Chapter 20: Steve Rogers II

"How do the handlebars feel? Good enough grip? Or do we need to move them?"

Steve waited as Peter tested out the handlebars of the motorcycle. He studied the boy's hold, thinking he needed to move the bars closer. He tapped Peter on the shoulder to indicate for him to hop off. Peter slipped off the half-finished motorcycle.

Steve took the wrench and loosen the bolts to maneuver the handlebars into a better position for the kid. Once situated, he told Peter to hop back on and test it. "Better?"

"Yeah. Better," Peter agreed and he got off the motorcycle, admiring his new ride. "I can't wait to ride this around. Looks cool, doesn't it?"

Steve examined the whole motorcycle. It needed more work. The frames were quite visible and its exhaust pipe needed cleaning. The seat was a simple metal bar. No cushion. No coverings either. But, he guessed it was cool enough. The fact Peter was excited about it made Steve happy enough.

"It's a fine motorcycle," Steve concluded with an easy grin. "You want to get the seat?"

Peter went to the workbench, digging through the boxes until he pulled out a seat. He hurried back, cradling the seat as he rocked on his feet. "Got it!"

Steve instructed Peter on attaching the seat. Peter listened closely, following the instructions to the point. He observed Peter securing the rear of seat to the fender with a stock ¼-20 fender screw. Peter didn't need Steve's assistance in tightening it. The boy was as strong as him, possible stronger.

Peter checked the seat's sturdiness, satisfied that it was secured. "I can't wait to show this to MJ," he said, squatting down to double-check the nuts and bolts. "She's going to be jealous."

"MJ, huh?" Steve said, switching tools. "Is this the girl that slept over the other night?"

"She's a friend."

Steve laughed. "Okay."

Peter picked his head up from the other side. "What? She's a friend. An old friend."

"You said that."

Peter pinched his mouth together to a tight pout. "And I mean it," he said. "Besides, she's not into me like that."

Steve dug through a box of spare parts. "I didn't say she was," he said. "I only agreed with you."

The boy glimpsed at him from the other side. "Oh," he said upon realizing he may have gone too defensive. "Well, um… can I have the wrench?"

Steve slid the tool to him as he plucked out a set of mirrors that needed to be straightened. "Was it good to see them? Your friends, I mean," he asked Peter. "What did you and your friends do?"

Peter tightened something on his side. "Yeah. It was good to hang-out with them. Been awhile with all the stuff happening around here," he replied, dropping the wrench and the rag to shine something. "We just hung-out. You know? Showed them around, went in the pool, tried out the obstacle course—"

"Which one?"

There were two obstacle courses that Steve was aware of. The outdoor one that was designed to test enhanced humans rather than ordinary humans. The indoor course was more flexible. Steve had a suspicious feeling he already knew the answer to his question though.

Peter didn't lift his head when he answered. "Oh, um, the outdoor one," he said. "We were returning back home and they saw it, so I did a quick demonstration. No big deal."

Steve smiled a little. "Did your friends try it?"

"Ned and Harry did. MJ didn't. She thought it was pointless when she could just walk down the course on the grass."

"Clever girl," Steve said, rising up to his feet and went to the front of the motorcycle. He measured the length for the mirrors. "How did Ned and Harry do?"

"Their best."

"You sound like Stark," Steve said, mentally noting where he wanted the mirrors. "You had fun?"

Peter nodded. "Yep. We sure did." He jumped to his feet, a streak of black running down his finger. "Don't we need a windshield or something too?"

"You can have one, but it's not necessary," Steve answered. "Do you want one?"

Peter thought for a minute. He shook his head. "Nah. It's fine without it."

"Then come and help me add your mirrors," Steve ordered, handing him one of the mirrors. "Keep it this length from the middle."

Steve showed Peter the distance and they both worked on attaching their respective mirrors. They worked in silence, except for the radio playing classical music. Peter claimed that it wasn't classical. Simply ancient songs. Steve gave him a grave look before the boy muttered an apology.

Once they hooked the mirrors, Steve helped Peter attach the safety lights to the front and back of the motorcycle. Peter was an easy kid to teach. He listened well and asked questions. He threw out ideas and Steve let him test his theories out to better learn from his mistakes. Steve understood why Tony liked having Peter in the lab. The kid was brilliant and enjoyable to be around when tinkering with machines.

