" Steve repeated, trying to kick his sleepy brain into gear and make sure he'd gotten the story straight.
Steven spread his hands in a helpless gesture.
"Well, you did read her book," Steve said gently. "It was a pretty personal one."
"I know. I know. I know all about her husband, and his suicide, and her kids, and everything she went through trying to reinvent herself." Steven shook his head in wonderment. "But it wasn't just that. I... I can't explain it, Grandpa. But it was important, whatever it was." He took a deep breath and let it out shakily. "I have to see her again. I just have to."
"She lives on another continent," Steve pointed out.
"I know," Steven said with a hint of defensiveness. "And I'm just some random divinity student she only talked to for an hour. She's probably forgotten my name by now. I know that. But Father Andreassen must have her phone number, and if I... if I..." He trailed off and then gestured meaningfully with one hand. "I mean, I'll probably have more questions for her about how to run the food pantry, right?"
"Steven?" Steve reminded him gently. "You're studying to be a Catholic priest."
"Yeah," Steven said after a beat, his face falling a little as he dragged out the word longer than he needed to. He took in a long, slow breath and let it out heavily. "You know what, Grandpa?" A crease deepened between his eyes. "Sometimes I think God has a really weird sense of humor."
October 2009
Harrison had just finished the last bite of his sandwich when his phone rang, and Steven Capecci popped up on the screen. Swallowing quickly, he answered it.
"Hey, cuz," Steven's voice said. "You busy?"
"On my break, but I have to go back in a few," Harrison said. "What's up?"
"Stuck waiting for my plane. Just saw you on the news."
"Me?" Harrison said, a little startled.
"Just a glimpse," Steven said. "WHiH World News did a special on Stark Industries. You were walking behind Tony Stark with your earpiece in, looking like a boss."
Harrison sighed into the phone. "Let me guess. They're harping on our tanking stock numbers again."
"Yep. How's Christina doing with all this?"
"Frustrated." Harrison looked around to make sure he was still alone in the room, and then added in a low voice: "Everyone else in Finance wants to do something drastic to correct it. She knows the stocks will rebound once Iron Man hits the news... but she can't exactly say that."
"Sorry. That must be rough."
"Why are you waiting for a plane?" Harrison asked as he stuffed his lunch cooler back into his locker. "Can't someone open a portal to Rio de Janeiro?"
"Apparently no one in the family's been to Rio de Janeiro," Steven said a bit ruefully. "And besides... I kinda like going the old-fashioned way."
Harrison strode out of the break room. "Gotcha. So what are you and Beatrisa going to do while you're there?"
Steven paused for a long moment. "I don't know. Maybe nothing. She doesn't know I'm coming. I'm on assignment, remember?"
"Are you kidding me?" he demanded. "You didn't tell her? When you talk to this woman on the phone how many times a day?"
"Never more than once," Steven said a bit defensively.
"That's it? She's going to think you're losing interest."
Steven sighed. "We mostly talk about church stuff, you know."
"Riiiiiiiiiight."
"Shut up."
"Which comes first, do you think?" Harrison asked musingly, scanning his badge at a security door. "The ordination or the proposal?"
"I'll ask Dear Abby."
"Hang on a sec," Harrison said, speaking more softly. "I'm almost back to my post."
There was a long pause, and Steven could hear Harrison's voice faintly, relieving another guard of duty. There was another sound in the background, too, a muffled but rhythmic metallic banging.
After a minute, Harrison's voice came back on the line. "Holy crap," he said softly. "He's at it again."
"Who?" Steven asked.
"Stark. I'm standing guard outside his garage. Day 12 of testing."
"The suit?" Steven asked, unable to restrain a spark of interest. "Wish I could see that."
"I'm not seeing it," Harrison whispered. "Just hearing it. Lotta bangs and crashes. Yesterday I saw the paint on top of his fancy sports cars was all blistered from his jets. This is becoming a very expensive experiment."
"I think he can afford it."
