He puts on the clothes Cap had brought. They are less grating than anything else he's tried on, so he tries to ignore the little bit of it he can still feel.
—I just tune it out— Cap had said
The tag scrapes against his neck and he almost rips it to shreds in annoynace right then and there.
"Jarvis?"
Yes, sir?
"I want the softest clothes known to man shipped here in Cap's size. Like a whole fucking wardrobe. Right now. Understood? Pronto."
Yes, sir. Then there's a strange pause, Is this something I'm having delivered to his quarters, or yours?
Tony fingers touch his nose in annoyance, "mine first, and when we get this situation unfucked up, then they can move straight to his."
Understood sir.
A vibrating sound makes him turn his head, tilting it towards the noise. He follows it to the bathroom where Cap's uniform is still in a heap.
With just a touch he can feel the vibration and he understands what it is. After selecting the right pocket, he pulls out Cap's phone.
Shield
Tony grins, sliding to answer, "what's up."
"You were supposed to call after you returned from the mission."
Tony frowns, "Oh yeah? I was supposed to? Why the hell is that?"
A long suffering sigh. "I don't make the rules, Captain Rogers. We've been over this. Until you've been cleared by me, they want you checking in after every mission."
Confusion fills him, cleared?
Tony swipes a holo screen and taps a few buttons, ignoring Jarvis' red warning screens about privacy and how tapping into teammates' phones is vehemently discouraged.
He pulls up Steve's phone records. This number is on file a few times. Definitely less than the amount of missions they've had. He traces the number through Shield's system.
Dr. Janet Corsen. Psychologist.
His eyes widen, Cap has a shrink!?
—until you're cleared by me—
A required therapist.
"Cleared…" he breathes out, "what do I have to do to be cleared?"
Her voice is softer, "like I've explained before, it's just until they feel like you're well adjusted. It's a lot to go through."
"Shield thinks he's not well adjusted?"
There's a pause, "Captain Rogers?"
No. It's fucking Tony Stark. Not that tight-assed prude. But he knows that saying that would open a lot of bad doors.
"Yes." He grits out.
"Any particular reason you're referring to yourself in third person?"
Shit.
"Just a slip. Why do they think I'm not well adjusted?"
"I'm becoming more concerned that you're either asking these questions out of spite or you've suffered a physical and or mental trauma that has caused you to forget. I know you wanted these meetings over the phone but I'm no longer comfortable with that. I would like to schedule a meeting in person. Shield will be in contact with the Tower to work one into your schedule. The sooner the better. Do you understand, Captain?"
He's gape mouthed, eyes wide, unsure of what to say.
"I'll take your silence as a yes, soldier. Don't ignore this. The more you resist the more difficult Shield will make things. Just comply and it can be over with, understood?"
Then she hangs up.
He looks at the phone screen, "That bitch!" His rage is rising, how flippant, how, how, how SHITTY.
"Jarvis!"
Yes, sir?
"I want those phone calls!"
Sir?
"I want the recordings of their past phone calls!"
We don't record Captain Rogers' calls, sir.
He growls at his AI, "Yeah, but you know for a fact that Shield does! I want them. Now!"
That same gripping annoyance from the common room is filling him. LIke a balloon being inflated inside that's pushing against his skin, either about to pop or blow him up from the inside.
—Tell me about her—
— if it starts up again just keep talking about things he likes. Calming things—-
Dread fills him. Puncturing the balloon on it's way.
Calming things.
His breathing elevates, hands shaking as his grips at the shirt on his chest that's still too fucking scratchy.
Sir, your heart rate is way too elevated, even for Captain Rogers' normal rate.
He's panicking. Shaking as he sinks slowly to the floor, kneeling and pressing his head against the carpet.
Cap does this. Cap is used to this. Cap knows how to control whatever the hell he's feeling.
His panic attack grips him, making the ground spin even from his position and making breathing difficult.
Sir, you're having a panic attack. I'm requesting Dr. Banner—
"Don't—" he huffs out, "no. Don't call him."
Calming things.
Pepper.
Malibu.
His cars.
His suit.
