Chapter 17: Being a Role Model

AN: this is a side chapter from Steve's perspective mostly. A lighter chapter before the really dark stuff happens.

Warning the chapter contains prejudice and racism.

On to the Fic

Steven woke up in his own bed, much to his confusion, and to the sound of his phone going off. The blond groaned and pulled the blanket over his head to try to block out the incessant ringing, before he gave up. He pulled the blanket off his head with a huff and pinned it to the bed under in arms. With a grumbling snarl, Steven called on his powers to bring the phone to his hand. He went to answer the call when the caller id on the screen registered: Jonathan. Steven stared at the phone with a pooling sense of dread growing in his stomach before he took a deep breath to gather his courage and steel whatever nerves that had begun to flutter, and answered the call.

"Jonathan," Steven said with the driest and most deadpan voice he could muster, "why are you calling me at such an ungodly hour."

"Steven," Jonathan answered with hesitance, "I found something that I think you should know about." Steven groaned and flopped back onto his pillows. He spent a second staring at the ceiling questioning the powers that be as to why all this crap had to be dropped in his lap all at once. He glanced at the old clock on his nightstand for a moment and let out an even louder, more despairing groan.

"Jonny," Steven groused, "it's 0500, can't it wait another two hours. Ya know, when more sane people are awake." When Jonathan didn't quip back about Steven's so called sleeping habits, Steven froze and that feeling of cold dread returned. "Jonathan, what happened?" Steven asked quietly. He heard Jonathan gulp and he could feel his brother's emotions steel from their rolling anxiety to a more crystal calm across their psychic bond. Suddenly Steven's own feelings of dread ratcheted up another notch before Jonathan spoke and the world crystalized into perfect clarity.

"I've been eyeing a project over here at SHIELD," Jonathan started.

"Go on," Steven encouraged.

"It came up on my radar a few months ago," he explained, "but from what I can tell it's been in the works long before that. Now this normally wouldn't send up so many red flags, but this project is much bigger than those ones, and with a much higher security clearance."

"Okay," Steven said and he silently urged his brother on.

"It's a level 9 Project," Jonathan explained and suddenly Steven's pool of anxiety solidified into a lump of dread. "And the only reason I found it was because I caught some chatter from the engineering department talking about it. They called it Project Insight," Jonathan paused and Steven felt the concern return across their bond, "and after a little digging using your Alpha level clearance codes, I found out a little more about it. Steven," Jonathan said shakily, "I think it might be HYDRA."

Steven suddenly went ridged and sat upright, his full attention now on his brother and what he was feeling across the bond.

"How," he asked. Gone was the brotherly tone from before, and in its place was a cold professionalism that became razor sharp at the mention of that name. Steven heard Jonathan swallow hard and bury his nerves.

"I don't have any proof, yet, but the project description labeled it as a pre-emptive measure against further attacks, and threats," Jonathan explained. "But Steven, you don't need this kind of firepower unless you're planning to use it." Steven felt his heart rate speed up then slow down as the years of conditioning kicked in to push aside the anxiety and bring everything into razor focus. Steven threw the blankets off his form and slipped out of bed to move to his desk. With a mere thought his computer was already turning on and going through the start-up sequence for securing the internet connection and IP.

"Jonathan," Steven ordered, "Start from the beginning: tell me everything!"

Steve was having a fairly good day. Not too many mission parameters that required him present, so he was just playing mission leader from HQ. He was looking forward to having a day with Andrew, as he had just tied up his own case in the Midwest, and was heading home for a long well deserved holiday. Steve was just packing away his gym gear and uniform when he heard his name next to his shoulder.

"Captain Rogers," the man said and Steve looked up and saw a young man in his late thirties maybe forties standing beside him with a pleading look in his hesitant face. He was dark haired with very pale skin and strikingly pale blue eyes. Overall pleasantly attractive, and kind looking, but something about him had Steve's hackles rising. Steve shook off the slight feeling of unease and smiled as he stood back up. The man barely came up to his chin, but still Steve was on edge.

"Can I help you," Steve asked. The man smiled sheepishly and ducked his head to hide a blush.

