Thanks to everyone who read and Harm Marie, AlienTourist, TheShadowArchitect, Qweb, usa123, MTGirlForever, Preferably, and a guest for reviewing. Also, I've pulled in a little of Steve's real/comic history here, but as far as I know it doesn't conflict with anything movie-based.
"You understand that this is just a short-term thing," the woman said, once again giving him a sidelong look that Steve suspected meant that she recognized his face but couldn't quite figure out from where. Well, that or that she doubted his ability to understand simple English. "Just until Danny's shoulder is better."
"Yes, ma'am," he agreed, a little disturbed by the fact that he couldn't decide which of those scenarios he'd prefer more.
"Cash for the boxes that you unload since I'm not paying someone that I don't know by the hour," she continued as if he hadn't spoken, "and there are no benefits except for the employee discount. No health or anything like that so don't go doing anything stupid. And you're to be here on time every morning. We open at six on the dot, and I expect my storeroom stocked by then."
Steve nodded again. "Yes, ma'am." Although he suspected that it wouldn't take him nearly as long to unload the boxes as she thought. With a shake to seal the deal, he shouldered his pack, lifted the sack of groceries that he'd purchased—the employee discount would help there, at least—and headed back for the Laundromat to collect his things.
All in all, it had been a productive day thus far. Unloading cargo trucks wasn't something that he wanted to be doing in the long term, but it would keep him keep him fed while he searched for other employment. Of course, he'd have preferred something that would pay for a room as well, and given the cost of everything else these days he very much doubted that this would, but as uncomfortable as the idea of presuming on Tony's hospitality for longer than he'd first declared made him, he'd gotten the impression that Tony had been entirely serious when he'd said that Steve could stay as long as he liked. And it wasn't as if 'longer' had to mean more than an extra week or two since the early morning hours Ms. Horace insisted on meant that he'd have the rest of the day to concentrate on finding more permanent employment.
Now that he had a job he didn't feel nearly as guilty about having bought a pack of oil pastels at the hobby shop along with the intended pencil and sketchpad, either. He knew that he should have left them on the shelf—even if they'd been on clearance for half price because of the damaged packaging, the cost had still made him wince—but those colors…even the nicest colored pencils couldn't match them.
After some slight confusion about where he might find an iron since JARVIS once again insisted that the tower contracted out that sort of thing, Steve got his clothing put away neatly, and then he settled himself in the common room with his new art supplies. He had to turn the couch in order to see out the wall of windows, but given that it was just Bruce and him on this level, he didn't think that it would matter.
He wasn't sure how long he'd been working when light footfalls alerted him to another's presence, and he twisted to look over the back of the couch. "Hello."
"Hey, Steve," Bruce greeted. "Hell of a view, isn't it?"
Steve nodded and did his best to casually flip his new sketchbook shut as Bruce came to look over the back of the couch. The guys in his unit had always enjoyed the little sketches he'd done during downtime, but there weren't many people who'd seen his real art.
Bruce gave him a curious glance, probably because closing the sketchbook didn't do much to hide the smudges the pastels had left on his fingers, but he didn't press.
"Are you finished for the day?" Steve asked.
"Nah, I just got a message from the hospital so I was going to take a break and head down there."
"The hospital? Is something wrong?"
"Hm? Oh, no." He shook his head quickly. "Nothing like that. I'm leaving for another trip to Calcutta the day after tomorrow, and I always try and take a few boxes of supplies back with me. You know, things that it's hard for them get their hands on over there. It's easier to make sure that they actually reach the clinic if I take them myself, but for various regulatory reasons some stuff has to be delivered to a legitimate medical institution instead of just being shipped directly to the tower. Don't ask me why since I then pick it up there and carry it here myself, but, well, here's to bureaucracy." He trailed off with a shake of his head. "I don't suppose you'd be up for taking a walk, would you? It's a pain to try and drive to the hospital, especially at this time of day, but there are three boxes this time and I won't be able to manage them all on the subway by myself."
"Sure," Steve agreed immediately, although he was a little surprised. He'd been on the trains a few times since he'd woken up, and although there had been some definite improvements made since his time, they were still rather cramped and crowded. He would have thought that it was a situation that Bruce would avoid.
He hadn't intended it, but some of his surprise must have shown in his expression because a ghost of a smile crossed Bruce's face. "I'm not sure that anything is as bad for my blood pressure as trying to deal with Manhattan traffic."