He frowns as he realizes the things he's listing are the same things Cap listed upstairs. Is he that obvious?
Another thing he loves pops into his mind.
His collection of vintage liquors..
That's it.
A drink.
He needs a drink. A big one. That will help calm him down. He hops up and practically runs to the bar cart that's in his room.
He pours himself a double and half gulps it down, pouring another but not yet drinking it. He sinks to the floor, leaning against the wall, eyes closed, waiting for the effect to start.
He sips at the second, and waits.
And waits.
And waits.
He then drinks the second one, knowing logically it's too much way too fast.
And yet… nothing.
His panic starts to rise again and he drinks a third double. That should put him on the floor but he feels nothing.
He's standing, hands shaking again and he thinks
Sir—
"Oh fuuuuuuuuuuuuck!" He shouts, "can I not even get drunk!?" He pulls a bottle straight off the cart and starts to drink directly from it.
Sir, I wouldn't advise—-
He puts the bottle down and drops the crystal cup onto the carpet, backing up from it and staring with wide eyes.
He… Had he mentioned this? Had Cap said something?
Too fast. Metabolism too fast.
Same problem with medicine.
He's about to freak out yet again when the phone rings.
Or… it just vibrates but it's so grating to him it might as well be screaming in his ear.
He slides answer. "WHAT!" He snaps out, irritated beyond belief.
"Press conference." Fury's unamused voice answers. "Stark isn't answering his phone, and I don't want that asshole saying something else stupid and pompous. So that means you're up. I want you addressing the damages done. Then I want you steering the conversation towards them rebuilding comms between us and the UN. Do you understand?"
Tony's not at all surprised Fury thinks he's an asshole. He purposely annoys the man. But Fury telling Cap he thinks he'll say something stupid and pompous? That's low.
Kind of.
So Tony does something he rarely does. He takes a deep breath and he tries to think before he speaks.
"I don't think that's a great idea." He responds tightly, "you should have Natasha do it."
"I don't want Natasha. I want America's golden boy up front and center. You're the poster child for goodness so you should just do what you boss is asking you to do."
Tony frowns. That's a helluva way to talk to someone.
The tag scrapes him again as he shifts the phone to his other ear and he almost hisses out loud. "No." He responds, irritated and some how ready to defend Cap. "If you want me at that press conference then you can ask nicely."
He's about to hang up, when he hears a scoff, "excuse me?"
And Tony's about to tell him he's fucking excused when Fury's irritated voice snaps through the phone.
"Let's not pretend I haven't had to hold your hand as you've barely acclimated to this century. I don't know if all that ice froze your brain and made you forget, but you're Shield's proprietary property. You're little frenemy's daddy made sure of that. So you're going to get with the program and do your job. Do you understand?"
Tony's flabbergasted.
How many times a day do people ask Cap if he understands? Like he's a toddler who's being fact checked?
Frenemy's daddy.
Shit that's him. That's Howard.
Before he can think of a smart remark to respond, Fury 'hmmphs' smugly. "That's what I like to hear. The silence of obedience. See you at 4pm." Then there's a click and Tony wants to shatter the phone in his grip.
What the hell. What the actual HELL. Have people been talking to Cap like that the whole time?
His throat goes dry. He knows he has.
The panicky feeling is being jostled against a rage and he's so—
The phone vibrates in his hand again.
A text pops through.
The StarkTech phone unlocks using Cap's face and the text opens.
Hey Grant, your usual is coming in. I know you said you might still be unavailable, but we've got a shift open for you. Let me know.
Tony stares at the text and confusion rises.
Grant?
His dad's voice echoes. Steven Grant Rogers.
What the hell is this all about? He's working shifts under an alias somewhere?
Another text pops through.
How'd the burns heal?
Tony furrows his eyebrows, burns?
Then he hears the gears of the elevator somewhere below him. And water starts running through pipes like someone's taking a shower and the tag scrapes him again and it's too much. He's feeling like he's being tipped over from the inside. Rage, anger, annoyance, fear, confusion, all so sharp and violent against everything being too loud and to grating and its all too fucking much.
He digs both sets of fingers into his skull trying to think of something calming while trying to tune everything out. So many emotions roil through him. He's a bubbling pot about to boil over.