"Nicholas," he introduced himself, holding out his hand to shake. "Nicholas Eukheri, sir. I'm with special operations object retrieval, here at SHIELD. We've met a few times." Steve wracked his brain for the memory and was greeted with a vague memory of the man during a debriefing or two, where Steve was involved with artifact retrieval. Steve smiled warmly and put on as friendly of an air as he could, even as his instincts were telling him to back out and leave.

"You did a few of my debriefings for a while there," Steve admitted. Nicholas nodded. "What can I help you with?"

"I know that we barely know each other, but," Nickolas said and bit his lip nervously, "you're my son's idol, and…" Steve smiled warmly and nodded in understanding.

"Autograph," Steve asked with a quirked brow and crooked smile. Nickolas huffed out a frustrated breath.

"I wish it were that easy," he admitted. Steve's brow furrowed in concern.

"Oh," he asked, prompting the other man to continue.

"My son, Alexander," Nickolas started, "he's a good boy; straight A's in all his classes, good extracurricular work, and all that. But lately, he's been distant, to both me and his mother. His grades haven't slipped yet, but his teachers have started expressing concern. They say he seems distracted and not aware of things, and at other times he's hyper focused and jittery." Steve's brows pulled together in worried thought.

"How old is he," Steve asked.

"16," Nickolas answered, "just had his birthday last month. His mother, my wife Sonia; you've met her you know what she's like." A spark of recognition flared and suddenly Steve knew exactly what was going on. "She said it's just as faze that all teens have, but just yesterday, I don't know what happened, but she changed her tune and thinks he needs to talk to someone that isn't emotionally invested in it."

Sonia was a field agent and a damn good one too. She and Nat were occasionally paired up together. Her intelligence gathering skills were top notch, so if she was saying that someone needed to talk to her baby boy, get him to open up, then Steve knew it needed to be done pronto.

"Say no more," Steve said as he held up a hand, "I'll talk to him." Steve took a glance at his watch and looked back up, "what time does he get out of school?" Nickolas grinned, and sagged with relief.

"3 o clock," he said, "I'll text him that I'm sending a co-worker over to pick him up." Steve smiled tightly and picked up his duffle bag. He slung it on over his back and walked towards the parking garage and his car.

Today was a car day, not a bike. He may love his Harley but he had too many memories driving a bike like it through the biting cold of winter during the War to be comfortable driving it right now. As he was starting the car he got the weirdest sensation that he just made a deal with the devil. Steve respected people's privacy and swore to himself that whatever Alexander told him would stay between them, no matter what his father wanted.

"So is your dad pickin' you up?" a young boy asked another teen. The other teen shook his head.

"Nah, he's workin' late," he answered with a slight sigh of relief. He frowned as he read his dad's text further. "It looks like he asked a friend from work to pick me up." The other teen rolled his eyes.

"Ya know," he said, "you wouldn't have to deal with this if your parents just let you take Drivers Ed." He raises a condescending brow at his blond friend who groaned in return, and attempted to defend them.

"Oh, come on, Rick," he said, "That's not fair. My mom works a lot and my dad is just as bad, they don't have time to take me out driving. And besides the deal was that I have to get all A's this semester before they'll let me take It." the other teen rolled his eyes, and looked back down at his cellphone.

"I'm just sayin', Alex," Rick said, "if you took the class we could go out more, and you could get away from your dad more." A honk from a dark green sports car made him look up, and dash to the car. "Ride's here! See ya later, Alex!" he shouted as he slipped into the car. Alex sighed a little and rolled his eyes when he caught a glimpse of Rick kissing his girlfriend through the lightly tinted glass.

"Like you'd go out with me when you've got Missy now," Alex mumbled as he looked down at his phone again. A minute later a car rumbled to a stop at the curb and the door opened. Alex didn't look up, assuming it was the ride of one of his other classmates.

"Alexander," a voice called from the direction of the car and Alex rolled his eyes reflexively.

"Alex," he shot back as he put his phone in his bag. "You work with my dad," he asked not bothering to look up. A light baritone chuckle resonated in front of him, and suddenly Alex realized that the parking lot and all of the teens nearby had gone quiet.

"Ya could say that," the man answered cryptically and Alex looked up, and up, and up. His jaw dropped open once he realized he was face to chest, really, with none other than Steve Rogers, AKA Captain America.