"The damage to his ego may be worse," Harrison said. "Day 10, he came out of the garage covered head to toe in fire suppressant." Steven could tell he was choking back a laugh. "I had to help him hose off. He made me swear up and down to not tell Pepper and kept blaming it on one of his robots."
Suddenly Steven could hear a sustained crashing sound, much louder than the previous banging, and then a muffled masculine voice shouting something vehemently.
"He just said the S word!" Harrison hissed.
"Language!" Steven said sternly.
"I'll go tell him to watch his mouth before he embarrasses my cousin the priest," Harrison offered.
"Don't," Steven said. "He'd only say it again."
Harrison laughed softly. "You're probably right."
There was really no reason why he shouldn't see Beatrisa, Steven told himself once he had finished checking into his hotel in Rio de Janeiro. After all, she was familiar with Rocinha and could probably help him with his task. It wasn't like he was here to ask her on a date or anything. Not that he would be breaking any rules, technically, if he did. After all, he wasn't a priest yet. Just a student.
And for some reason, that thought made him break out into a cold sweat, and he knew right away that he couldn't ask her out on a date, even if he wanted to. Which he wasn't sure he did, he hastily told himself. But if he couldn't get into the celibate mindset now, it wouldn't be any easier after he was ordained. He knew that, had been cautioned about it many times by the other men in the monastery, as well as Father Andreassen himself. It was all or nothing. He was either in or he wasn't.
Not to mention, he had no idea how Beatrisa herself would feel about something like that. They were becoming friends, he was confident of that, even if it was only over the phone. But she might not be thinking of anything more than that for her life right now. With her charitable work she had a lot on her plate, and she was raising two children. That probably made everything more complicated for her. She might not even be looking.
And he wasn't looking, either. No point in dating when you can't marry. Steven felt his shoulders relax slightly. So it didn't matter. He was free to see her. It was safe. They'd stay at arms length, they'd be friends and nothing more, and it would be good for both of them.
And so once he had unpacked, Steven decided to walk to his first destination rather than call a cab. He enjoyed the walk, even if it was hot and muggy here compared to the fall weather back home. The sunshine was bright and the sky a dazzling blue, and lots of people were out on the streets. There were children kicking around soccer balls and small knots of men smoking on the street corners, while the women came in and out of the clothing shops, laughing and chatting with each other. He drew a lot of eyes as he walked, making him realize he probably stuck out like a sore thumb here, tourist-style. But no one seemed unfriendly, just curious.
Finally, he found the place, and he stepped inside, ringing the bell that was attached to the door. The waiting room held half a dozen young women, some with their parents, but more of them alone. It was hotter in here than it was outside despite several fans whirring away industriously, and many of those waiting were dotted with sweat, fanning themselves with folded-up papers, their eyes half-closed. The woman at the front desk glanced over at him from the girl she was helping and then went back to what she was doing without speaking to him.
Steven hovered in the background to wait until his turn to explain his task, but it turned out he didn't need to. Just then one of the doors opened into the waiting room and Beatrisa herself walked out, making a beeline for the girl being helped by the receptionist. Steven felt his pulse quicken. He hadn't seen Beatrisa in person since the first day they'd met. She was wearing a brown dress and her hair was down, with small damp waves of dark hair clinging to her temples in the humidity.
"Se cuida," Beatrisa said to the teenage girl, giving her a warm hug despite needing to lean awkwardly over the girl's pregnant belly. "Vejo voce na proxima semana."
"Obrigado," the girl said in a tremulous voice, and gratefully accepted a bulging bag Beatrisa handed her before heading for the door. Steven stepped aside and held the door open for her, and the girl glanced up at him and murmured thanks again before awkwardly navigating the stairs down to the street, clinging to the hand railing as she clutched her belly with her other hand.
When he looked back, Beatrisa was retrieving her purse from under the counter, and then she headed for the door.
She didn't notice Steven standing there until he opened the door for her, too, and said: "Uma mulher virtuosa é mais preciosa do que rubis."
Beatrisa turned back to look up at him, and after a beat her brown eyes widened as she recognized him.