The elevator stops at his floor.
Please be Bruce. He can't handle anyone but Bruce right now. Bruce knows how to control emotions. He can help.
Footsteps approach him. Too soft. Natasha. No, his mind whirs, she doesn't make noise when she walks, who—
"Steve?"
His head pops up and Pepper is there, a suitcase in hand. When his eyes meet hers, her expression softens, "oh, it's okay. It's okay. You're here. You're in 2013. It's alright." Pepper's words confuse him, but he stays rooted in place as her face reads compassion and understanding. She walks slowly towards him, "Do you know who I am?"
"Pepper." The word is easy as it exits his lips. Even if the origin of the question throws him off.
"That's right." She smiles, "do you know where you are?"
"My room."
She shakes her head softly, "No, you're in Tony's room. That's alright. It's fine. Are you hurt?"
"What? No." His breathing is regulating. Her calming presence like a balm. Pepper's here. She helps. She fixes things.
"That's good." Pepper holds out her hand as if waiting for him to grab it.
But Tony lokos at it in confusion. Why would Cap ever grab Pep's hand?
She sees him hesitate and she holds up her hands in surrender, "no contact today? Okay, that's fine." Then she tips her head towards the ceiling. "Jarvis? Would you mind erasing any footage of Steve finding his way in here?"
Ms. Potts, I would advise discussing this further before any action is taken.
Confusion colors her expression and she looks to him, "what happened?"
Tony's still holding Cap's fingers against his skull. And it feels like he's holding the shattered pieces together. What? What? What?
Erase footage?
"Pep." He manages out. "What the hell?"
Pepper's eyebrows raise and she tilts her head, "never heard you call me that before. What happened? Do you know what triggered it?"
"I'm not Cap." He chokes out, finally lowering his hands, "it's me. It's Tony."
She blinks at him, "what?"
"We switched," he rasps out, "I'm Tony. Just in Cap's body."
She takes a step back, "I'm sorry, I don't—"
It's true, Ms. Potts. Mr. Stark first swapped with Dr. Banner. And then with Captain Rogers. We're trying to figure out the cause and solution. Dr. Banner can confirm.
Pepper's eyes grow wide as she takes another step back, "Tony?"
He nods, "it's me, Pep. It's me and it's awful!"
Her brow furrows, "what is?"
"Cap. It's terrible."
"What about it?"
He points helplessly to his head and then gestures to Cap's body.
"Are you experiencing his symptoms?"
He frowns thinking of all the things the serum has enhanced, "yes, it's all too much. All of it."
Pepper's nodding, "PTSD can feel that way. But just like your panic attacks—"
His brain fritzes and he reaches out, snagging her hand causing her to pause. "Wait… what?"
She tilts her head, "what?"
"Cap has PTSD?"
She falls silent and her eyes widen, "oh…" she breathes out, "um…"
"Does he?"
"Isn't that… what you were saying you were experiencing?"
"No, I was saying it all about the serum effects. Wait, how do you know he has PTSD?"
She switches gears like only Pepper can do, "I'm sorry, this is just all a lot, what is happening? How are you in Steve's body?"
"We don't know yet." He answers, taking a deep breath and reaching out, grasping her shoulders. It's strange, usually she's taller than him. It's weird to look down. She looks so small. "All we know is it happens through metal."
"Through… metal?"
"Yeah, like a transfer."
"Then can't you transfer back?"
Tony winces, and then he spends the next 20 minutes explaining everything that's happened.
Pepper's eyes are wide as he explains how everything is dialed to like 1000. And how he's pretty sure Cap is living some double life, and also hounded by Shield.
Pepper grimaces and looks guilty, "I know about the therapist."
"You did?" Tony asks, "since when?"
She looks hesitant to answer but she takes a deep breath and looks out the large windows, "since I found him having an attack inside a stairwell."
"Attack?"
"Flashbacks."
"Flashbacks?"
Annoyance shows on her features and she rolls her eyes, "flashbacks to the war, Tony."
He frowns, "that was like 70 years ago."
