Chapter Text
The feeling of soft pastels covering his hands was as familiar to Steve as gym chalk or gauze. The way the blue smoothed over all the cracks in his skin, how it clings no matter how much you try to rub it off. He pressed his index finger and thumb together to spread some of the pigment before swiping it across the paper in front of him. Light flickered in from his room windows, and though the glass was made thick, some noise of city light still filtered in. Clouds from the overcast kept sunlight dispersed, and it was rather quiet for New York City today. Before, he would drag his feet and moan on how slow the day was moving by, but now Steve preferred observing modern city life to being in the middle of it, especially from his room in the Tower. He could see pretty much anything and everything from his vantage point, watching as life went by every time on the occasional glance away from his easel.
Light as a feather, he dusted small strokes onto the ivory canvas, abandoned brushes laying at the foot of the easel he was working on. The public knew everything about him, Captain America, from his height and weight to his schoolteachers’ names. However, what not many people knew was that in his spare time, Steve Rogers would rather spend his time with a sketchbook or canvas, not a punching bag. Sure, in a way some could say it was a form of training, working on his fine motor skills, practicing control over his enhanced strength, but to Steve it was one of his few escapes from hero life. Something normal in his very not-normal world.
He stepped back from his easel and stared at his paper canvas, taking in the rich navy color, the shapes and lines, the overall picture. A woman’s face stared back at him, and to his credit, she could’ve walked out the portrait and into the real world. This woman had life, fluidity, humanity, and she was rather beautiful too.
Steve took his thumb to the paper and swiped over her face, pushing the pastels across and smudging the work. It still wasn’t right.
It wasn’t her.
Chewing on his lip absentmindedly, he stared at the ruined work, searching. Searching if there was any point salvaging the piece. He sighed and turned the paper over, not ready to toss it in the trash bin yet but also starting anew. Of course, his fingers transferred the blue pigment to the new canvas, a thumbprint facing back at him instead of the image he had set in his mind.
“Captain Rogers, Mr. Stark would like to enter. Shall I let him?”
Steve stared above at the voice, finding no one to look at. Sometimes he forgets there’s a supercomputer living with them.
“Yes, you can let him in. Thank you, Jarvis.”
“Of course, Captain.”
His door whirred open, and Tony appeared, eating something out of his hand. Steve glanced at the paper in front of him and sighed, not finding the thumbprint worthy of trying to hide. He clapped his hands together, blue dust dispersing in the air.
Tony talked and walked; he had no discomfort in the space. Not that he should, it is technically his building, but still, “Having a nice off day, Cap? No one’s seen you yet, I was thinking we were gonna have to defrost you- again.”
“Very funny.” Steve cocked his head, “I had an early start. Everyone else was still sleeping or just waking up by the time I got home from my run. No defrosting necessary.”
Tony let out a hum of acknowledgement, stepping around the room. Steve could tell he was scanning over, seeing what the Captain was up to, after all, he did it too on the rare occasion he was invited into someone else’s room.
“Didn’t know you were one for modern art, Cap.” He moved over to the easel, leaning in and feigning interest in the thumbprint, “That could sell for millions, y’know.” Tony gestured to the paper.
“It’s- well. It’s not my best work.” Steve shrugged off, stepping away from his easel, “D’ya need me for something, Stark?”
“Nope. Bored. Can you believe it?”
“I can.”
“Okay. Rude.” Tony scoffed as he shoved another handful of… whatever he was eating into his mouth, “Whatcha doodling?”
“Nothing really-”
“Oh, come on, I want to know what Captain America’s muse is. Let me see what you have.” Tony asked, muffled, peeking around the easel, “Oooh. Who’s that-”
“No one, Tony- just someone I had-”
“You got a thing for blondes?” Stark used his mostly clean hand to flip the paper, the drawn portrait now facing the two of them.
“Tony.” Steve stared at him, swiping up the work and crushing it into a ball before tossing it in the bin, “I said it’s no one.”
Tony met his stare, huffing with a smirk on his face, “Doesn’t sound like ‘no one’ to me. Trail mix?” He offered out some from his hand. Steve declined his offer with a shake of his head, “Lighten up, Cap. We’ve all got hobbies- Of course, mine is doing talks at colleges, donating billions to oncology research, the occasional reinvention of the wheel, and sometimes saving Earth if I feel like it- if yours is drawing women you fancy then-”
“It’s my mother, Tony.”
Silence, finally.
“Well- I was trying to draw my mother. I just. I can’t seem to get her face right.”
Tony straightened up, humor falling from his face. For a loudmouthed genius, he was wearing silence pretty well, until he cleared his throat, “Probably not my best joke huh.”
“No, not really.”
“You’ve got to have pictures somewhere, right? The thirties weren’t prehistoric. Why don't you use that?”
“We didn’t have a camera- hell, we barely had enough money for a cold apartment and pre-owned clothes.” Steve packed up his pastels, not even minding the blue he was spreading across the carton as he shoved them haphazardly and hid the box away in one of his drawers with the rest of his supplies, “I don’t even think I ever got a picture with her- I mean, I had sketches- but those were all in my old apartment me and Buck shared- and that apartment doesn’t really exist anymore.”
