Steve followed Eleanore through the building and into the parking lot in a fragile silence broken only by the opening of doors and the pattering of raindrops. He held the umbrella for her once again, and opened her door at the car, but he was not eager to speak and he appreciated the quiet atmosphere, staring straight ahead or at their feet for most of the trip. His mind was too full, and his heart felt empty. He tried, but he couldn't summon any emotions to fill the void. All he could do was stare out the car windshield at the dripping, dark gray sky and let his thoughts run where they would.
First Steve thought of Peggy as he had known her, young and strong in wartime. He thought about first meeting her before he became Captain America, and how she had seemed to think he was worth something even then. He thought about how she'd stood her ground in front of that speeding car in order to shoot the spy, and how she had done the same each time a man had presumed to think she was a secretary and asked her to fetch them some coffee. Steve remembered the look she'd given those unfortunate, misinformed blighters: disdainful and disgusted, leaving some of them offended and some shaking in their boots. Steve thought about how working with Peggy had been one of the most exhilarating experiences of his life; she could always make a quick comeback, and she saw patterns like no one else. She was as good as the General at predicting where they should strike next, and where Hydra would place their forces.
Then Steve thought about the elderly woman he'd just left. It was surprisingly simple to reconcile the memory of Peggy with her actuality simply because she still held her strong determination and quick sense of humor. And she was still his friend now just as much as she had been back then, only her current illness marring any joy he had about seeing her. Steve thought about the life she must have lived. To be one of the founders of SHIELD and a wife and mother must have been fulfilling and busy— a perfect life for Peggy. Steve felt the depressing pressure on his chest lighten a bit at the thought of Peggy's happiness, even if he never got to be a part of it. He looked out the car window and noticed the clouds breaking far away. It would quit raining soon.
Eleanore pulled the car into the parking lot of their apartment building, and Steve inwardly sighed in relief. He had not felt up to shopping, even if he had to sleep on the floor of his new quarters for lack of furniture, or pay Elle rent to let him stay. He trudged around to open the car door for her and she haltingly exited the vehicle, holding tight to the frame of the car for support. Her shoulders were slumped and she looked pale and shaky, her hands fumbling with her keys and purse in turn as she locked the vehicle, her eyes fixed firmly on the pavement in front of her. The sudden and unexpected change in demeanor pulled Steve a little out of his thoughts, and he felt concern trickle into his racing thoughts.
"What's wrong?" he asked, stepping closer to get a better look, and to shelter her from the weather.
"Hm?" she looked up at him, and her face looked hollow and she tried to smile at him it was was wane and forced. Dark circles nestled under her eyes, and her cheeks seemed to have shrunken in until she more resembled her mother's wasted appearance than the normal healthy young woman Steve was accustomed to.
He gripped her upper arm gently, hoping she wouldn't collapse right then and there. "You look… sick." Not the most tactful way of putting it, but…
"Oh, that." She shrugged lightly, not trying to break his hold. "I helped Peggy you know, and that really wore me out. Delayed reaction." She shivered suddenly as a small gust of cool air swept over them. "We can talk about it more inside, okay?"
"Alright," Steve agreed, feeling protectiveness and worry take over. He ushered her and the dog inside, and watched anxiously as she mounted the stairs. Eleanore did fine, only going slower than normal and gripping the railing tightly. Jet and Steve both followed her closely, and they made their way down the hall to the door of Eleanore's apartment. She unlocked the door shakily and Steve followed her inside.
He was met with the scent of a roast cooking and the faint sizzling coming from the counter top confirmed it.
"I love coming home to a cooked meal," Eleanore commented, lifting the lid of a medium-sized white pot set in the middle of the counter. She glanced at her watch, "Not quite ready to eat yet, though. I thought we'd be back later."
Steve looked at his own wristwatch— four thirty— then back to the wavering woman in front of him. "You should sit down," he said, stepping toward her and lifting his arms to guide her to the couch.
"I'm really fine," Eleanore protested, but she let him escort her, and all but collapsed into her seat with a sigh. "Okay, I guess I'm a little tireder than I thought," she replied to Steve's questioning expression.
"No kidding." Steve responded, surveying her critically. Satisfied that she wouldn't be moving any time soon, he went to the kitchen and brought her a glass of water. The dog sat in front of her on the floor like a sentinel.