Pepper's face grows incredulous before she smacks his arm, "for him it's been less than two years. And when I found him it had been less than 3 months! Don't you realize? His best friend died and then he crashed his plane and then he just woke up? 70 years in the future? Can't you imagine how horrible that would be?"
The reality of Cap's situation slowly worms its way into his brain. "I mean… it's not ideal…" but he's stills defensive, "but the future is so much better."
Pepper sighs, "not to him." Then she waves her hands, "this isn't the point. Does that mean Steve is walking around in your body right now?"
"Yeah." He grouses, "lucky punk."
Sir, you're needed for the press conference. A car is waiting downstairs.
"Shit." He sighs, "I gotta go."
"Press Conference?"
"Fury basically threatened Cap aka me into it. It sucked. Makes me wonder what other shifty shitty things he's said to him."
"Yeah, Fury doesn't exactly have a soft side."
Tony doesn't answer. But he doesn't necessarily agree either. The way Fury had talked to him believing him to be Cap was downright condescending. Like Cap was an annoyance to be handled.
Well.
Tony knows how to handle the press.
He waves goodbye to Pepper and ignores the look of trepidation on her face. He'll do fine.
The driver gives him a weird look but says nothing.
And it isn't until they're half way to Shield that Tony realizes he's still in the comfortable clothes. A soft pair of sweatpants and a soft shirt. Waaay too casual. Or at least more casual than Cap has ever appeared in front of the press.
He shrugs, too late now. Fury can just deal with it.
—
The press are in a tizzy the second he steps into the room.
Flashes make him grin widely, which makes the cameras start to flash more.
"Captain Rogers!"
"Captain Rogers!"
"Captain Rogers!"
He points to a younger reporter three rows back, glasses and excited eyes, "yeah, you."
"Um—" the kid is momentarily stunned and Tony shifts, ignoring the way the shoes feel on his feet and the sound of the buzzing of all the electrical equipment. The dampness hadn't been quite ready yet. But he does seem to be growing a bit more accustomed to the onslaught, or maybe he's just distracted. Unclear. "—is there a reason you're… dressed so casually?"
"That suit is uncomfortable as hell." Tony says with a raised eyebrow, "I'm not going to wear it a second longer than necessary." The crowd of reporter buzz and more hands go up. "Yeah, you."
A woman, probably mid 40's, stands, "Jenny Darren, New York NewsNet, tells us about the mission, why was there so much damage caused?"
He makes an "ugh" sound and then gestures in annoyance at the crowd, "It's like you don't get it. You want us to let the bad guys run rampant? Or stop them? It's simple math. Bad guys destroy. Good guys save. We're not damaging things on purpose. Feel free to fight them yourselves and see if you can avoid being thrown through a building."
The room is silent for a long minute. No hands go up so Tony stands, again realizing how tall he is now, and shrugs his shoulders, "if there's no more idiotic questions. I guess I'm free to go."
"Wait, Captain Rogers!" He turns around, and sees an older gentleman, graying hair and a pencil tucked behind his ear, "are you alright? You don't seem like yourself?"
"You mean I'm not being an overly polite stick in the mud? Or the part where I'm not taking anyone's shit anymore. I do my job. My team does their's. If we fuck up, it's on us. Have a good afternoon—" His brain reminds him about Fury. "Oh yeah, and it would be nice if the UN actually did their job and kept us in the communications loop. Either that or stop asking for our help. It's very simple. Have a good day." Then he leaves, fighting the annoyance and irritation that had started to rise when the old man had asked his question.
—are you alright? You don't seem like yourself?—-
What? Cap was so fucking boring people could tell in an instant something was off becuase Tony gave him an actual personality? He frowns and stalks out the back to the waiting car. Slamming the door as he enters. The crack and resounding shatter actually scares him and he flinches back.
The window glass sprays out the side and down onto the seat and he stares at it in shock for a minute before looking towards the driver who is shocked as well.
"Just go." He snaps.
The driver nods and Tony claps hands over his ears as the sound of loud New York Streets slink past.
—
He doesn't even make it to the back door of the tower before Pepper is glaring at him, hands on her hips, "what the hell was that!"
