Steve woke to a pounding in his head and at the door, without being able to remember falling asleep. He groaned and rolled over to stand; the bed may have been big enough for two in the forties, but over six-foot of Steve not longer fit without leaving kinks in his neck, back, well, everywhere. The pounding on the door increased as Steve loped towards it, feet thumping along in boots he'd neglected to take off the night before. He reached the door, scrubbed the sleep out of his eyes and pulled it open.
"Yes?" He didn't need to ask who it was, there was only one person he knew that was that obnoxious, even through a door.
He was, however, surprised when not only did Tony push his way through the door, but so too did Clint, Bruce, Natasha and Thor, all wearing matching expressions of frustration.
"What do you need?" He knew why they were there, knew exactly what they wanted but he made himself maintain a tone of clinical coldness. He couldn't let himself get close again. He wouldn't.'
Clint looked around the apartment he'd walked into cataloging all the details with a glance. He'd grown up badly, but this apartment was as bad as the worst places he'd stayed. Although Steve's apartment was clearly well cared for, the whole place had an air of never quite being enough, from the couch being propped up by books to the bareness of the bookshelf in the corner. He looked at Steve, who was looking just as bad as the last time they'd seen him, bags still under his eyes and dressed in clothes Clint was sure he'd probably left the tower in the day before.
Tony spoke first.
"What the hell is wrong with you Rodgers?"
"Stark-"
"Nuh uh, you don't get to speak right now. You were kitten weak when we came to your floor the other night.
"I-"
"Shh! Now, like I was saying. You, my friend, were weak as a kitten. A night of soup and sleep doesn't change a week of what I'm sure was self-neglect. Now, you are going to move out of this hovel, back into the tower and there, we will have a grown-up conversation about what is and isn't appropriate self-care of a super-soldier!"
Steve had allowed the unwanted intrusion, but the words made him suddenly furious, and he let clinical-cold make way for ice-cold-fury. "Get out." A low growl, it was same town he'd use to grunt guttural German phrases at the enemy.
"Excuse me?"
"Get. Out. Your care was appreciated, but it is not grounds for you to demand entrance into my home, insult it, and then treat me like an infant. So, like I said in my note, I will see you tomorrow morning for our scheduled training. And now, Stark, you can leave."
Steve marched the few feet back to the door, and held it open expectantly.
Looking taken aback, the inventor headed towards the door, the rest of the team trailing, as if not sure what to take of the cold captain. Perhaps for the first time in his life, Tony Stark followed an order, and closed the door behind him.
Steve let the door close before he headed towards the couch, being careful not to flop into it and dislodge the books from their perfectly-balanced stack. Unlike most people seemed to think, Steve had been engaged with his team after the Battle of New York. In the short time between then and now, Steve had let himself feel like he was part of a family again. He had had to, it was the only way he could survive in a world that wasn't his own with people he knew not. He'd let the team see what the Commando's and Bucky had; a sense of humour, kindness, openness. And it was a mistake. Because he'd realised that they had gotten close, and he realised how much he cared for them. But that morning, waking up with them on his floor, had made him realise how easy it would be to lose them. God, he'd nearly frozen again and who knew if he would have been unfrozen right there or another seventy years into the future when he was needed again. He slumped deeper into the couch. No. He couldn't do that again.
Steve allowed himself until noon to slump in his spot. Then he got up. There was a green grocer he remembered passing on his way to the apartment, and he preferred those to the new-fangled superstores he'd been to since waking up (Walmart had perhaps been scarier than a number of the battles he'd taken part in.) He pocketed his wallet and keys (ensuring the credit card with the army pension that he'd recently learnt to use was in there) and walked out.
It was a strange feeling to be shopping for himself knowing that he didn't have to budget like he'd used to. Seventy years of backpay meant he was richer than he could comprehend, but he still found himself subconsciously picking up the discounted cleaning supplies and store-brand products.