"Thanks, that's exactly what I need." Eleanore gratefully accepted the beverage and gulped it down quickly. Steve took the empty glass and refilled it, and this time she only sipped it before setting it aside on the ground. A little color came back into her cheeks, and her eyes were brighter.
"Can I get you anything else?" Steve asked. He glanced around the apartment, searching for anything that might help, then back to Eleanore, whose expression had changed from tired to weary amusement. "What?"
She chuckled, "It's just funny to me to have Captain America waiting on me in my apartment. Do you know how many women would sacrifice their…" she waved her hand and looked around for a proper offering, "… hair to be where I am? Or their left arm? Or their right arm, if they're left-handed…" she trailed off, staring into space. "I'm rambling. Sorry. It happens when I'm worn out."
"Can I do anything to help?" Steve asked again, as she seemed to have forgotten his earlier question.
"Actually, yeah. There's some chocolate in that cupboard above the sink. The sugar will give me some energy." Eleanore pointed in the general direction, and Steve followed the gesture to the proper place, bringing back a pink bag of Ghirardelli Chocolate Squares: Dark Chocolate with Raspberry Filling.
"Here," Eleanore said as he returned. She scooted over and patted the couch next to her, and Steve sat and handed her the candy. She quickly unwrapped a piece and bit into it, a look of peaceful bliss settling on her face.
"So what happened back there, exactly?" Steve wondered aloud. He didn't want to make her reveal something too personal about her powers, but he figured he should probably know whether she would faint when they were working together.
"Well, normally I don't react like this to healing people," Eleanore sat up and turned toward Steve, leaning back against the arm of the couch. "But normally, I heal cuts and bruises, maybe a broken bone or three. I can do a lot of things like that before I get this way. But healing abrasions and reducing swelling on bronchial scars. On the lungs. That sort of thing takes a lot of energy."
"Is that what Peggy had?" Steve was morbidly curious. How did she get scars on her lungs?
"Yeah, a couple years ago she had bronchitis, and then pneumonia, and those combined really damaged her lungs. That's why she coughs sometimes, and why her voice sounds a bit wheezy." Eleanore paused and looked at him for a response, popping another piece of chocolate into her mouth.
"Couldn't you have healed her then?" The instant he said it, he regretted it. Eleanore's face fell slightly, and she looked almost ashamed. She didn't look directly at Steve as she answered, staring over his shoulder at the wall instead.
"I didn't know as much about using my powers then." She shrugged and pursed her lips into a thin line, "I thought I might do more harm than good, and I didn't want to experiment with…" Eleanore looked at the floor and finished in a whisper, "Not with Peggy."
Steve felt guilty. "I didn't mean it like that. I'm sure you did all you could."
"Thanks," Eleanore replied quietly, and Steve was wondering how to avoid an awkward silence. "So do you want to learn about online shopping?"
Steve stared for a second, his mind quickly catching up to her train of thought. "I guess I would, if I had any idea what that was."
"Perfect," Eleanore launched herself off the sofa with a burst of energy, then remained standing still, swaying as her face drained of color. Her eyes stared distantly and her mouth hung open as she breathed unevenly.
"Hey," Steve stood and held his arms out in case she fell. "Just sit down and rest."
"No, I'm good. Just having a blood rush," Eleanore dismissed him, shaking her head slowly. "It's fading. I just need to drink more water. And I will when I get back with my laptop."
"Let me get it," Steve protested, but she was already moving into her bedroom so he followed her to make sure she was alright.
"Oh, I suppose I never showed you this room," Eleanore said as she moved to a desk beside a full bed with a purple coverlet. Steve had seen it before, but it had been dark, so he'd only gained an impression. "This is my office-slash-bedroom, where I get a lot of procrastinating and some work done. Note the lovely white walls and purple accents on the bed and windows. Designed by the best seamstress I know: my mom." Eleanore moved to unplug her laptop's cord from under the desk.
Steve took in the rest of the room: wood floor, two windows, strong door, a table-like desk with what looked like a small television beside the laptop, a set of white drawers underneath it, and a large chest of drawers near a sliding door that was open to reveal an orderly closet. He also noticed some acrylic canvas and plain paper watercolor artwork, mostly of flowers and animals with a couple of landscapes mixed in.
"Did she make these too?" he asked, stepping closer for a look at a simple, graceful lily done in watercolors on plain paper.
"No, I did," Eleanore admitted, coming to stand beside him.
"You paint?" Steve asked, remembering his own sketches, now probably lost to time.