It's crazy how immediate the reaction is. So visceral. LIke it's taking his defensive annoyance and amplifying it by a thousand.
Which… to be fair is probably exactly what the serum is doing.
"What." He snaps, trying to walk past her.
Then Pepper surprises him by pointing a finger at him, "you think being an asshole was the right way to go? You think because you hate Steve so much that you can abuse this situation? Tony, Tony, I love you but what are you thinking? You're better than this! Can't you imagine the blowback this is going to get?"
He pulls back, "all I did was tell the truth—"
"Like Tony Stark! You acted just like yourself. That's not Steve—"
"Why the hell do you keep calling him Steve." He grits out.
And Pepper's eyes flash, "because that's his name. And no amount of you distancing yourself from him by calling him nicknames will take away the hurt you feel at how your father idolized him. Which he never asked for by the way."
His eyes are widening, "Don't you dare—"
She doesn't back down, "you think he doesn't know? Doesn't see? You said it on the helicarrier where he could hear you? 'That's the guy my dad never shut up about?'" She shakes her coppery hair, "you're—" her phone lets out a loud ding and she pauses. Concern and confusion radiates from her expression throwing his high emotions into battle,
"What is it?"
"That's your sound."
"My… sound?"
"The sound my phone makes when you start trending on social media. I have an alert so I can catch it early with Jarvis or call the press to put out the fire." She pulls out her phone.
Tony leans over, "you what?"
She glares at him like he can't possibly be surprised and taps on the Twitter button.
She goes to trending and scrolls.
#TonyStarkstopsmugging
#TonyStarkHero
#TonyStark
#TonyStarkTrueNewYorker
Pepper looks up and he feels his face go white. She clicks on a video.
It's grainy but they can see what's happening. There's already a crowd, like the videographer got there halfway through.
Tony can see himself, a bleeding lip and bloody knuckles standing off to the side, talking to a police officer.
A woman is being talked to by another and a man is being put in the back of the police car.
Chants and cheers can be heard and soon the police are escorting his body into a police van and he disappears from sight and the crowd.
The camera flips to the person taking the video and the young man is grinning, "I didn't see it, but someone said Tony Stark didn't even use a suit! Just took the guy down with his sweet fighting skills!"
The person continues chattering but Pepper swipes out of it. She looks up at him and sighs, "so you make him look like an asshole and he makes you look like a hero."
He crosses his arms over his chest, "you're not being a very supportive girlfriend."
She slides her phone into her pocket and shakes her head, "I love you, I support you, but I don't support childish behavior. Which you are prone to. Understand the difference?"
She walks past him into the tower and he follows begrudgingly.
—
He gets judgemental glares from Bruce and Natasha. Clint gives him a thumbs up and then a thumbs down when Natasha throws something at him.
"Is he back?" Tony asks, shifting Cap's stance to try to distract himself from the scream of the wind against the tower.
"Yeah." Bruce responds,"I don't think he's seen the press conference yet. You need to apologize beforehand."
Tony grimaces, "I'm not apologizing. I didn't do anything wrong."
He's glad Pepper had been called away to another meeting. She would have contradicted him.
He feels Cap's phone buzz and he retrieves it from his pocket.
Yes or no to that shift tonight?
He furrows his brow at the text. Shift doing what?
"Do you have Steve's phone?" Bruce asks, spying it in his hand, "Tony, what are you doing?"
Before he can make a snappy return, another text pops through.
Starts at 8p.m. Dock 33 like usual. Let me know asap or I'll text Nelson.
And without any thought he texts back yes and then steps backwards out of Bruce's reach. "Gotta go. Tell my beautiful self that we will converse when I find out whatever secret's he's hiding." Then he gives a mock of Cap's signature salute and he bolts out of there before they can stop him.
—
Bruce tries calling and texting Steve's phone to try to get him to return. Tony doesn't respond and he disables the tracking on Steve's phone and heads towards the docks.
Then a call from his own phone pops through. He slides to answer.
"Tony, what are you doing? Please come back and give me my phone."
It's funny how he didn't even compute that Cap would have his phone just like he has Cap's.
"No can do."