"Hi," Alex squeaked his voice cracking as it hadn't for a few years. He cleared his throat and deliberately lowered it to a deeper timber, and repeated, "Hi." A scarlet blush bloomed across Alex's face, when Captain Rogers laughed and smiled brightly, and he couldn't help the pit of mortified shame that appeared in his gut.

"It's okay, Alex," Captain Rogers said, with a chuckled and warm smile. "I've been there before." Alex smiled softly in relief before he noticed that the car that Captain Rogers had obviously driven was still running.

"you," Alex started looking back between the car and Captain Rogers standing there so casually arms folded across his massive chest, a crooked smirk on his face and a mirthful twinkle in his eyes.

"Work with your dad," Captain Rogers finished for him, his brow still cocked and his smile still full of mischief. "Yeah, I work with him. Actually," he amended with a slight roll of his eyes, "I work with your mom more than him. But he asked me to pick you up, and I thought that we could see some of the sites. Maybe grab a snack," the Captain enticed and quirked his brow again, "I might even let you pick my brain for your history project your mom told me about. History of DC during the War, wasn't it? I might be able to tell you more about it than some dusty old text book." Alex's confounded shock quickly morphed into gleeful enthusiasm, as he nodded emphatically with a wide grin.

"Yeah," Alex said, and Captain Rogers's smile became less teasing and more genuine and warm. "Yeah, I'd love that, Captain Rogers."

"Good," the Captain said and nodded back to the car, "well come on, kid. We're burnin' daylight." Alex dashed around the car and clambered into the front seat. "And it's Steve; not Captain," he said after he folded himself into the driver's seat. Alex smiled brightly, and just knew that there were stars in his eyes from the hero worship, but he didn't mind.

"Sure, Steve," he said as Steve pulled them out of the school drive and out onto the street.

Steve had taken Alex all over town, pointing out sights that he remembered from during the war, and during is war bond tour days. Alex absorbed all of this information like a sponge, greedily jotting down notes about some historic building or site. Steve watched all of this with a keen eye looking for the caution and hesitance he was expecting from the kid, and finding nothing like the boy's father had described. In fact, Alex was a lively and exuberant boy who truly loved hearing Steve's stories or opinions on historical figures or events. But there was a distance between them, like that of an older man and an idolizing teen, and underpinning that was a caution he hadn't seen before. Steve felt it was akin to an abandoned cat or dog hesitantly reaching out to someone new after a time of distrust. He wanted to trust Steve but he was scared.

After a good two hours wandering the city in a meandering but purposeful manner, Steve capped the trip off by stopping at a retro diner for a midafternoon snack. Steve knew if Alex was anything like Andrew at this stage then he was a bottomless pit always eager for filling with whatever junk-food it could get. Steve himself had what he called "hobbit meals": medium sized quick filling snacks in between his larger meals. This was his "afternoon tea" so to speak, and for a young male teen on the cusp of another growth spurt, a welcome snack before supper.

"Hey, Steve," the large black woman in a blue waitress uniform called from behind the counter. "Be with ya in just a minute, hon." Steve sent her his brightest smiles a waved her off, moving over to his usual booth over in the corner with clear sight-lines to the front door, back door and bathrooms. Even a well-adjusted former soldier like him got paranoid with his back to a door.

"Hey, Georgina," Steve called back, "take yer time." the woman, Georgina smiled indulgently and picked up a couple of menus before topping off an older man's mug of coffee. She maneuvered her way around the counter with practiced ease and came over to their table.

"Hello there sweetie," She said as she placed the menu down in front of Alex. "You want anything special, hon, or just the usual," Georgina asked taking out the order pad from her apron pocket and clicking her pen. Steve smiled at her usual friendliness, and looked over to Alex. The teen was looking at all the options with serious contemplation.

"Just my usual, Georgina," Steve said, "and make my drink a malt-twist, you know the way I like it." Georgina hummed with a raised brown and indulgent smile as she jotted down the order.

"One everything Paddy, hold the cries and a side of twisted fries, heavy on the cheese and pickles," Georgina said as she wrote it down.

"Hold the cries," Alex asked with a confused look. Steve grinned.