"Steven?" she asked in amazement as he stepped outside behind her and the door of the crisis center shut behind them. "What...? What are you...?" Her confusion was evident. "What are you doing here?"
Was she pleased to see him, underneath the surprise? He thought maybe she was. Or maybe that was only wishful thinking.
"Wait. Wait. You speak Portuguese?" Beatrisa blurted out even as he took in a breath to answer her. "We talk all these times on the phone, with my English not so good, and you never say?"
"I've started working on it," he admitted, holding up his little English-Portuguese dictionary. "It's easier to learn than Farsi, actually. And your English is just fine."
Her eyes flicked back and forth between the book and his face. "And... and why you come all the way to Rio de Janeiro?" she asked in puzzlement.
"I wish I could say I came just to see you — uh, your crisis center, I mean," he said, stumbling over the words more than he wanted to, "but I came to try to help someone out... if I can find him. An old friend of my grandfather's. He's somewhere in Rocinha."
Beatrisa's brow creased slightly, and bizarrely, his heart skipped a beat. How could a woman possibly look that beautiful while also looking worried?
"You don't have an address?" she asked.
"He doesn't have one. He's kinda... destitute."
"Pobre homem!" she said in dismay. "What happened?"
"A workplace accident. Back in America."
"He lose a limb or something?"
"It's more... behavioral," Steven explained. "He isn't exactly stable. He lost his job, he lost his girlfriend, he lost everything. A few weeks ago, before he came here, he tried to end his own life."
Beatrisa's eyes widened with visible pain. "Mãe de Deus!" she said in distress. "How can we help him?"
Despite the difficulty of the task before him, Steven liked the sound of that "we." He hadn't dared to hope... but he had been hoping.
"First we gotta find him," he said, trying not to make his eagerness too plain. "This might be tricky. Rocinha is a big place."
"Yes," she agreed, "very crowded, but there are places where those with no home often go. We can try them first. I will show you." She laid her hand impulsively on his chest for a moment. "Wait here. I call my mother. She can stay with my children a little longer tonight."
"Thank you." He put his hand on top of hers. "You don't have to come, Beatrisa... but I was kinda hoping you would."
She smiled up at him, as bright and brief as a flash of sunlight, and then she whirled away, her dark waves flying out before she disappeared back into the building.
A few minutes later, they were walking down the street together, and Steven switched over to Portuguese, knowing he needed to practice if he wanted to become fluent. He haltingly explained to Beatrisa that when they found this man, it would be better not to explain that they'd been sent by his old friend; he was proud, and wouldn't like the idea that Steven's grandfather had gone to so much trouble for him. He hated to do it; lying did not come naturally to him, especially to Beatrisa, although he obviously couldn't tell her the full story. Luckily, she seemed to accept the explanation, and then the topic turned to his journey here, and what he thought of Brazil so far.
It was bizarre how natural the conversation felt, although it really shouldn't be a surprise, Steven told himself. They'd been talking on the phone for months now, and of course they felt comfortable with each other. But it was different now, being in her presence and looking into her eyes, with no interfaith council to discuss and no Father Andreassen in the car to chaperone.
Wait. He'd been in that car to chaperone Father Andreassen, Steven reminded himself, not the other way around. Priests didn't ride alone in cars with single women. Even if nothing happened, it wouldn't look good. Father Andreassen had always been careful about things like that. It was a good rule to follow.
Priests probably didn't take leisurely strolls through Brazilian favelas with single women, either.
With an effort, Steven forced himself to focus on the task at hand. Distractions were a really bad idea right now, considering who he was attempting to track down. This was a mission that required a delicate touch, which was why despite the heat he had worn a long-sleeved button-up shirt to hide his muscled arms, and why he was grateful he no longer had a military buzz cut. But just to be sure...
"Do I look like a soldier?" he asked Beatrisa abruptly.
She paused to look him over, a little puzzled. "No, why?"
"I was a Marine. This guy we're looking for, he's... nervous. About soldiers. I don't want to scare him."