He walked home again, unstacked the groceries into the cupboard had stored the milk in the floorboards he and Bucky had used to stop it going bad when they could afford luxuries such as dairy. He set to work cleaning the apartment; the bathroom had gone seventy years without a clean and by the time he was one with that, the kitchen and living room, the sun had set. He moved to the kitchen and began peeling potatoes and de-boning the chicken he'd gotten; no matter how much time had passed he still knew his mother's recipes. The thought of her made his heart ache. An hour later, the soup was done. But each bite reminded him of the past and he went to bed as lonely that night as he had been the one before.
The tower was quieter than Tony thought it had ever been, and that included when he had lived by himself. Despite the meal set out on the table, no one felt like talking during the communal gathering as usual. Clint and Natasha sat shoulder to shoulder, silent but without their usual air of no-verbal conversation. Even Thor was eating with a semblance of manners, knife and fork moving slowly, food consumed rather than inhaled. Tony checked his watch. Eight-pm. Thirteen hours until training. Thirteen hours until the next confrontation. Which meant he had thirteen hours to figure out what was going on in the Super-Soldier's head.
Steve woke at five-am as had been ingrained at him during his time in the military. He made a hot breakfast, kicked the stove in just the right place to get the gas going, a lit match causing a cheerful flame to leap from the burners. He'd eaten, been for run, showered under water that wouldn't come out hot, made his bed and read the newspaper before the clock struck eight. The routine was familiar, and coupled with the few good meals he'd managed, left him feeling refreshed and stronger than he had in weeks. He knew the rest of the team wouldn't be leaving until at least half ten, but without the luxury of his bike or one of Stark's fleets of cars, he knew that by foot he would have to begin the trek to training if he wanted to be on time. Once more shouldering his bag, shield strapped inside, he stepped back into a city both familiar and foreign.
Steve made better time than he'd thought and arrived at the building twenty minutes early. The gym was empty, and he took the opportunity to put on his wraps, turning to one of the reinforced punching bags that stood ready. He swung. The sound of his barely covered flesh smacking onto the bag rang through he room, and his still not-quite-healed hands stung. He allowed himself a grim smile and swung again. Each time his fists made contact there was pain and also joy. This was familiar. This was a feeling that didn't change. Smack. This was punishment for letting Bucky fall. Smack. Punishment for missing his date with Peggy. Smack. Punishment for making Tony Stark grow up with a father who idolised a man he could never be. Smack. It was punishment for waking up. Smack. Punishment for letting himself get close. With a final hit the bag went flying, sand spraying all over the floor and really, SHIELD needed to in something to fill those with that left less clean up. He leant down to pick up the bag but was stopped by a low whistle.
"Eight hits and a split. That must be a new record." He turned, noticing for the first time that the rest of the team had congregated by the door.
"We need to get started." He picked up the broken bag, tossing it to the side and brushing the sand away with it. "We'll pair up, everyone needs to work on sparing. Last time we had close combat we came away with far too many injuries. Thor and Stark, you too pair up. Stark, limited capabilities. simulate that you've lost functionality. Barton, you and I. Romanov, you'll swap out with whoever get's pinned in Thor and Stark's fight."
They separated towards their own mats, no one commenting on Steve's regression to their last names. Steve took up stance, feet apart, arms up and shoulders relaxed, watched as his opponent did the same and the pair on his right did the same. They circled for a second before Clint moved, coming in low with a kick at Steve's legs that the solider easily jumped, retaliating with his own blow, blocked equally well by the archer. Steve doubled back with a swipe at the ribs Clint failed to defend, pulling the blow less than he usually would. Clint tried to recover, but rather than allowing it like he usually wold during the tea sparing sessions, Steve went straight back in, a kick coming to bring his teammate down. Clint landed on the ground and Steve went to pin him when a siren went off in the ceiling. Instantly alert, Steve looked up. It was the siren used only when a training team was needed. He gave a hand to Clint, looked over and noticed Bruce off to the side pulling out a tablet, Thor and Tony bringing their own session to an end. And ready or not, the Avengers were now needed.
Not my best work unfortunately, but a needed bridging chapter. Please, please let me know what you think. After so much interest in a sequal and no response to it so far I'm wondering what people are thinking. Thanks for coming,
Rose xx