Thanks to everyone who read and AlienTourist, not paranoid enough, Minecraft Guardiansaiyan, Qweb, Preferably, A Zap, Harm Marie, VioletteVie, AB Feta, 1983Sarah, and digiwriter for reviewing.
A hand clapped his shoulder. "You're a smart kid. You'll figure it out."
Steve twisted to stare after Tony, trying to figure out how the man could say that immediately on the heels of yet another 'old man' comment and somehow have absolutely no trouble with it whatsoever. It was hard enough for him to deal with sometimes, and he was the one that Tony was talking about!
Tony was already halfway to the elevator, though, muttering to JARVIS about alloys and apparently completely oblivious to Steve's eyes on him. At least up until the elevator doors opened, at which point he turned back. "And remember, I have a meeting at one, so if you run into any problems, feel free to contact me at about 12:59. Pepper can't yell at me for missing it if I'm helping Captain America."
Steve started to tell him that he absolutely would not, and no matter what Tony said, he wasn't accepting the computer as a gift either, but the elevator shut before he could do more than open his mouth. With a shake of his head, he turned back around, returning his attention to the object in his lap. There hadn't been a computer among the items that SHIELD had given him—why would there have been when he wouldn't even have known what it was?—but he had used them a few times on his trip. Mostly because that was the only way one could find specific books in libraries these days…he'd tried asking for directions to the card catalogue once and the blank stare he'd received in return had convinced him not to do it again.
This one wasn't like those computers, though, it was in the 'laptop' style, and when he opened it—even if he wasn't willing to accept it as a gift, at this point he was willing to borrow it if he could just learn to use it—he found that the circular button at the top, right in the center, was labeled 'On/Off.' Actually all of the buttons were properly labeled as opposed to the mix of standard typewriter key markings and completely unintelligible symbols and abbreviations that he'd seen on the other machines. Not that he had any idea what 'Function 8' actually did, but it was marginally better than 'F8' which in his day had been an experimental aircraft designation that they'd been looking to introduce to the war effort.
When he'd finally admitted his computer trouble to Tony, Tony had promised that he had either had or could build something that would make things easier, and even if there had been distinct signs of amusement when he'd said it—signs of amusement above and beyond a choking fit that even an idiot would have recognized as suppressed laughter when Steve had clarified the Word he was asking about—it seemed that he'd been telling the truth. And Steve appreciated that he had someone's confidence that he could figure it out, because after another go at that questionnaire after work this morning, he was having serious doubts himself.
After a moment he pressed the 'On/Off' button, and 'Good Morning, Spangles' appeared on the screen.
"Tony," Steve groaned.
The greeting cleared a moment later, but rather than the library screens he'd used before where you entered a subject and then clicked the button and it found you the books you wanted, this one had a series of small pictures labeled things like 'Word' and 'Powerpoint' and 'Computers 101.' There was no attachment for pointing like the library computers had had, but when he touched the picture for 'Computers 101'—even in his day '101' had been a standard introductory course designation—the screen changed again and a voice began to speak.
The basic introduction to computers, including how to use a trackpad in place of a mouse and an explanation of various terms and abbreviations, led into an introductory typing course that Steve easily completed, and from there he was able to access the 'help' and 'tutorial' menus for the different programs without too much difficulty. Some of them seemed a little…odd…but others were quite useful. Particularly the so-called 'web browsers.' Particularly Wikipedia.
Somewhere along the line he heard the elevator door open, but he was engrossed in the intricacies of the Internet that he didn't pay it much attention. At least until a woman's voice said, 'You must be Captain Rogers,' at which point reflex had him simultaneously trying to set the computer aside carefully and without losing his place while lurching to a standing position as fast as humanly possible because you didn't greet a strange woman sprawled out on the couch with your feet up on the coffee table. He had manners, damn it!
"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," she said with a smile, offering a hand when he was finally on his feet. "Pepper Potts. It's nice to finally meet you."
"I—yes, ma'am, Steve Rogers," he managed, knowing full well that his face was flaming. He'd have recognized her from Tony's pictures even without her introduction, and this was hardly the sort of first impression that he wanted to make. "I mean, it's a pleasure to meet you too. I'm sorry, I didn't—I thought you were Tony—"
"Pepper, please," she interrupted gracefully, obviously too polite to acknowledge that his face looked like a tomato. "And don't worry about it, really. I wasn't supposed to get in until tonight, but my last meeting got cancelled and we were able to get an earlier departure time." She tilted her head. "Actually, if you haven't already eaten, would you care to join me for a late lunch? We should get to know each other if you're going to be staying here, and I hate eating alone."