The safety lights were set up and Steve checked on the wiring to ensure the lights worked properly come nightfall. Peter kneels next to him. His eyes are ever watching, observing, learning and imagining. He assisted Steve by filling up the tank with fuel and measuring the oil levels. Steve double-checked the frames, clutch and brakes. All in working order.

By early evening, Steve and Peter stood up, backing away to admire the newly constructed motorcycle before them.

Peter's eyes glowed. "Oh man…" he uttered in awe. "I can't wait to ride this around. Do you think I can give it a test try? You know? Just ride it around on the driveway?"

It wouldn't hurt to check to see if everything is running smoothly. "Okay, but away from Stark's cars," Steve said. "I don't want him to get mad at you."

The kid pushed his motorcycle through the garage to the open door, reaching the edge when he stopped. Steve held on to the motorcycle as Peter climbed on. "Okay… now," Steve said. "You remember what you need to do, right?"

"Turn on the kill switch?"

"Asking or telling?"

Peter promptly flipped the switch to the 'on' position.

"Good," Steve said. "Now, the key."

Peter twisted the key in the ignition. Steve then checked what gear Peter was in. Neutral. Good. "Now, always be in neutral when you hit the start button. Go ahead. Press the button."

Peter moved his thumb over the button and added pressure. They listened to the engine clink and clank to life before it let out a gentle purr. Sounded right.

"Do a little twist on the throttle here. Make sure the fuel is getting into the cylinders," Steve tapped Peter's right hand. "A little. Or you may go flying."

He gave the throttle a slight. The engine purred louder. Sounded perfect.

Peter beamed. "Okay… now what?" he asked. "Do I just go? Or…"

"You have to let it idle for a bit. Or else you risk the chance of ruining the engine."

Peter slumped at the prospect of waiting. His fingers tapped along the handlebars, listening to the engine grow louder in its first minutes of life.

Steve believed it was long enough. "I'm going to lift the kickstand up," he warned Peter. "Have a good control of the bike?"

Peter nodded and held the motorcycle tight as Steve kicked up the stand. "Steady," Steve said again. "Pull the clutch lever. Good and press the shifter down to first gear. Yeah. Like that."

He watched Peter follow through his instructions. The engine ready to take off. "Release the clutch slowly," he instructed as Peter slipped his fingers off the clutch. The motorcycle started to roll forward. "Good! Good!"

"What do I do now?" asked Peter as they moved down the driveway.

"I'm going to let go of the bike," Steve answered, "and you are going to gently twist the throttle. When it gets momentum, put your feet up on the pegs right here. See?"

Peter nodded. "Okay. Okay!" he said over the noise. "I got this."

Steve walked a little more with him before he let go of the bike. Peter twisted on the throttle. A bit too hard. The kid's motorcycle jerked and Peter's body tensed for a split second, before he got it back and under control. His feet were still dragging along the pavement, refusing to put them on the pegs.

"Pegs!" Steve yelled. "Feet on the pegs, Peter!"

Peter lifted his feet and the motorcycle picked up speed. Steve watched, his leaning on the balls of his feet. He waited for action, eyes guarding Peter as he rode down the driveway on his first motorcycle. He swore he heard hoots of laughter from the kid as he turned the handlebars to get the motorcycle to turn around and back to Steve.

It was a wobbly attempt. Peter overcorrected before he had to grab the brakes because he was about to fall right off the bike. Steve rushed over and took control of the bike. He forced the kickstand down and turned the engine off.

"Hey! You okay?" Steve asked.

When he glanced to Peter, the kid's face was split in a wide grin. "It works! Did you see how I was able to shift from first gear to second gear?"

Steve noticed it. "Yeah, but you forgot to switch the gear back down when you slowed to turn around," he said. "Overall, though, I think you're a gifted rider. And, I think your new motorcycle works just fine."

Peter fisted his palm in excitement. "Oh—MJ is going to be jealous!" he said, sliding off the motorcycle. "Hey—do you think I can take this out on the road? Maybe this weekend?"

"Not so fast, son," Steve calmed the boy's excitement. "We still need to do some more testing. We know the engine is capable for speeds under twenty-five miles per hour, but what about higher speeds? Plus, you need a license plate and an actual motorist's license before you take this on public highways."