She stopped in the street to face him, letting the passerby flow around them like water. "You, scare someone?" she asked incredulously.
Steven smiled a little. "Okay. Well, I guess that answers that."
They went on, and before long they came to an open-air market packed with vendors shouting out their prices and buyers bustling around them. The market was a jumbled up maze of booths and baskets and people that stretched out as far as the eye could see.
It took them some time to search it all. There were quite a few people loitering around who looked like transients, and the vendors were eyeing them with suspicion, obviously reluctant to step away from the wares for a moment for fear something would be stolen. But there were certain things Steven knew to look for, and after nearly an hour of looking, he finally spotted it.
Near the edge of the market a man was hunched over on a cement curb, his forehead resting on his bent knees and his cupped hands held out in a silent plea to the market-goers weaving among the baskets of jackfruit and prickly pears. The dusty collared shirt he was wearing was torn in a jagged line all the way down his back and then clumsily stitched back together with a line of safety pins. His pants, too, were torn, and appeared to be held around his waist with a short piece of rope. He wore no shoes at all, revealing feet that were dirty and scratched.
"That's him," Steven said quietly, and Beatrisa looked back up at him with silent dismay filling her eyes.
"Deus ajude o rejeitado!" she exclaimed, her voice soft but poignant.
Then her lips pressed together and she began resolutely striding toward the beggar.
"Wait!" Steven stopped her with a hand on her shoulder, and she paused, looking at him questioningly.
"You have to promise me," Steven said, eyes intent on hers. "If he starts to get agitated about something, if he loses his temper for any reason, you have to promise me that you'll do whatever I say, no matter what." He spoke firmly, allowing no room for doubt. "If I tell you to run, then you run without hesitation, and you don't stop until I say."
Beatrisa's expression was puzzled. "It's as bad as that?" she asked.
Steven nodded slowly. "He's a good guy," he said. "But when he loses his temper... he's like another person. If it happens, just run and don't look back. Promise me."
She nodded obediently, and he moved his hand from her shoulder and slipped it into her hand instead. He meant it as a purely practical gesture — of course — so that he could pull her away quickly if he needed to. But she glanced up at him as they started to walk and smiled deeply, making no move to pull her hand away.
They paused for a moment to let a man on a bike loaded with goods pedal past them, and then Beatrisa reached down into her pocket and stepped forward to lay a handful of coins in the beggar's hands.
"Obrigado," he muttered without raising his forehead off his knees.
Steven cleared his throat. "You need a new pair of shoes, friend," he said.
The man stirred, and slowly looked up at him with eyes that seemed hollowed out. "American?" he asked in faint surprise. He clearly hadn't shaved for days, but the scruff served to conceal a face that, on closer inspection, was thinner than how Steven was used to seeing him in Grandpa's comic books.
"As American as they come," Steven said, keeping his tone light.
The man's lips curved up into a faint smile that somehow didn't touch his eyes. "I thought I was the only gringo in Rio de Janeiro." He spoke slowly, in a voice somewhat roughened as if from long disuse.
"Well, I guess this makes two of us."
"Do you have a place to stay tonight?" Beatrisa cut in, clearly anxious to get down to the essentials. "This is a bad neighborhood. It isn't safe to be on the streets after sundown."
He shook his head slightly, as if embarrassed to admit it. Steven noticed he was wearing a watch, one in pretty good condition, actually, which seemed incongruous with his ragged clothing. Then he realized that the watch wasn't displaying the time; the numbers read "64." Then it changed to 65, then down to 63, then up to 67.
It was measuring his pulse.
"There is a church down that way," Beatrisa said, pointing. "I know it well. Every night they serve a meal, and they can help you find a bed. Let us take you there." When he didn't answer right away, she held out her hand toward him. "Come, I show you. My name is Beatrisa. What is your name?"