"I don't appreciate how you behaved at the press conference."
Flat annoyance grips him as his car gets closer to his destination. "I don't give a shit."
He hears his own voice give a deep sigh, "listen, it's a lot, I know—"
"Why do you act so perfect when everything sucks?"
His sharp question makes the other side of the call fall silent.
Then a sort of annoyed sad version of his own voice speaks, "I don't act perfect."
"Steve—" and the word feels foreign falling from his lips. But Pepper's words ring in his head —it's his name— "I'm crawling out of my skin. Everything is dialed to 1000, yet you always act like you've got it all together. How do you not go crazy?"
He slides the car into a parking spot and waits. There's a long silence and then his own voice speaks back to him, "How much did your dad tell you about JoHann Schmidt?"
"The psycho Nazi guy?" Steve doesn't respond and he thinks back. "I mean, I know what everyone else knows. He was a psycho Nazi guy. What else is there to know?"
He can hear a sort of grated annoyance in his voice, "He wasn't just a psycho Nazi guy. He left Hitler's mode of operating behind when he decided to go after the tesseract. But you're forgetting that he was…" his own voice catches, "Like me. Like you are now."
"Excuse me?"
"He had the first version of Erskine's serum. It wasn't ready. Erskine told me that himself—" It's like a cold splash of realization that Steve was close to one of the greatest scientists of all time. He mentions him so casually.
And then he remembers that his dad used to say Erksine died in Steve's arms.
He feels sick, but Steve is still talking. "—the man wasn't ready. So all that hatred and rage and anger and horrible thoughts he had towards those he viewed as less than worth were amplified to 1000. Seeing what that caused him to do, how he decided he should be ruling over those beneath him…" a pause, "that's why I can't let it overwhelm me. What you think is me acting perfect is me making sure I never let myself make a mistake."
He scoffs, "you think that's sustainable? Never making a mistake?"
"You know what I mean."
"No, actually. I don't." He gets out and winces at the sound of the waves lashing against the docks and the ships.
"Are you coming back to the tower or not?"
Tony ignores Steve's avoidance with his own, "You gonna tell me why Shield has a therapist on call for you?" Stunned silence greets him and he shrugs even though Steve can't see it, "Guess not. See you around."
Then he hangs up.
—-
It takes a bit, he's there early, but someone recognizes him and waves him over. "Hey Grant!" The guy calls, gesturing to his still comfortable wear, "using one of our coveralls today?"
Tony nods, going along with it. "Yeah, if that's okay."
"Sure, sure. It's in the dockman's skip." He points to a large storage shed. "You're early. Feel free to clock in though. I wouldn't mind." The man says this as if it's an inside joke, but Tony doesn't get it.
"Right…" Tony responds, walking over. Inside he finds a large rack of hefty coveralls. While worn, they are clean and seem not too terrible. He selects one for Steve's massive size and then spies the line of socks and boots.
He doesn't actually know Steve's shoe size off hand, so it takes some trial and error but size 12 seems to be the fit.
When he exits, he walks back to the guy who is winding rope around his arms, "so… what's my job for today?"
The guy laughs, and continues winding the rope without answering.
Tony waits and then realizes the guy thinks he's joking. The guy must sense the awkwardness because he looks up, "shit, you're serious? You wanna switch? You're always so adamant about working this ship. That's why Frankie texted you"
Tony has no answer to that, because he has no context or any idea what the hell he's doing. So Tony does something he's good at when he's confused. He lies. "Sorry, I got in a car accident a few days ago and things are a little fuzzy with my memory."
"Damn, you're like an accident magnet! Bruises, burns, car accidents." The guy huffs a laugh, "you're the unluckiest bastard I ever met."
Somehow those words do not make Tony feel better about Steve's predicament. But he forges on. "Yeah, when I got the text I was kinda confused, but then I knew I needed money so I said yes. Would you help me fill in the gaps?"
The guy shrugs, "I mean, I guess I can try. We don't always work the same shift."
"How often do I take shifts?"
The guy shrugs again, "I dunno. You're Frankie's most consistent worker I think. Couple shifts a week?"