"Tony isn't…?" Now that she mentioned it he realized that he was hungry, but surely she'd prefer Tony's company to a complete stranger's. Especially after having been gone for a week. And it wasn't like he was going to be staying here that much longer anyway.
"Tony had better be in a meeting with the heads of the research departments right now," she said, a hint of steel suddenly showing in her voice, "and then this afternoon he has to be at the dedication ceremony for the new computer science building upstate. We'll see each other tonight." She gestured suddenly at the computer. "Oh, but you were working, weren't you? I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt."
"No, no, you didn't," Steve reassured her quickly. "I'm just trying to learn how computers work. Tony gave—loaned—me this this morning to help."
"Hm. And is it?"
"I think so. I like Wikipedia. Some of the programs are a little confusing, though."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, there's a program called Word that has a cartoon paperclip that keeps appearing and telling me that it looks like I'm writing a letter. No matter what I'm typing. Even if I haven't typed anything. Do people really write that many letters?" And he still couldn't understand why the job application be asking about his letter writing capability anyway.
Miss Potts groaned. "May I see the computer? That's not a problem with the program—or at least it hasn't been a problem with the program for about ten years—that's Tony's more-than-occasionally juvenile sense of humor asserting itself and I should be able to…there you go." She handed the computer back. "No more Clippy. Now, come on, I'm definitely treating you to lunch if Tony's subjected you to that all morning."
It hadn't been a problem, really, just a little…well, strange…but she obviously wasn't going to take 'no' for an answer so he stood and followed her to the elevator.
Punch. Punch. Punch, punch, punch. There was a bang as the punching bag flew backwards and impacted the wall, spraying sand in all direction.
"Damn it," Steve said, but it was more groan than curse. The day—well, yesterday—had gone so well, too. First Danny had decided to take an extra couple weeks off work, and not that Steve was pleased that Danny's arm wasn't healing as quickly has he'd like, but he did appreciate that he'd still be bringing in income while he tried to find a longer-term job. Then the woman at the job placement agency had accepted his packet of questions and had read through it without showing any desire to throw it directly into the trash as he'd once feared. He hadn't felt comfortable listing a high level of proficiency with the various programs, but after a few days with Tony's computer and a little bit of tutoring from Tony and Pepper he'd been able to demonstrate that he knew what they all were and how they were used which was a definite step up. Then he'd had the afternoon to sketch and then another dinner with Pepper and Tony. He did try not to intrude on their time together since he knew they were both busy, but Pepper had insisted, and when Pepper insisted it was best to just say 'yes, ma'am' and do what she wanted. Except that he shouldn't actually say 'yes, ma'am' because Pepper didn't like it and Tony would point and snicker while she very politely yelled at him. Of course, she'd started frowning disapprovingly when he called her 'Miss Potts' too so he was trying to break the habit, but…well, he had a feeling it would take more than a week to reach that level of comfort. Even if Tony did keep laughing at him for it.
They'd talked for an hour or two after dinner, and somehow Steve had gotten volunteered to take one of the cars and pick up Bruce at the airport on Saturday. He was pretty sure that was Tony's fault but he wasn't quite clear on how, and, anyway, it wasn't like he really minded. He was looking forward to seeing Bruce again and hearing more about the work he did, and hopefully Bruce could help him with some of the other preparatory stuff he'd gotten from the job agency. All in all, when Steve had finally made it back to his rooms and gone to bed, he'd been in a fairly happy mood.
Unfortunately that happy mood had lasted only until about two am when he'd suddenly shot bolt upright in bed, wide awake, with a sheen of sweat covering him and the sound of exploding shells ringing in his ears. Of course, there were no shells, he was in his entirely-too-nice room at Tony's with a lovely view of the city out the window—it was never entirely dark in New York, although the tint on the windows meant that the brightness didn't disturb him—and with no good reason to be having a nightmare, but that hadn't helped to calm his breathing. He hadn't had a nightmare like that since before the Chitauri invasion, and he'd almost forgotten how real they were.
He'd gone into his kitchen with the intention of getting a glass of water, but then he'd turned on the tap, and…well, JARVIS' inquiry as to whether he was all right had nearly made him jump out of his skin, but that was probably just as well because if it hadn't he'd still be frozen in place staring at the water filling the sink. As it was, he suspected that he'd stood there longer than he realized.