"Couldn't you just go when it's less crowded?"
"I could, but the hospital is busy enough that if I don't get there before Marnie's shift is over—she works at the pharmacy desk and does the ordering for me—the boxes will get shoved in a random storage closet, and then it's a tossup whether they'll ever be seen again." His flicker of a smile turned into a rueful grin. "As far as I know, there are still a couple thousand tongue depressors and some over-the-counter cough medicine that I ordered for my first trip hiding somewhere in that building."
"Just let me put these away, then," Steve said, holding up his sketchbook and pastels. It only took him a moment to suit actions to words, and then he joined Bruce in the elevator and the two of them headed back to the Manhattan streets.
"So did you get a chance to talk to Tony before he had to leave?" Bruce asked as they walked.
"I did. It was good to clear the air." He wasn't sure if he was supposed to talk about War Machine or Tony's lab out where other people might hear him, but he doubted that Tony's travel plans were any kind of secret. "Does he go off to Malibu regularly?"
"There and a few other places as well, plus press events wherever Pepper sets them up. For someone who doesn't officially run the company anymore, he's very involved. Then again, he does still have controlling interest, not to mention running R and D."
R and D being research and development, Steve knew, although the controlling interest part didn't mean much to him. "And it's still Stark Industries," he pointed out.
"And that," Bruce agreed. "Here's the entrance."
Steve didn't miss the fact that Bruce stayed close to the walls as they entered the subway, deliberately avoiding the main press of people, but his face didn't betray any anxiety. "Are you all right?" he asked anyway.
"I've dealt with worse. I—"
The loud rattle of an approaching train drowned out whatever he'd planned to say, and Steve hung back with him as a large number of those waiting boarded first. Letting the others go first meant that they didn't get a seat, instead joining the other latecomers in holding the vertical bars along the aisle and the straps overhead, but Steve didn't particularly mind and Bruce didn't even seem to notice.
"So have you done any more thinking about what you want to do?" Bruce asked, raising his voice as the train pulled out with them on it.
Steve shook his head. "I've got a short term job, though, so that'll give me more time to think about it. Assuming that Tony doesn't mind me staying at the tower for a while longer." He kept an eye on Bruce as he said it, a little curious what the reaction would be. Bruce had been staying with Tony longer—a different situation entirely, of course, since Bruce was contributing through his research—but if Steve had been mistaken and Tony would object, hopefully Bruce would know. And would say something.
"You're planning to move out?" Bruce gave him an odd look. "I mean, you could, but why?"
"I can't…it's not right to take advantage of him like that."
"Take advantage of Tony?" Bruce's exclamation was loud enough to earn him a disapproving frown from the woman standing next to him with her nose in a book, and he shook his head and lowered his voice slightly. "Have you met the man? If he didn't want you there, you wouldn't be there. Neither of us would be. And he doesn't rent out anything on the private levels like he sometimes does on the public—that's why there are four more unused suites on our level and a couple more empty levels besides—so it's not like you're depriving him of any income."
Steve shrugged. It wasn't that he didn't believe Bruce, it was just…it didn't feel right.
"Well, it's your choice," Bruce said, obviously reading his discomfort. They rumbled through another stop before he spoke again, and when he did, it was on a completely different subject. "You know, if you're really not sure what you want to do, you might try one of the local colleges."
"Go back to school?" Steve frowned. "I guess it's an option, but wouldn't I need some kind of direction first? A major or something?" Unless that had changed too.
"I didn't mean taking classes—although there's no reason to rule that out, if you're interested—I meant going to a counseling center." He paused. "Actually the city probably sponsors something like that, too, although I'm not sure exactly where you'd go to find it."
"Counseling? I feel fine." Out of place, sometimes, maybe, but that was to be expected. And he'd never been much for talking to strangers, at least when it came to personal issues.
"I mean career counseling. They give you aptitude and interest tests and that kind of thing, and then depending on your results they point you towards a career path."
"You did that?"
"Me, no, I've known for as long as I can remember that I wanted to go into the sciences. The hardest decision for me was which science to start with. But I used to see advertisements on campus all the time, especially in the undergrad years. I guess that sort of assumes that you've decided not to back to the army or to SH—" He broke off abruptly, taking a quick glance around, but none of the rest of the passengers were paying them the least bit of attention. "Or to take Fury up on his offer, though," he finished in a slightly lower tone. "Have you?"