"Onions," Steve said, and Alex nodded in understanding. "It was my mother's shorthand when we had burgers."

"What's in the 'Everything Paddy'," Alex asked.

"That's our house special," Georgina said, "it's a double decker burger fried on our griddle with two slices of cheese topped with onions, pickles, lettuce, bacon, ketchup, mustard, mayo, ranch, with a slice of tomato on a toasted pretzel bun; it comes with your choice of either stake, shoe string, curly fries, or our double battered onion rings. You can also have your choice of a soda or malt or shake." Alex looked back down at the menu before looking back up.

"I guess I'll have that, no onions, or mustard, and the onion rings," Alex said. Georgina jotted down the order.

"Uh huh," she hummed, "and the drink?"

"What's a malt twist," Alex asked.

"Oh, that's our twisted Malt or Shake," Georgina said, "those are our flavors," she pointed to a list on the back, "and you can pick any two combinations of them and we'll twist 'em together for a special drink." Alex looked down at the flavors for a second before he looked up with a small smile.

"May I have chocolate strawberry twisted malt?" he asked with a smile. Georgina grinned and jotted this down.

"Yes you may, Sweetie," she said. Steve looked at him with a warm smile.

"I never had a malt before," Alex said. "What are they like?" Steve smile pensively, before he answered.

"They're a lot like a shake, but a little richer, and sweeter," he said, "but it's a milky sweetness. It goes great with salty foods." A wistful smile stole across his face as he remembered the first time Bucky took him to a diner and got him one. "I was about your age when I first got one." Alex's eyebrows shot up in shock.

"Really," he asked his voice almost incredulous. "You never had one before?" Steve just shook his head and smiled indulgently.

"Nope," he answered, "Ice cream was a real treat when I was your age, and a malt, or a milkshake, even more so." Steve's smile turned soft and wistful; a touch of melancholy flickered in his eyes. "Buck had saved up for a whole month for that treat; got us both burgers and malted shakes." Steve chuckled and his smile turned sad, "its days like this I miss him the most." Steve glanced up and saw Alex's curiosity, and he gladly jumped on the chance to get him to open up; even if it meant talking about Bucky. "Buck understood just how to talk to people, how to make 'em laugh or open up. All he had to do was start chatting about this or that at work, and somehow I'd start talkin' about things that were buggin' me. He was a good soldier, and an even better friend. He knew just how to deflate my ego and pull me off my high horse when I was startin' to get all puffed up, ya know? When things were rough, and they were pretty rough, more often than not, he'd just sit there and talk and listen when I wanted an ear to talk to; but what I really need was a friend. He was the friend I needed the most, just when I needed him." Steve looked up from his worrying hands and saw Alex's thoughtful look.

Steve reached across the table slowly and gently placed his hand on Alex's, giving them a gentle squeeze. Alex looked up and Steve gave his uncertain look a warm and inviting one of his own.

"If you need to talk, I'm here," Steve said. "I won't tell your mom, or your dad. Whatever you say to be will be kept in the strictest confidence." Alex looked up at Steve and worried his lip. He opened his mouth to talk, but whatever he was about to say was stopped by Georgina returning with their orders.

Steve can see Alex's thoughtful musing as they ate their meals. Steve had just finished eating the last of his fries and was sipping at his malt, when he saw Alex look up and hesitate. Steve put his drink down and gave the boy his full attention. Several times Alex seemed to gather his nerve and open his mouth to speak before a look of fear bloomed in his eyes and he stopped.

"Alex," Steve asked, and the boy looked at him with wide pleading eyes. "What's wrong? You know you can tell me. I can see somethin's eatin' at ya." Steve ducked his head down to catch Alex's eye. "Hey," Steve said softly, "it's okay. You can tell me I won't tell anyone, I promise." Alex looked away and stared at the salt shaker sitting between them on the table. He glanced up at Steve then back down, and Steve followed his gaze. He watched as Alex slowly unfolded his arms and placed his hand on the table several inches away. Alex carefully uncurled his hand and opened it as if to pick something up. Steve watched as nothing seemed to happen for a second, seeing the intense focus on the teen's face, before out of the corner of his eye he saw movement. Steve's gaze snapped back to the table and the salt shaker, and watched in shock as it skittered a bit in place before he slid smoothly across the table and into Alex's hand. Steve sat in numb silence for a moment before he found his voice again.