That didn't deflate Peter's mood. "Okay. That's only three things," he said. "I can do that. Hey? Why don't we test it out on the airstrip? That's perfect to see how the engine handles speeds over fifty."

"That's what I was thinking," Steve agreed, "but not tonight. It's getting late."

The sky was already a purplish glow. The sun a haze on the horizon as it settled for bed. Steve had Peter push his motorcycle back into the garage and clean up their workbench. Finished cleaning their mess, Peter threw a tarp over his motorcycle to protect it.

"Hey! Once I get all those things, maybe we could do a road trip to the city?" Peter said, catching up with Steve as they headed back to the residential hall. "Or something like that."

Steve forced a smile, hiding the knowledge he carried. "Sure," he said, "but until then, practice here in the compound."

Peter heaved a sigh, disappointed as he longingly looked afar. "Fine. I'll just practice on the mini-track here."

Steve furrowed his brows in though. "Mini-track?"

"The loop in front of the main building," Peter pointed over to the roundabout outside the Avengers' Hall.

"Ah… I see," Steve observed. "Okay, well, wait until I'm there with you. Can't have you on the motorcycle without supervision."

Peter thanked him again, before high-tailing it back to his own apartment. Steve watched the boy run off, freely unburden by the knowledge that nearly welded Steve to the ground he walked. Steve took in a breath. The sad part of it all was that the kid didn't even know the full truth of his sentencing.

Next morning, Steve sat alone, drinking his coffee as he merely looking over the glided landscape. Sam hadn't returned from his trip to Washington DC. He stayed for the week to visit old friends and family. That meant Steve had mornings to himself.

Until another individual joined him.

"Again?" Tony strode across the lounge. Straight to the coffee pot. "When is Sam the Falcon returning to care for you, eh?"

Steve humored him with a quick smile. "He'll be back this weekend," he said. "As for the reason why I'm here, you already know."

Tony shook the coffee pot. "Yeah," he grumbled as he heard only a light splash from inside the pot. "Coffee's cold and barely any left. You know—a decent person would make another pot for other people."

Tony changed filters and added coffee grounds. He filled it with water and turned it on. The machine gurgled and he leaned against the counter in wait. "It's too damn early to be up."

"Then why are you up?" Steve asked.

"Because I kept having this fear that all my coffee would be gone," Tony quipped. "Turns out to be a valid fear."

Steve raised his mug in salute to Tony. "Yeah, well, it's the best coffee around here."

"Cost me forty dollars a pound. Better be damn good coffee."

They added nothing more. Since the fallout and somewhat rocky reunion, they hardly spoke to one another unless it involved Peter. Otherwise, the small talks they shared lasted a minute. Tops.

"How is the whole motorcycle thing coming along?" Tony asked.

And they switched to Parker as expected. Steve took a drink of his coffee. "We finished the bike last night," he announced. "Need to do a few more tests on the engine before deeming it completely safe.

"He's a natural, though," Steve continued, turning away from the window to Tony. "He is excited to take the bike for a ride. Particularly with a girl named MJ."

"Really?" Tony cocked his brows up in surprise. "He thinks a motorcycle would impress a girl?"

Here they go again. Anytime Steve hung out with Peter, Tony was there to bring conflict. "What's wrong with a motorcycle?" Steve asked, waiting to hear Tony's ridiculous response.

"They're lame."

Steve turned around in his seat. "You own a motorcycle!"

"Of course," Tony snarked. "I also own give or take ten cars. Plus a jet. That makes me an expert in this subject."

"The subject of cool?" Steve said with bafflement.

"Well, obviously that, but I meant on the subject of what girls find more attractive," Tony said as the coffee dinged its readiness. "They are far more attractive to a guy who owns a car."

Steve snorted, shaking his head in ridiculousness. "Are you serious?" he asked. "This is the debate you want to have?"

Tony shrugged. "Just saying," he said, nonchalantly. "Don't understand why Underoos wants to learn to ride a motorcycle when cars are the way to go. In my experience, that is."

"Your experience?" Steve questioned with raised brows. "With vehicles or women?"

"Both." Tony threw jested smile at him. Considering Tony was a playboy and had plenty of girls on his arms before Pepper, Steve imagined Tony knew far more than he did. After all, the only woman that Steve came close to dating was Peggy.