He looked at them both for a long moment, a sudden wariness in his eyes, and made no move to get up from the curb. His gaze roamed over Beatrisa, taking in every detail, from her modest dress right down to the small cross around her neck, and then he subjected Steven to the same slow scrutiny. His eyes narrowed then, and Steven felt his own blood pressure rising to match what he could see out of the corner of this eye: the numbers on the man's watch slowly but steadily ticking upward.
"Who are you?" the man asked Steven abruptly.
"Oh, he is a friend," Beatrisa answered readily for him. "Steven Capecci. He studies in America to be a priest."
"A priest?" Wearing a skeptical expression, the man slowly shifted position, planting his bare feet firmly against the pavement, his muscles subtly tensing. "Then you can show me your rosary," he said at last, a faint challenge in his voice. "Father."
Beatrisa looked puzzled at the request, but Steven reached into his pocket, slowly and carefully, and handed his rosary over.
The man sifted through the strings, his fingers running across the well-worn beads, and gradually the tension in his shoulders eased.
"You use these a lot," he observed.
Steven had been using them nearly continually for weeks, on this very man's behalf, although he couldn't exactly say that. "I do," he said simply.
The man handed the rosary back and then slowly got to his feet, suspicion easing into a tired kind of resignation.
"Bruce," he answered Beatrisa softly. "My name is Bruce."
An hour later, Bruce Banner looked like a new man.
As soon as Beatrisa explained the situation to the minister in the chapel, the old man didn't hesitate to lead Bruce to the adjoining shelter, even though the doors had not yet been opened for the evening. Within minutes the four of them were in a large storage room and the minister, aided by Beatrisa's translation services, was loading up Bruce's arms with hygiene items and holding up various items of clothing to see how they would fit.
"Is all this your doing?" Steven asked Beatrisa, his eyes roaming around the shelves fully stocked with donations.
"This is the doing of hundreds of people," she relied readily, following his gaze with a satisfied expression. "The Assembly of God runs this shelter. The Pentecostals built the chapel, the Catholics run the food pantry next door, and the Mormons already had a system for donating and sorting clothing." She gave a slight shrug. "All I did was persuade them to work together. Now there are partnerships like this all over the city."
Steven gazed at her in awe for a long moment.
"What?" she asked.
"I think maybe you've saved more people than I have," he said.
The minister spoke to Beatrisa in Portuguese, drawing their attention, and she listened, nodded and took Steven by the arm. "He will take Bruce to the showers now," she told Steven. "He says we can wait in the chapel."
Once they were back in the chapel, Steven was careful to sit where he had a good view of the shelter's entrance outside the window in case their new friend made an unexpected move. He couldn't help but scrutinize the people walking past, too, wondering if any of them might be S.H.I.E.L.D. agents assigned to keep an eye on Bruce. Supposedly they had never lost track of him, although unlike Steven they had kept their distance, content to merely observe. That was probably a smart decision. If anything happened to raise Bruce's suspicions — or more importantly, his heart rate...
If the worst did happen, Steven knew he was the most qualified person here to deal with it, although he could admit the thought gave him a thrill of fear unlike anything he'd ever felt while fighting overseas. The plain truth of the matter was, he was no match for the Hulk. Even Grandpa hadn't been. The best he could hope for was to protect the civilians, and try to prevent any officers who might respond from making the situation even worse. Not exactly comforting.
It wouldn't come to that, Steven told himself firmly. As far as Grandpa knew, there hadn't been any incidents in Brazil until General Ross had finally caught up to Bruce. Still, Phil Coulson had only given Grandpa a quick briefing of Bruce's activities during this time, and while Bruce had later shared more details with Grandpa after they became friends, it wasn't like he had been given a blow-by-blow history. There was always the possibility of the unexpected.
"You look worried," Beatrisa said gently, interrupting his brooding. The setting sun streaming in through the stained glass window cast shades of blue and green across her face. "We found your grandfather's friend, he is getting the help he needs. That is good, isn't it?"
"Yeah, it's good," Steven said quickly. "I'm glad I had you to help. It's just..."
"What?" she asked.