"Alex," he asked tentatively, "did you do that?" the teen slowly and guiltily nodded, fear and yearning warring in his eyes as he looked back up at Steve. Steve drew back and sat back into the booth for a moment as he took the boy in. Steve brought a hand to his mouth to try to hide his shock, before a thought popped into his head. His hand dropped and he sat up straight to look at the boy as Alex wrung his hands on the table in front of him, worrying the shaker between them.

"There's more, isn't there," Steve said, and Alex nodded.

"I can… sometimes… hear people talking," Alex said, as he looked at the shaker in his hands, "when their lips aren't moving." Steve felt as if the air had been knocked out of him, like a sucker punch to the gut. He was suddenly and viscerally reminded of his nephew in all but blood, Steven, when his powers had first manifested, screaming about the voices being too loud. If Alex's powers had slowly unfurled over time rather than all at once, it must have felt as if he was losing his mind.

"Alex," Steve finally said, reaching out to take the teen's hand's in his own. Alex flinched before he relaxed, and Steve had to let go of the ache that wanted to settle in his chest that a sign of comfort would cause the boy to flinch. "Son," Steve said and Alex looked up at him with wet eyes, "you have a gift. There is nothing wrong with it, or with you. You don't have to be afraid. You have nothing to be ashamed of." Suddenly Alex's tears burst to overflowing and his soulful big eyes became terrified.

"Please, don't tell my dad," Alex begged. Steve looked at him in confusion, and Alex broke down even further into silent sobbing.

"Alex," Steve asked slowly and carefully, an awful and sickening feeling settling in his gut that he knew the answer, but needed to hear it from him. "Why don't you want me to tell your father?" Alex crumpled in on himself pulling away from Steve's hand's to hug himself in fear. Steve could see the terror rolling in the teen's eyes and pale face. "Alex," Steve asked firmly, "Why?" Alex snapped out of his head and looked at Steve, his body shaking with terror.

"I overheard him talking to someone on the phone," Alex started, still shaking but his voice certain. "He said… he said that… that Mutants are dangerous; Freaks. They're not human, and they should be rounded up and locked away. It wasn't the first time I heard him say that either," Alex said, his form more confident now that it was off his chest. "He doesn't say it around mom, but he and grandpa talk about it a lot." Alex looked at him with hope, and all Steve could feel was stunned and numb shock. He sat back in his chair and tried not to let his horror show. He knew from his neighbors that gifted people like Steven weren't liked but he thought that since New York, at least, things would be getting better. Steve didn't like being wrong, and he especially didn't like being wrong about the people he thought trusted him. Steve wasn't that much different from his nephew, and if the only thing that made them different was that Steven was born that way and Steve wasn't; well, it left a sour taste in his mouth that he didn't like.

After a moment of thinking Steve set his jaw and looked at the teen before him, all but pleading for him to believe him. If there was one thing in his life that he hated it was a Bully, and Steve wasn't about to let this one hurt a good kid, even if that bully was the kid's father.

"Alex," Steve said his voice firm and confident, "I promise, I won't tell him. You have my word, but you have to tell your mother," Steve added as Alex sagged in relief. The look of skepticism on his face made Steve smile a little, "trust me, you need to tell her. She'll understand; most moms do. You need to tell her everything: your powers, your father; what he said, all of it. You need to come clean to her, or this fear will eat you up inside. The fact that he doesn't say those things in front of her is a good thing. You'll be surprised how much it helps. Okay?" Alex looked at him for a moment before he hesitantly nodded.

"Okay," he said, "I'll tell her." With that, the tension that was winding up Steve's spine released and the two relax into their booths to finish the rest of their meal in silence.

Steve walked into his apartment and saw Andrew reading through something on his computer. He smiled and set his coat on the rack by the door and placed his keys in the dish on a table by the door. The clatter of the keys in the dish alerted Andrew who looked up and smiled.

"Ada," Andrew said, closing his laptop and standing up from his chair. "You're home late." Steve smiled and pulled his son into a tight hug. "Ada, what's wrong." Steve pulled away his expression troubled and a little sad.