Tony reached for a mug as he added. "Besides, MJ prefers a jet."

Steve's eyebrows quizzically furrowed. "What?"

"Nothing old man," Tony brushed aside. He grabbed the coffee pot's handle and poured. "Anyway… Petey can't even ride it out anywhere. Kind of beats the purpose of owning one."

Steve exhaled, remembering the agreement they all made a few weeks back after the incident with Deadpool and Thaddeus Ross. "I actually want to talk to you about that."

Tony lowered his mug. Dark eyes suspiciously narrowed on him. "There's nothing to talk about."

"Tony—we can't keep the kid grounded," Steve said, ignoring Tony's wish. He rose up from the table to properly face his old friend. "Three weeks and not once has he set foot off the premises. It's internment!"

"Jesus, Cap! We're not Nazis!" Tony stressed, riled by the insinuation. "And we're not holding him here against his will. He lives here. Full-time. With his Aunt Hottie."

"So? He still can't walk out of here."

"That's because the last time he did, someone shot him, beat him up and he was at the mercy of two lunatics," Tony listed off in a great huff. "No—Peter stays in the compound unless one of us goes with him. That was the deal we all made, including you, might I add."

Steve remembered the deal they all agreed to. Peter was not allowed out of the compound unless one of the Avengers was with him. That included visiting friends, going to basketball games or even grocery shopping with his aunt. Either he, Tony, Sam, Nat, Wanda, Rhodey or Vision came with them, rotating out to not act a suspicious.

Not that Peter went out a lot. He spent a few days recuperating from his wounds, which forced him to miss a basketball game at Madison Square Gardens with his friends. Apparently, a friend's father got them tickets. Instead, Peter watched it on the screen along with himself and Sam. They tried to get into the spirit, having popcorn and hot dogs along with soda all while cheering for their team. But, it wasn't the same as being with your actual friends.

After his wounds healed, Peter's aunt convinced Tony to let Peter's friends visit him here. Tony was hesitant at the idea, but Pepper twisted his arm and he agreed. Albeit, on a few conditions. The friends agreed to Tony's conditions and they spent the day with him at the compound while the Avengers were away to handle the secretive case against Norman Osborn.

Since then, Peter repeatedly asked Steve to assist him in building his motorcycle. And that's what they did. Peter kept busy by building his motorcycle from junk parts and scrap metal that Tony also reluctantly bought for the kid. He was a focused individual and they spent long hours in that garage getting all the pieces together.

It wasn't until last night that Steve understood Peter's hurry in finishing it. "The kid knows."

"Knows what?"

"That he's being trapped here."

Tony scrunched his face in dubious thought. "Look—I know the kid is a smart cookie, but he can't know the exact reason," he contended. "And again, he's not trapped here. It's not that we revoke any of his privileges or deny him to go see his friends. He can go outside the compound if he wants to."

"Unless he's being babysat," Steve countered. "No sixteen year old wants to have an adult tagging along with him everywhere they go. Even if it's an Avenger."

Tony smirked. "Then you don't know Peter that well."

Steve helplessly shrugged to Tony's statement. "Maybe, but I spent the past few days with him," he said. "All this talk about wanting to ride off... that's usually a sign that they want to get away."

Tony digested that comment with a deep breath and arms crossed. "Okay. I see what you mean," he said, taking out his phone.

Steve waited as Tony finished whatever he was doing on his phone. "What are you doing?" he questioned.

Tony held up a finger. "Okay… and done," he smiled and closed his phone, pocketing it. "I just booked two courtside seats to the LA Lakers vs. Knicks game out in California. Leave tomorrow night. Stay for the weekend. That should be a nice break of scenery."

Steve rolled his eyes, dropping his forehead in his hand. "That wasn't what I—"

He didn't get the chance to finish his thoughts because the door burst open and May Parker stormed into the lounge.

Eyes ablaze, she marched straight up to Tony without even a glimpse at Steve. Crestfallen, Tony anticipated put aside his mug for another berating. "If this has to do with—"

May shoved a tablet to Tony. Hard enough to almost push Tony back against the counter. "Have you read it?"