"I'm not sure if he'll agree to stay in the shelter," Steven admitted. "He... doesn't always do so good around crowds." He couldn't exactly explain that it wasn't crowds per se that were the problem. But in the shelter Bruce would be in close quarters with other people who weren't stable, for different reasons than his own, and if any of them goaded him into some kind of a confrontation...
Well, it wouldn't end well for anyone.
"I know some landlords who will rent to people in transition," Beatrisa said slowly. "But he could not have the money for that now, I think. And the application process for help from the government takes months."
"Money isn't an object," Steven said firmly. "My grandfather sent me with some. Enough to cover his rent until he can find a job and support himself."
Beatrisa expression cleared. "Ah, good. That was kind of your grandfather." Then she frowned. "Wait. If you have money, why do you not take him back with you to America?"
Steven shook his head slightly. "He wouldn't go. It's better for him to stay here. For now."
Beatrisa nodded, and then tilted her head and asked him: "Steven? Were you at the Family Life conference in Rio de Janeiro? Two years ago?"
He frowned. "No. Why?"
She studied him, her brows knit together thoughtfully. "I do not know. It is strange, but when I saw you at the university, I thought to myself: I know that man from somewhere. But I cannot think where."
He went still with surprise. "Really?"
"Yes. But that was my first time in America."
Steven took in a slow breath. "And this is my first time in Brazil."
Beatrisa laughed a little. "I must be crazy, then."
"No," Steven said quickly. "No. I felt the same thing about you."
Her eyebrows went up. "Really?"
"Yeah. Really."
Beatrisa smiled a little, and then looked a little confused, and her hands twisted together uncertainly in her lap.
"Do you have the time?" she asked him abruptly.
Steven showed her his watch, and she quickly stood up.
"Please excuse me," she said. "My mother will be putting my children to bed. If I am not there, I try to call."
"Oh, sure," Steven said quickly. "I think I saw a phone in the lobby."
Beatrisa nodded and hurried out, head bowed slightly. Steven sat there alone for a minute, leg jiggling nervously, until finally he could not stand it anymore, and he walked quietly to the door of the chapel and looked.
It was growing dark outside, but the lobby was well-lit. Beatrisa had her back half-turned to him, the phone pressed to her ear, and she was quietly singing into the receiver. In Portuguese, of course, but Steven was able to catch some of it. Something about a toad and a buzzard. He didn't get the full gist of the plot, but Beatrisa was definitely putting a comedic twist on the lilting lyrics, and he couldn't help but smile despite the fact that she was singing off-tune. Her children must be smiling at the other end of the line, too.
Someone cleared their throat nearby, and Steven quickly straightened up from where he was leaning against the doorway and saw that Bruce Banner was standing there in the lobby, hands clasped together in front of him, looking slightly uncomfortable.
But he looked startlingly different now that he was cleaned up, dressed in better clothes and freshly shaved, even if his dark hair was still in need of a trim. Now he wouldn't look out of place in a university lab... except for the fact that he was in stocking feet.
"I saw shoes back in the shelter," Steven told him. "In the boxes in the corner."
"I tried them all on," Bruce admitted. "I guess I have big gringo feet. Nothing fit."
He had hardly finished the sentence before Steven had already popped his shoes off, bent down, and held them out silently.
"Oh no, no, no, no," Bruce said quickly, palms out. "I'm not gonna take your shoes. You need those. The streets are really dirty." Just then Beatrisa joined them, her phone call completed.
"I have another pair back at my hotel," Steven quickly assured him. "You can have these. Good walking shoes. Should last you a while."
Bruce hesitated for a long moment.
"My grandfather will never forgive me if I walk out of this chapel still wearing these," Steven said mildly.
Bruce sighed deeply, letting his shoulders sag. But he reached out and took the shoes.
"Thank you," he said, and he managed to sound gracious despite his embarrassment. "I kinda... go through shoes pretty quick."