"I think so. I mean, I don't think I will. After the whole thing with the weapons, and then the…well, you know…I don't know if I can work for them. I'm not against joining forces if there's a good reason to, but I'm not sure if I could deal with it on a daily basis."
"I can understand that. Although in my case, it's more that I just can't take day after day of sidelong looks. At least Tony's honest about jabbing me with random objects, and none of the other scientists here seem to care."
"He still does that?" Steve had to ask.
"Not in a while. I think Pepper yelled at him. Not about the H—the Other Guy—but about it being rude to electrocute your guests."
"Most people don't need to be told that."
"Most people aren't Tony. Anyway, he was never really serious about it. He likes the Other Guy." A pause. "The Other Guy likes him too, which I still think is a little strange. Oh, this next stop is us."
Conversation ceased until they were back up on the streets in another part of Manhattan, and then Bruce tilted his head. "What did you do before, anyway?"
"Before?"
"Before the war. The serum. Or, I guess a lot of guys went straight from school into the military, didn't they?"
"They did, but I wasn't one of them. I, uh, I used to write comic books, actually. Well, that and I did some freelance illustration work and took a few advertising assignments since comics didn't pay the rent very well." Aside from the doodles he'd done to pass the time during the war, hadn't thought about those days much since he'd been given the serum.
"No kidding? Have you thought about getting back into it?"
"Not really. I don't think I could." Steve gestured at an advertisement on the back of the bus stop they were passing. He was reasonably certain from the text that the woman was trying to sell a house, but if he'd ever dared to present a drawing like that he'd have been thrown out on his ear. Possibly literally. Even the girls he'd toured with had shown less. "Advertising is different now."
"Yeah, I guess it is more flash and social media these days." Bruce shrugged. "Anyway, career counseling's just an idea."
He was an idiot. It was the only possible explanation.
Steve shook his head and tossed his pencil down, running a hand through his hair as he drew in a long breath. No, he wasn't an idiot, and he knew it, the real explanation was that despite his best efforts he was still playing catch-up with far too much of this century. That didn't make him feel any better about not being able to fill out these gosh darned forms, though.
He was pretty sure that the placement agency that he'd stumbled upon wasn't quite the same thing as the career counseling that Bruce had suggested, but Bruce had left yesterday, and they'd advertised training and job search assistance so Steve had figured that it was close enough. And they had given him forms to fill out asking about his skills and abilities and that sort of thing. It was just that some of them….
The first page had been simple enough. Name, age, birthdate, and education; he'd taken the liberty of changing a few dates, which made him feel slightly guilty, but filling in the right dates would mean that he'd have to explain all of those years trapped in the ice, and he didn't think that that was at all relevant to his job search. Contact information had been trickier because although he'd been given a cellular phone at SHIELD and shown him how to make calls on it, he'd grown up in a time when a phone—if you could even afford a phone—went on the wall not in a man's pocket. When he'd left on his trip it had been sitting on the desk in his SHIELD apartment, and as far as he knew it remained there still. Fortunately JARVIS had been able to supply him with contact information for his suite here, and while he was a little curious about how a phone call to the tower would work since there wasn't actually a phone anywhere that he'd seen, he believed JARVIS when he said it would reach him.
The form about previous employment had been relatively easy as well. There was his time in the Army, obviously, and given that there was a section specifically calling out military service it clearly wasn't an uncommon thing. He'd gone ahead and written about his old advertising work as well since he'd told Bruce about it, along with a few of his more recent odd jobs just to fill in some of the other blank lines.
Then had come the forms about skills, though. The first half page or so was freeform and he'd felt perfectly comfortable listing strategy, tactics, and leadership, and although he wasn't sure it was what they were looking for he'd put down marksmanship and martial arts ability as well, but after that the freeform had ceased and he'd found himself at a loss.
Like this question: How well do you know Word? If someone had asked him that on the street, his response would be that he'd never met the man. Obviously, given that it was under the heading of 'Technical Abilities,' that wasn't the right response, but with the absolute lack of context he had no idea what was. 'Not at all' he supposed, but he'd already had to admit that he had no typing speed and no familiarity with Windows—on the assumption that that this didn't refer to the sorts of windows that went on houses since, again, this was under 'Technical Abilities'—and if he kept answering questions in the negative they were probably going to throw his application in the trash without even bothering to finish it.