Steve ruminated on the thought for a long moment before he pulled Andrew over to the sofa.

"A colleague of mine asked me to talk to his son," Steve stared, and Andrew sat down and diligently listened his expression open as Steve talked. "He'd been distant and on edge around him and Nicholas thought that I could help, being a third party and the kid's literal hero." Andrew looked at Steve concerned and wondering.

"And you did," he asked.

"Yeah," Steve said, and his face suddenly hardened and grew sad all at once. Andrew's eyes widened a little at the expression but gently nudged Steve on.

"What happened?" he asked, and Steve took a bracing breath, before answering.

"I took him around town, showed him the sights, ya know," Steve started, "told him stories about the old days, and how things had changed. Then I took him out to eat, and got him to talk," he said, "ya know, really talk. About what was buggin' him and," Steve heaved a huge sigh and looked at Andrew. The look in his eyes was overwhelmed sorrow and helpless anger. "He told me, Andy, that he's… a Mutant, just like Stevie." Andrew sighed a little and pushed Steve on.

"Was that all," he asked. And Steve shook his head.

"No," Steve answered, the helpless look once again returned to his eyes, "God I wish it was." Steve took a bracing breath and plowed on, "his father's a Mutant hater; his Grandfather too. I never even knew, and I work with the man. He's given me assignments, and to think that he would hate people so much as to want to round them up like chattel, to be locked away in cages; I just can't believe it." Andrew swallowed carefully and answered the unasked question.

"Some people are just built on hate, and can't stand anything that they see as aberrant or wrong by their view point," he said. Steve let out a bitter chuckle and ran his hand through his hair, rubbing his face and neck as he came to grips with what he just learned.

"I know that, Andrew," Steve said, "I've met some pretty twisted people in my day, most of them looked perfectly normal. But this," Steve shook his head and looked at his hands, sorrow and grief and helpless rage all warring within him. When he looked up there were tears in his eyes. "He was scared, Andrew, so scared; of his father, of me! I can't believe he was so scared of me," Steve said, "like I would hate him, hurt him, simply for being different! I couldn't do that, not even to my own sons; to anyone's son or daughter." Andrew's face closed off for a moment and became blank. "Andrew, what is it?"

"And if I was different," Andrew asked, his eyes guarded and hiding fear. "If I had gifts like Alex, what would you think?" Steve looks at his son and asked the looming question.

"Are you?"

Andrew looked at his lap and wrung his hands for a moment before steeling himself to answer.

"Telepathy, and Telekinesis," he answered, "I've known for a few months. It's showed up during training. The FBI found someone to train me, and keep it quiet. I use as part of my interrogation technique." Steve was stunned to silence and just looked at his son for a long moment. Afraid of the silence Andrew looked up, and Steve saw the yearning for acceptance in his eyes and pulled his son in for a tight hug.

"You are my son, Andrew," Steve said softly yet firmly by his son's ear, and Andrew melted into the embrace. "You will always be my son, Mutant or not." Steve pulled away and wiped the tears off Andrew's cheeks. "I suspected something for a while," Steve admitted to Andrew's shocked face.

"Why didn't you say something," he asked, and Steve chuckled weakly.

"I wanted you to tell me first," he answered. Andrew smiled before a little word clicked in his head.

"Sons," Andrew asked with shock and a raised brow. Steve's smile was self-deprecating and bitter sweet joy.

"Yeah, there's been something I've been needing to tell ya," Steve said. "You have a brother, Andrew. His name is Joseph, and he wants to meet you." Andrew's face was drawn in complete shock, as he attempted to wrap his mind around this new information.

"A brother," he finally asked once he found his voice, "how?" Steve smiled softly but brightly and explained everything he knew about his new son to Andrew and by the end, he hoped the two would love each other as much as he loved Bucky.

TBC…

End note: this chapter was a pain to write! Mostly because of what comes next. Beware all ye who enter here, there be monsters: I'm preemptively warning you the next Chapter arch will contain some very dark themes. Hence the high age limit, and the many warnings, some of which might be spoilery, so be nice.

Please read, and review. Your kudos gives me muse feed.

Next Chapter: Confronting the Past part 1