Beatrisa spoke to Steven in Portuguese, asking him if he wanted her to try to arrange for an apartment for Bruce tonight, and Steven agreed and handed her the envelope of money Grandpa had given him. Bruce listened to the whole exchange with a slight frown, clearly not understanding. As Beatrisa left, she glanced back at Steven, a wave of dark hair brushing her cheek, and he could not stop himself from smiling at her. She smiled back, her whole face softening, and then she was gone into the night.
Left alone together in the lobby, Steven and Bruce exchanged glances.
"She's pretty," Bruce said matter-of-factly.
Steven felt such a surge of irrational fury at the simple statement that he struggled for a long moment to tamp down his irritation. He knew he couldn't show any anger, or Bruce might respond in kind. But if Bruce Banner thought he was in a position to flirt with Beatrisa, if he thought he could go anywhere with her or do anything with her...
Who was he kidding? There wasn't a thing Steven could do to stop it.
They went into the chapel together, and Bruce sat down on the back bench and tried on the shoes.
"Fit okay?" Steven asked as soon as he trusted himself to speak again.
"Yeah, actually," Bruce said, wiggling his toes experimentally. "Looks like we're about the same size."
For now, Steven found himself thinking sarcastically, and then was horrified at his own irreverence. What was wrong with him?
"So you're studying to be a priest?" Bruce asked after a short silence. "What denomination?"
He had to restrict himself to a curt answer. "Catholic."
Bruce raised his eyebrows. "Oh. Well... that's too bad."
Steven was even more annoyed, and couldn't stop himself from responding again. "Why?" he asked abruptly.
Bruce shot him a slightly incredulous look. "You like her," he said, glancing back to where Beatrisa had gone. "Right?"
Steven froze.
"Oh, come on," Bruce said with a hint of amusement.
"You don't even know me," Steven said stiffly.
"I have eyes," Bruce said mildly.
Steven stared at the stained-glass window for a long moment — St. Paul, of course it was St. Paul — and then slowly slouched down in the pew, relenting to what he knew to be the truth.
"I'm in for a world of pain, aren't I?" he asked ruefully.
"The world is pain," Bruce said, and suddenly his eyes made him look much older than he was. "Trust me. I know."
Steven let out a long, slow sigh, and buried his face in his hands. "What am I gonna do?" he muttered helplessly. He'd thought he was being called to be a priest. He still thought that. But Beatrisa...
How could his heart be in two places at once?
Bruce didn't answer for a long moment, although Steven hadn't really been expecting him to. "It really depends on her, doesn't it?" he said quietly at last. "Does she feel the same?"
"I don't know," Steven admitted. "I don't know if she... " He blew out a breath. "I mean, I haven't even known her very long."
"I once fell in love in three days flat," Bruce admitted. "Didn't feel any differently about her three years later. And in the end, if... if it's better for her that you stay away from her..."
Bruce paused for a long time again, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed hard.
"If you love her, then you have to go." His tone was suddenly hard. "Nothing else to do."
"I don't know what's good for her," Steven said slowly. "She has two kids. It can be really hard on kids when their mom brings a new man into their lives. I wouldn't want to be a complication."
"My dad was a piece of-" Bruce started bluntly, and then abruptly stopped himself as he remembered he was in a chapel, and hastily amended: "I mean, he wasn't a good person. When I was a kid, I would have given anything to see my mom bring home someone decent to take his place. And I mean anything." There was a savage undertone to his voice, and he automatically glanced down at his wristwatch and the numbers that were beginning to tick upward. Bruce squeezed his eyes shut and began to take slow, deep breaths. Steven waited, holding his own breath, until gradually the numbers ticked back down.
"You know, I saw an aikido dojo on the way here," Steven said conversationally once Bruce looked calmer.
"Oh yeah? You into martial arts?" Bruce asked curiously, looking grateful for the change of topic.
"Me?" Steven said blandly. "I'm a lover, not a fighter."
Bruce laughed, and not cynically. It changed his face a lot. There was a gleam in his eye that somehow eased Steven's tension more thoroughly than the descending numbers on the wristwatch had.
"But I bet you would do well with something like that," Steven continued, raising an eyebrow at Bruce.