Tony grabbed the tablet and glanced down. His eyes narrowed, mouth taut and pressed into a straight line as his jaw tightened. "Son of a bitch…" he muttered, wiping a hand over his goatee.

"What is it?" Steve asked, stepping over to them. "What's wrong?"

He moved beside Tony and read over his shoulder. On the tablet was an full blown article titled, "PETER PARKER BRUTALIZES FORMER MILITARY GENERAL"

Oh no. Steve snuck a look to May. She stood in front of them, arms crossed and waiting impatiently to blow off steam. Steve went back to the article. It was all about Thaddeus Ross's home invasion and assault. But rather than blame it on Deadpool, Ross pointed the fingers at Peter. The article quoted Ross saying, "'I open my door and there was Parker. Then, he attacked me.'" There were even pictures of Ross in his hospital bed, acting like he was in agony.

None of it looked good. "Has Peter seen this?" Steve asked.

May shook her head. "He's still asleep," she answered. "He's going to freak when he reads it."

"Only if he reads this garbage," Tony said, unconcerned.

"It's all over the news!" May spiraled in a shout. "Even the morning hosts are talking about it. Everyone's talking about it!"

She yanked the tablet out of Tony's hands. She flipped through the tabs and she was right. Almost every media outlet was talking about the article. Comments were popping up underneath the articles and videos. People discussing the content, arguing on its authenticity.

"It's The Daily Bugle," Tony remarked, refusing to be riled. "Everyone knows its tabloid shit. No one will believe it."

"That's not the point!" May snapped, face red and eyes shiny.

"I know it's not the point," Tony said with an exhausted sigh. "The article was meant to damage Peter's reputation. It's a revenge piece. And a libel piece too. We'll sue."

But May shook her head, strands of her hair flying in her face. "You still don't get it," she cried. "Even if it's all untrue, Peter's still going to blame himself! He's going to…"

She stopped talking. Her voice croaked out and her hands covered her face. Steve heard her choking back a sob, breaths ragged. The stress wound her up, depleting all the strength in her reserve.

Steve walked up to comfort her, but May stepped away and held out her hand. "No... just… just give me a minute," she said, hoarse. "Please?"

Steve backtracked and stayed put, watching with a heavy heart as May calmed herself with deep breaths.

Rather than let silence droll on, Tony restarted talking. "I'll notify Pepper. She knows how to handle PR disasters like this," he said, his phone in his hand and typing away. "What about Big E? Does he know that his former boss became a canary? Hell—I thought he was keeping an eye on that guy?"

May nodded, rubbing her eyes. "Yeah. He's the one who warned me about it."

"Warned you?" Tony asked, thinking he misheard.

"He received word from one of the reporters that the head editor okayed the piece," May explained, shakily. "He called me to give me a heads up before Peter saw it. Apparently, Ross managed to trick his guards that he was talking to his lawyers. Everett is charging him with obstruction of justice."

Tony scrunched his face in dissatisfaction. "Okay. Okay," he mumbled to himself. He looked to Steve. "Pepper will handle the backlash of this. I'll get a hold of my lawyers. Get them to prep a libel suit against the newspaper and Ross. Get control of this story and turn it around back on Ross."

He waited, taking a breath to receive affirmation from Peter's aunt. But Aunt May stayed silent, eyes drawn and deep crevices formed around her face. She looked lost. Far out and away from them.

"Ms. Parker?" Steve called to her.

That got her attention again. She spun her head to them, eyes glossy and fatigue aging her appearance. "When will it end?"

"Excuse me?" Tony asked.

"When will all this stop?" May repeated her question, her voice tightening. It was close to hysteria. "He's just a boy! He doesn't—he's been through enough already. He doesn't need more shit!"

While her language was reproachable, Steve shared the same sentiment. For a boy of sixteen, too much bad has happened to him, starting with the loss of his parents to the loss of his own freedom. He didn't need his reputation to be damaged along the way. The same reputation that Tony built to get the public to adore him. And now, this threw a wrench. A chance for the public to turn on the boy. To despise him or even doubt his innocence.

May snuffled, releasing a long, somber sigh. "I wish he was never Spider-man."

Before Steve or Tony could say a word to her, she walked out.

A beat later.

"Well, good thing we're heading out to California," commented Tony.

Steve dropped his chin to his chest. Unbelievable.