Chapter 13

I fixed the Laufyson/Lokison thingy in the last chapter. It was like 2 am while writing that so my brain was like half asleep. But yes, it is Harry Lokison. I apologize for my stupidity.

I like bowties. Bowties are cool. I own a bowtie.

I like the Avengers and HP. The Avengers and HP are cool. But I don't own the Avengers and HP.

I acutally don't own a bowtie either.

I wished I owned a bowite though.

I wished I owned the Avengers and HP.

I don't though.

Okay, I think you got the idea.

The reason this is rated T is starting to come into play. Because Tony Stark has quite a vocabulary, and so do I, and I do intend to use it.

"No Harry, you would not work with the Avengers. Not yet. But I want you to get some training. If you're on our side, which I presume you are-"

Harry nodded.

"-then I'll want you will some strength for when we fight. Because there will be a battle, and when that day comes, Lord help us," Fury stared at Harry with his one good eye. "Captain?"

"Yes, Director?"

"I will be putting Harry under your care for his training. He shall stay with you in your apartment."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! When did I agree to this?!" Steve stood up abruptly. "No offense Harry-"

"None taken."

His fist slammed the table, and he faced Fury with furious [no pun intended] eyes. "But I have never raised a family or a kid or anything! My childhood consisted of an abusive father and a dying mother and getting bullied at school. I don't know anything about what to do for a kid! Director, I-I can't!"

"Of all the things Stars 'n' Stripes has done in his life... I mean, tell him to go on a suicidal mission with no extraction plan, easy. Give him a kid for a month, and bam, he's scared as hell," Stark leaned back in his chair, feet rudely on the table.

"Stark, shut up," Natasha wacked him on the back of the head.

Tony cussed. "What the fuck was that for?!"

"Guess," Tasha hissed.

"Director-" Steve began to argue again, but was cut off by a raise of the agent's hand.

"Rogers, you're the only one I can trust with this assignment."

"Gee, thanks," Clint raised his hand dramatically.

"Because," Fury continued, "Romanoff and Barton are about to be assigned missions in Brazil-"

"We are? Okay then," Natasha shrugged.

"LEMME FINISH MY SENTENCES!"

"Right. Sorry. Continue."

"Tony is a drunk and a pain in my ass."

Stark shrugged, not willing to deny it.

"With his anger management, I wouldn't give Banner the responsibility of Harry, and also, I presume Thor is returning to Asgard sometime soon. Thus leaves you. And if that's not enough to convince you, that let me add that you are the only one on this team who even has morals!"

Steve said nothing. Nobody did. A silence engulfed the room, strong and oppressive. It wasn't until Harry's hesitants words that it contained another sound. "When would I move in with the Captain?"

"Right now, if you're ready," the Director faced him.

At this, Steve's head snapped toward Fury with an unrecognizable expression.

"I am ready," Harry nodded. He gently asked Steve, "Are you?"

Collecting himself, Rogers finally sat back down. With an even monotone, he answered: "Yes."

A metallic click sounded as Steve unlocked the oak door. He let Harry go in first, and then he followed. It was small, maybe five rooms at the most. As you walked in, there was a round dining room table, and a tiny kitchen to the left. The next room was more of a living room with a couch opposite an old TV with a VHS player underneath in the shelves. A few videotapes lay scattered around it. Beyond that, Harry could see another door and a hallway. What caught Harry's eye was stuck in the corner of the dining room: a World War 2, complete Army uniform in perfect condition. The label read "ROGERS".

"It's not much. Best I can do on an Army salary in New York City. Help yourself to any food that I may have. The remote to the TV is probably in the couch or somethin' if you want to watch cable. Uhhh," Steve ran his fingers through his hair, and dropped his leather bag then shield onto the table with a clank.

"Is this your uniform?" Harry walked over to the suit and felt the fabric.

"Yes, sir. Used until 1942. They had it in the Smithsonian, but U.S. government returned it to me."

"Wow. It's...impressive."

"You think so?" Steve squatted down next to him with a gentle smile.

"What are all these pins?"

And for the next half-hour, Steve patiently explained the various badges and awards on his uniform, and Harry, throughly fascinated, enjoyed every second of it. He interrupted every now and again to ask a question, but other than that, stood quietly and absorbed the History lesson.

When he was done, Harry questioned, "Do you have any other memorobilia?"

"Quite a bit, actually. S.H.I.E.L.D. and the government gave me a bunch of stuff they had saved through the years from my era. Most of it is actually is in what's to become your bedroom. C'mon."

Steve led the way through the two rooms and took a left when he met the hall. Inside, it opened up to a decent-sized room, with a chair, a junior bed and just as Steve had promised: shelves full of WW2 items.

There were guns, helmets, and posters. But what intrigued Harry most were the dog tags and files. Laid out neatly atop a hardwood dresser, each with a silver, engraved dog tag on top, were sheets of old-looking paper that seemed as if they had been from the Army. Harry realized after a closer look that they were some kind of profile for soldiers. Each one had either "Retired" or "Deceased" stamped on it.

"Who are these people?" he asked.

"Those are my family. My only family."

"You don't look alike..."

Steve smiled. "There's a difference between family, and blood-relatives."

"Like me and my parents..." Harry muttered. "What about your parents?" his picked up one of the cool metal tags in his hand and let his body heat warm it.

"My father was an abusive drunk and my mother died of leukemia when I was fourteen. I don't have parents."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"

"Don't worry about it kid. That was about a hundred years ago...literally," he offered a weak grin. "Now are you hungry? I'm hungry. One thing to remember about me, I am always hungry. I don't know if I have much food, though."

Harry shrugged but didn't decline. Following Steve back to the kitchen, he waited silently by the door as the Captain dug through his cupboards. On accident, his elbow hit his telephone and the voice messages started to play.

"Oh dammit," he cursed under his breath. The answering machine appeared to ignore him.

"Hey Steve. It's Clint. S.H.I.E.L.D.'s really starting to get pissed with you not answering the phone. They're about to send agents pretty soon. Please just pick up. Because they're being serious."

"Yo Capsicle. If you don't pick up now I'm getting into my car and driving to your apartment. I'm gonna give you 20 seconds. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20. Okay. You asked for it."

"Shut it," Steve desperately pressed buttons. After being unsuccessful he just ripped the cord from the wall. "Next time," he pointed at the device. "I'll shoot the living daylights out of you."

Harry giggled nervously.

"Well, unless you want to eat my phone for me, it looks like we're going out. You don't mind riding like a girl on a motorcycle, do you?"

"Pardon?"

"Or we could walk."

"Walking sounds nice."

"Ok then. Walking it is."