"Only a little in my free time," Eleanore said, then she looked at him. "Why, do you?"
"I used to draw— sketch, really." Steve said modestly. "Art school."
"Oh really?" Eleanore shoved the laptop at him and turned quickly back to the drawers under her desk. She rummaged for a moment before pulling out a plain blue notebook and a small case. "Like with charcoals?"
"Well, yes."
"Here, switch me," Eleanore took the computer back from him and placed the notebook and case into his hands. "There's a mostly-blank sketchbook and a beginners set of charcoals and pencils that I haven't used in years. I mean, not that I'm trying to give you my hand-me-downs, but it's something to do in your spare time."
"No, it's great. Thank you," Steve opened the book to find a couple of halfhearted human depictions, a very detailed butterfly with uneven wings, and a hummingbird in flight.
"Don't mind my drawings please, you can rip them out if you want. I like painting better." Eleanore started out the door into the living room. Steve looked at her sketches again and he knew he wouldn't be getting rid of them.
He followed her into the living room, shutting of the light as he went. The blinds were partly open showing a clearing sky, but it was still drizzling in fits and starts.
"So," Eleanore said, plopping into the couch once again and taking a large gulp of her water. "Online shopping."
Steve silently put the notebook on the end table and joined her on the couch where she spent the next couple of hours helping him through a site called Amazon where he got a few home necessities like sheets, a quilt, curtains, a record player with a couple old jazz records, and some of Eleanore's recommended cookware and cutlery. "Rada knives are amazing. Have you ever cooked in a Wok? Do you think you need a crock pot? I think you do." He slowly began to enjoy her direct commentary more and more. She often interrupted him and herself as new thoughts occurred to her, but he wasn't offended. Really, it was nice to be around someone who didn't treat him like shattered glass, as many of the people at SHIELD had done for the past week.
After a while, Steve began to navigate the pages on his own with minimal help from Eleanore. She sat back and gave advice on what to buy instead of where to click, and Steve was starting to feel confident with this piece of new technology. He fell into a comfortable pattern of alternately listening and clicking on interesting links.
"Oh crap," Eleanore lunged off the couch and made it to the kitchen before grabbing the wall for support. Steve instantly set the laptop aside and moved to help, but she was already waving him off.
"Same thing as before. No need to worry. I'm just going to get dinner ready." But Steve stood there as she finally shifted to the pot on the counter, which was plugged into the wall and emitting lovely scents of roasting meat and vegetables. She got out two plates, handing one to Steve. "Take as much as you want— I made a lot."
He served himself and got a water glass before he again seated himself on the couch next to Eleanore.
"Want to shop some more?" she asked, grinning at Steve from her dark eyes as though she could read his thoughts. She kind of can.
"Honestly, I'm good for the day." And he was. Even though he wasn't physically tired at all, he felt emotionally exhausted. He just wanted some time to think.
"How about a movie that we don't have to pay attention to? Then I can do my homework and you can sketch if you want. But I need my computer."
"That sounds great," Steve waited while Eleanore arranged what she called a DVD player and selected a movie called Mulan.
"This is a Disney movie from the late 90's," she informed him. "You can watch it closely or not. It's one of my favorites."
Steve nodded, and they both settled on opposite ends of the couch, Eleanore with her laptop and Steve with his dinner in his lap. It was delicious. As the movie began, he was captivated by the unique artwork in the opening credits, and he found himself drawn into the storyline. He smiled at the jokes, and sympathized with Mulan-as-Ping when she had trouble completing the physical challenges presented to her. When the fighting started, Steve was more than interested, as he'd only ever used guns and his shield to get things done and the sword-versus-fan sequence at the end was great. In the end, Steve didn't get any sketching done as he was too busy watching the movie. He didn't mind though, because it helped take his mind off more somber matters.
When the film was finished, Eleanore closed her laptop, on which she had been typing almost incessantly, only glancing up occasionally.
"How did you like it?" she asked.
"It was great," Steve replied. "I can see why you like it."
"Yeah," Eleanore yawned and sighed. "It's nice to see a Disney princess film where the protagonist actually does something other than look pretty." Another yawn.
"Tired?" Steve asked, noting the time. Only nine-thirty, but she's been worn out since we got back.