A strangely ironic smile twisted one corner of Bruce's lips. "Yeah... I don't really need to know how to fight."
"It isn't only about fighting," Steven said mildly. "I have family with martial arts training. They say it's also about learning to control your emotions, so they don't control you. They say that a dedicated student can even learn how to slow their own heart rate."
Bruce slowly straightened up, eyes meeting Steven's, and without looking down he fiddled a little with his watch.
"Wow. Really?" he asked with sudden interest.
An hour later, Beatrisa returned, rental contract in hand, and after they explained to an astonished Bruce what they had done, the three of them walked to his new place, each carrying a box full of food staples, bedding and other supplies the minister had pressed on them from the shelter's stores.
The apartment wasn't anything fancy, it turned out, but Bruce looked so relieved to have a space of his own that he thanked them sincerely and profusely as they helped him get settled in.
"What else do you need?" Steven asked then.
"You've already done so much for me," Bruce said with visible reluctance.
"What else do you need?" Steven pressed.
Bruce looked down at his feet. "I... could really use a computer," he admitted. "And some other equipment. For research. Something I was working on before... before I came here. But what I need is specialized. I don't know if I could even find that kind of thing around here." He spread his hands a little helplessly, glancing out the window at the favela spreading out as far as the eye could see.
"What things?" Beatrisa asked.
Bruce launched into a glib explanation laced with technical terms. When he was through, Beatrisa looked at Steven uncertainly.
"Did you understand that?" she asked. "I don't know all those words."
"Not all of it," Steven admitted, "but I have a cousin who's real good with computers. Builds them for fun. She might have that kind of thing lying around her workshop. And my parents probably have a microscope they can spare. If you give me a list, we'll send along whatever we can find."
Bruce quickly wrote out the list on a scrap of paper and handed it to Steven, adding anxiously: "It's okay if your family doesn't have this. I'll find a way to make do. But anything at all would help. And... and I'll try to pay you back, as soon as I can." He reached out and wrung Steven's hand. "Thank you. I... I don't know why you're doing all this, but thank you again."
"It's my pleasure," Steven said, clasping his hand firmly in return.
"I come back later to check on you," Beatrisa said warmly, and she ignored the hand Bruce extended toward her and leaned forward to give him a hug instead.
Steven and Beatrisa had hardly left the apartment when Steven suddenly stopped, told Beatrisa to wait just a minute, and then hustled back to knock on the door again.
As soon as Bruce answered it and looked at him questioningly, Steven handed him his Portuguese-English dictionary. "You might need this more than I do," he said.
"Oh, thanks," Bruce said. He leaned past Steven a little to see how far away Beatrisa was standing and then asked in a low voice: "So, uh... what are you planning to do?"
Steven considered for a moment and then admitted quietly, "I guess it wouldn't hurt to keep calling her."
Bruce smiled briefly, and reached out to give Steven's shoulder a thump of approval before they parted once more.
"You'll check on him often?" Steven asked Beatrisa once he rejoined her on the sidewalk.
Beatrisa nodded readily. "I make some calls in the morning to the factories in Rocinha. Maybe I find him a job."
"Thank you," he said sincerely, pausing to face her. "You don't know... what a difference you're making, helping him. The good that will come from it."
She immediately dismissed that with a wave of her hand. "Todos que ajudo são filhos de Deus," she said firmly.
"You said it," he agreed.
They walked through the moonlit favela in silence for a few minutes, and then Steven said: "Beatrisa? I don't suppose you know where they sell shoes around here?"
Beatrisa glanced down at his stocking feet. "You said you had shoes in your hotel," she said in surprise.
"Well, no," Steven admitted. "I was trying to pack light."
"You lied to your grandfather's friend?!" she said in tones of outrage, nudging him with her shoulder.
"I did," Steven said ruefully. "That's probably going to cost me 20 Hail Marys, at least."
Beatrisa clicked her tongue and shook her head sadly before linking her arm through his. "Come," she said. "I take you shopping."
TO BE CONTINUED
Author's note: I'd love to know what you think!