Tony wants to choke. He's working shifts that often?
"Are they always at night?"
"No, ships come in at all times. But I think you prefer night shifts."
"Any idea why?"
"Because you prefer hauling chains and welding when it's cooler out. That's what Frankie guesses."
"I haul…" he grows incredulous as realization strikes, "chains? Ship chains?"
The guy frowns at him, "geez, you really took a clunk in that accident, didnchya?"
Tony's voice is a rasp, "yeah. A big clunk."
"Yeah, you haul chains." He gestures to a few of the larger docks, "This is an older dock. Doesn't have the mechanism for loading the anchors or rolling up the chains to port. And the docks don't have the money to install it. So they hire teams. And then you weld and repair when needed."
There's so much Tony's trying to relegate in his mind. Cap. Steve. Captain America freaking hauls ship chains in his spare time? He works? For what? Why? Money? He's bored? What? And no one recognizes him?
Then the next part. "I weld."
The guy nods as he eyes him, "yeah. Best one Frankie's got besides Doug and Weilson."
Steve can weld. He pictures the tiny precise sound dampeners and his axis keeps shifting. It's like he doesn't know Steve at all.
"Okay." He nods, his voice rough, "Where am I working today?" Then he grimaces, "and what's your name?"
"Shit!" The man huffs, "you get checked out by the doctor? That's some wild memory loss."
"I'm fine." He replies, "sorry."
"I'm Carson."
"Carson, right. Sorry."
"You're over there—" he points to a pier a few away, "your ship's due in in the next two hours. Haul up the chains, secure it, and then wait for the docking master to come down and check. Then wait, the ship's team will tell you if any repairs are needed."
"My ship?"
Carson laughs, "damn. Might wanna get checked out again. Yeah. You always service this particular ship when you can. You're like a history buff or something."
Dread fills him. History buff.
What the hell.
He has no response. So he just nods and heads over, looking at the old and dated pier, while his mind just reels the same thought over and over.
What the hell. What the hell. What the hell.
And then the ship appears. And it all starts to make sickening sense.
"Hey!" He calls back to the guy who's a couple hundred feet away, still sorting and wrapping ropes, "what kinda ship is this?"
He already knows the answer. He can tell by its shape. But he needs someone else's confirmation.
"You're the one who told me. Naval, WW2 edition. Got a few that were turned over into work horses when they were decommissioned." The guy shouts back, "wasn't special enough to be made into a museum I guess."
His hands are shaking. And now instead of the rising anger it's a deep and hefty profound sadness.
Not special enough.
But somehow he guesses that this particular ship is special. Special to Steve. But why?
"Did I tell you its name?" He asks, staring at the ship but raising his voice loud enough that Carson can hear.
"Yeah, the U.S.S. West Point. Carried soldiers to France on their way to the war."
His eyes close and he feels like vomiting over the edge. The thought of Steve caring for the ship that took him to war makes him violently ill.
The horn blasts and it makes him clap his hands over his ears, grimacing at the way it tears at his eardrums.
When it settles into docking position, he stares up at the massive ship in disbelief and shakes his head. What the actual hell.
Then he's hauling chains and pretending to know what he's doing. And thankfully he does know how to weld on his own as he is tasked with a few repairs. And it's 3a.m. Before he gets a second to breathe.
And as he wipes oil from his hands onto a rag he pauses.
All during that he barely even thought. Didn't have to focus on controlling his emotions or fight the ever overwhelming amount of noise or overstimulation. And he suddenly understands one of the reasons Steve must choose to do this. Finally, some mental and physical peace and quiet. Even as he hauls chains no normal human should be able to lift on his own and singes the fingertips of his gloves, he had a single minded focus.
It was… kind of nice.
He packs up the tool kit Carson had loaned him and he places the coveralls in the used bin and he washes his hands before heading back out to his car.
And the drive home is more relaxful too as he feels tiredness start to creep up.
He almost expects Steve to be waiting for him. To accost him before he can get into his bedroom. But the hallways are quiet. And he remembers the stunned silence after his barb about the therapist.
And he tries to ignore the guilt as he slips into his own bed and falls asleep.
—-