"I'm okay to stay up for a while," Eleanore protested, but she yawned again and Steve stood and took her plate to the sink along with his own. "You don't have to clean up after me all the time." Eleanore rose slowly and came to the kitchen where she began putting the roast and its side items into plastic containers and placing them in the refrigerator. The dog followed and sat out of their way, watching.
"You cooked, so I put the dishes in the sink," Steve said amiably. "I didn't wash them."
"Yeah, and I'm not going to until morning." Eleanore stretched and patted Jet on the head. He accepted it, but didn't look like he enjoyed it.
"So you are tired," Steve teased.
"Mind your own business." Eleanore suggested as she pulled a water bottle out of the refrigerator. "I'll show you to your room."
She led Steve to the door on the right side of the living room and opened it, letting out a faint, sweet scent like a mixture of fruit and flowers. She clicked the light on, and Steve saw a full bed with a faded blue coverlet, a dresser with a mirror, a small desk opposite the bed, and a closed closet door. The walls were white, and a few of what Steve assumed to be Eleanore's paintings adorned them in easy-to-see places.
"Smells nice," he commented, bringing his bag in and setting it down on the bed.
"Thanks, I put an air freshener in here when I changed the sheet, which was this morning." Eleanore indicated a small white cone on the dresser. "There are extra blankets in the dresser, and the top three drawers are cleaned out if you want to put your clothes away. Feel free to use the desk, and make sure the blinds are closed when you're getting dressed because it's really easy for people to see in from the street. Do you have a toothbrush?"
"Yeah," Steve was finding it easier to keep up with Eleanore's sudden changes in direction.
"Okay then," she looked at her own watch and back to Steve with an apologetic smile. "I'm going to get ready for bed quick, and then the bathroom and apartment is all yours."
"I'll hit the sack too," Steve replied, following her back into the living room.
"Oh, do you want the bathroom first?" Eleanore asked, turning from her path to face him again.
"No, I'm good to wait."
"Okay, I'll just be a few minutes."
Steve stood looking around the living room for a moment as Eleanore disappeared into the bathroom. Then he went back into 'his' bedroom and opened his bag to grab a toothbrush and toothpaste. He could still hear that Eleanore was in the bathroom, so he took the opportunity to unpack his clean clothes and put them in the dresser. The all fit into the top drawer. I need to do laundry. And get some more clothes.
Steve was retuning to the living room when the bathroom door opened and Eleanore emerged looking much the same as when she'd gone in.
"All yours," she stated with a small smile. "Oh, do you exercise in the morning?"
"Yeah, I usually do."
"Do you want my gym I.D. card so you can go there?"
"Sure, but won't you need it?"
"Ha," she laughed shortly. "Tomorrow I have a nine A.M. class, which might not sound early to you, but I'm going to get up and do homework before it so no. I don't need my card tomorrow." She fell silent and disappeared into her room for a moment.
"As long as you won't miss it. Thanks," Steve suddenly realized how much he had to thank her for, but before he found the words she returned and spoke again.
"It's no problem. And here," she turned from her purse with a card and a slip of paper in her hand. "I made a list of things you need to do to get settled in your apartment. I'll help as much as I can, but there's some things, like mattress shopping, that you can take care of. I wrote the name of the stores next to the things you need to get, and I wrote what most things should cost so you don't get stiffed—"
"Wait, when did you do all this?" Steve asked incredulously. You were only in the bathroom for five minutes.
"While we were watching the movie," Eleanore said nonchalantly, shrugging it off. "I have classes the next couple of days, and I didn't want to hold you back from getting things done, so I made you a list with advice." She paused and tilted her head slightly to one side, her expression taking on a jovial light, "It's either helpful or bossy: you can decide later. I'm going to bed though." She looked exhausted as she shut the kitchen lights off and turned on a lamp beside the couch.
"Well thanks," Steve said, still a little taken aback as he examined the list. It was very detailed and organized, and it included side notes like, "Don't be afraid to haggle for free delivery," and "This store has the best-priced food, but don't buy meat there."
"Goodnight," Eleanore said from the doorway of her room.
"Goodnight," Steve replied and watched her disappear inside. She left the door partway open, and he assumed it was for the dog who jumped on the couch and laid down. Steve went back into his room and laid the list and card on the dresser before he got ready for bed as well and grabbed the notebook and pencil off the end table on his way back to his room. He stayed up doodling flashes of memory from the War, which helped him sort his thoughts and wind down. Then he shut off his own light and fell into a sleep filled with dreams of a young Peggy dancing with him in a victory parade.