He'd ended up in the gym—the private one—and he'd hoped he'd be able to clear his mind with the familiar rhythm of boxing, but now he'd gone and destroyed Tony's punching bag. The only one in this gym.
"Damn it," he muttered again, but there was nothing for it, and he sighed and looked up at the ceiling. "JARVIS?"
"Yes, Captain Rogers?"
"Is there a large dumpster somewhere? And where would I find a broom and dustpan?"
"I can have that dealt with tomorrow morning when the next cleaning shift comes in," JARVIS said.
"I can clean up my own mess!" It came out sharper than he'd intended, and he closed his eyes and shook his head. "I'm sorry. That was uncalled for. I just…I'd rather take care of it myself." Of course, he'd have to wait until the shops opened to replace the punching bag, and he wasn't sure if there was a shop anywhere near here that sold them—or how much they'd cost if there was—but it wasn't like he had any other options.
"Of course, Captain Rogers."
If JARVIS was offended by his outburst he gave no sign of it, and Steve wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. He was pretty sure JARVIS could get offended and just wasn't, so hopefully it was good.
"There is a large dumpster located in the alley immediately to the rear of the building on the far corner," JARVIS continued, "and you may collect whatever cleaning supplies you need from the maid station on the thirteenth floor."
"Thank you."
The work of lugging the old bag out to the trash and sweeping up the spilled sand both in the elevator and in the gym itself didn't do any more to help him clear his mind than destroying the punching bag in the first place had. It just wasted time. Not enough time that he could justify going in to work early, though, and he sighed and leaned against the wall. There had to be something he could do. He straightened. "JARVIS?"
"Yes, Captain Rogers?"
"Do you know where Tony gets his punching bags?"
"I order them as necessary, although with any other equipment required."
Right. Of course he did. So much for Steve getting in an early run so he'd be there when the shop—wherever it was—opened. "Well, can you order one more to replace this one? I'll pay for it." Of course, as soon as the words were out of his mouth he realized that he had no idea how one paid an artificial intelligence, but there had to be a machine for it somewhere.
"That is unnecessary; gym equipment is a regular line-item expense. If you would prefer, you can bring a new one up from storage now, although I suspect that Mr. Start would prefer that you did not."
"What? Why? He likes to box too."
"He does," JARVIS agreed, "but I believe he's been expecting something of this sort to happen and requested that I take readings of the forces involved when it does."
"I don't…what?" Steve repeated. "He expected me to do that?" Steve couldn't help but be a little offended as he stared up at the speaker. It had happened, obviously, but it wasn't like he'd intended to break anything of Tony's. He was a better guest than that.
"I would suggest that it was less expectation and more a possibility that happened to occur to him once with no actual thought put into the probability. You once made a comment about breaking punching bags, and while I cannot be completely certain of Mr. Stark's thought processes, it was very likely that which triggered it. My databanks are, for all intents and purposes, unlimited, so there are any number of such requests that I handle." A pause. "For example, should Gozer appear, I'm requested to track any stone statuary that he may choose to animate."
"I…huh?"
"It is in reference to a character in a movie that came out approximately thirty years ago, and I don't believe Mr. Stark was entirely sober at that point. Although I would note that I have since raised the probability of an attack from an alternate dimension considerably from the original estimate of zero, given the events of the past year."
"Right," Steve said after a minute. Mostly because he wasn't sure what else he was supposed to say. "But why? I mean, about the punching bag." He didn't want to hear any more about possible attacks from alternate dimensions—or attacks from anywhere, really—right now.
"Again, I have no specific insight at this point, but as a general rule when Mr. Stark begins making calculations it's because he intends to build something. That is why I don't suggest hanging another standard punching bag at this time."
"Oh. Well, I guess…." Another shake of his head. Whatever he was going to do, it wasn't going to involve sleep. "I'll leave it for now, but could you ask him about it tomorrow if I don't see him before you do? If he does want a new one hung, just let me know." And he was going to find a way to pay for it somehow even if JARVIS didn't want him to. "I'm…." Well, he wasn't going to even attempt to sleep again tonight, and he wasn't going to risk destroying any more of Tony's things, so there weren't too many other options. "I'm going for a run."
"Yes, sir. Shall I take you to the main gym?"
"No, it's…I'll run outside." For once it was a late enough—early enough—hour that he might be able to build up some speed, even in this neighborhood. "By the time I finish, it should be time for work anyway." And he had to do something to clear his head. He didn't understand why he'd suddenly had a nightmare now when he hadn't in so long, and he didn't want it to happen again.