The questions didn't get any better when he flipped to the next page, either. Oracles and Power Points and Access—access to what it didn't say—and Heaven only knew what it all meant because he certainly didn't. And there were still two more pages for 'Technical Abilities' that he hadn't even looked at yet.
Things had gotten a little better once he'd given up on technical abilities entirely—if nothing else, he could drive a truck and lift heavy objects at least as well as the next man—but somehow the idea of spending his days working in a warehouse or delivering boxes just didn't appeal to him. Unfortunately he didn't speak any languages besides English, at least not if you didn't count the smattering of inappropriate French he'd picked up during the war, he could manage the same basic repairs that any depression-era kid could but that didn't make him an auto mechanic or a plumber or an electrician, and his knowledge of agriculture was that of someone who'd repeatedly, if accidentally, drowned the cabbages his mother kept trying to grow in the window box. Judging by these questions there just didn't seem to be anything else that he was qualified to do.
He sighed, debating going back to the technical section to see if there was anything that he could answer with something besides a negative, and then put the packet down on his table beside the pencil and pushed himself to his feet. He'd finish that section later; right now he needed to hit the gym. Do something to take his mind off things for a little while.
Given the hour there would almost certainly be people in the public gym so after he changed he grabbed his wraps and asked JARVIS to let him off at the private one. And wished he that had the money to pick up a spare punching bag so he wouldn't feel guilty when he inevitably broke the one that Tony had, because right now he could practically feel it coming. Maybe he should use Fury's card to pay for that.
Unfortunately, the first thing he heard when he stepped off the elevator was a series of thumps, and he closed his eyes and turned right back around. It just figured. The elevator door had closed behind him, though, and since he was here…well, there were always the free weights. He made himself turn again, schooling his face into a blank expression, and walked out into the room. He wasn't sure who he expected to see as he came around the corner—another scientist he supposed, although he hadn't actually met anyone besides Bruce and Tony on the private levels yet—but instead he found Tony, and he halted automatically.
Tony didn't even notice his approach, his focus on the bag in front of him, and Steve was surprised to realize that his form was actually very good and the hits landing against the bag were solid. Not as solid as Steve's, obviously, but when he'd seen that the punching bag was relatively new he'd assumed that it was because no one used it, not because Tony had reason to keep it in good repair himself.
"Tony?" he called after a minute, warning the other man of his presence.
Tony spun, arms pulling in defensively, and then he relaxed just as quickly. "Hey, Spangles."
"Steve," he corrected. "I didn't know you were back."
"Just landed an hour or so ago." He smiled, but somehow it didn't look quite real. "JARVIS is recalibrating the flight stabilizers so I thought I'd get a workout in."
"Are you all right?"
"It's a new model. There are always a few kinks to work out."
Steve waited to see if he'd elaborate—somehow he doubted that whatever was bothering Tony was mechanical, especially since he'd flown out in his suit a few days ago and if anything had been seriously wrong he'd have already dealt with it—but when Tony only waved a hand dismissively, Steve gestured at the bag. "I didn't know that you boxed."
"Picked it up a couple years ago. Good cardio."
"I don't suppose you want to go a few rounds?" He tried to keep the question casual, but the idea of having someone to spar with right now was more tempting than he cared to admit.
Tony shook his head, but at least this time his smile seemed genuine. "Sorry, Cap, but I spent a good portion of high school getting pounded into the ground like a tent peg. I'm not real eager to repeat the experience."
Steve frowned, and he shrugged.
"Mouthy twelve year old when I started, mouthy fourteen year old when I graduated, and I don't know if you knew this, but teenage boys can be assholes. Although the majority of them did take the hint and stopped when I started electrocuting them."
Steve was a little surprised at Tony's throwaway description of his time in high school—it didn't sound so different than his experience when Bucky hadn't been around to have his back, really—but then, Tony was on the smaller side of average now. If he'd been that young when he'd attended, he wouldn't have stood a chance. "I wouldn't do that," he said. "The tent peg, thing, I mean, not the electrocute thing." A pause. "And I wouldn't do that either, even if I did know how. Besides, aren't you the one who said he wasn't afraid to hit an old man?"