“Woah- slow your roll there, Cap. I can have JARVIS do a sweep and see if there’s anything he can pull.”
Steve’s jaw tightened as he just stood there for a moment. He knew that Tony was trying to help, but some irrational part of him was screaming that it wasn’t what he wanted to hear. He wasn’t exactly sure what he wanted to hear, “Thanks, Tony.” He muttered, glancing down at his trash bin.
His old apartment was an office now; of a company he didn’t care to learn about after seeing their logo plastered over what used to be their window. It was the first place he tried running home to post-ice. The human side of him mocked him with the idea that someone might be waiting there for him to come home, the soldier side of him reminded him that wasn’t true.
“No problem. Listen, Steve, it- uh, wouldn't hurt to get out a little today- it’s pretty stuffy in here.” Tony finished the trail mix before standing over Steve’s trash bin and rubbing his hands together to get rid of the crumbs. Right over his ball of paper, "It might help get some creative juices flowing."
“I hear you.” Steve could only nod, but his eyes were stuck on that ball of paper, now lightly dusted with the remains of trail mix. Even when Tony patted him on the shoulder and turned on his heels to leave, Steve didn’t pay much mind to what smart remarks he had left to say.
Maybe he was right though, getting out might help. Maybe he’s just been staring at an off-white canvas and blue pastel for too long now. Maybe.
Steve threw on one of his more favored jackets, a heavier leather one with a suede lining. He liked the way it weighed on his shoulders, and how it naturally hung off his form. It reminded him of one he had back home. Bucky’s father had given him that one. Sure, Ma had to help him sew up a few holes in the lining and it didn’t fit all too well, but Mr. Barnes was close to just throwing it out and it was too good to just rot in the trash, and too cold for Steve to not have a coat. His father didn’t leave many nice clothes for him. He really misses that coat. With Steve’s luck, it either didn’t survive or was hung somewhere in a museum behind dense plexiglass.
“Jarvis, I’m going out. I have my cellphone on me.”
“Affirmative, Captain Rogers. I will let anyone know to contact you by phone if you are needed.”
He left his room with his cellphone and wallet in his back pockets but not much else besides that. To be truthful, he wouldn’t carry his cellphone at all if it wasn’t necessary, but he did have to admit that sometimes they were handy, Bruce showed him how to use the maps and directory which is useful when you know every street by heart but not what’s still open or closed. It wasn’t like he was confused by cell phones; he wasn’t in the slightest, they make them so simple now that you just press icons and type here and there- but it was the fact that he had no excuse to disappear like he does anymore. In some ways, Steve would rather have a tracker in his boots; The cellphone was a tether to the modern world, one that Steve would very much like to cut off if it weren’t essential for his around-the-clock duty.
It would’ve been nice to have one back when he was a kid, sending Ma messages while she was at work, her sending them back. Bucky would’ve loved it for sure, Steve could only imagine the notifications he would get in the late hours of the night after their parents wanted them in bed. But there wasn’t really much of a need for him now; Steve didn’t have many people to text anymore. Not many contacts besides Tony, Natasha, Clint, Bruce and Fury, and half of them don’t even respond to his texts anyways. Bruce and Natasha tried, they really did, but if anyone truly had a reason to talk to him besides idle chatter, they just paged him through the tower’s system.
Steve stepped outside and turned onto the sidewalk, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his coat as he strolled. He loved passing by the Chrysler building. He remembered the time he got pushed around by a group of deadbeats for telling them to quit drooling over some poor lady trying to walk home. He also remembered when it was being built, how buildings of such grandeur seemed unachievable at the time, the bets he and Buck made on how long it’d take to finish and open up. Now, its spire was overcrowded by less than unremarkable commercial buildings and offices. Still, if you really looked, you could still get glimpses of its peak without having to get on 42nd street. The Grand Central Station was more or less the same, which was nice, it’s just so juxtaposing to see such familiar faces of buildings next to strange-looking modern ones. He didn’t have any exciting stories getting beat up around there, fortunately.
He’d only been out for half an hour at most before he felt his cell phone buzz in his pocket. He fumbled with it, getting some of the leftover blue pastel smudged on its case until the screen lit up with Natasha’s caller I.D. He tapped the accept button and pressed the cell phone up to his ear.
“Nat?”
“Hey, Steve.” Her voice was always nice to hear, steady and friendly, “Tony told me your To-Do list is clear today. Need something to punch?”
“Is this your way of trying to get me out?”
“Yes, and no- I have something to do and actually would like the company.”
“Why not Tony then- or Bruce? I don’t think he had anything on his schedule.”
“Some pleasant company.”
“Oh- uhm...Thank you?”
“Fury forwarded me a report on a potential Chitauri arms trade happening in a few hours. It’s a bit far from here- so if we leave now we can beat them there. It’s a quiet in-and-out thing.”
Sigh. He had a feeling that they were never going to fully recover all the alien weapons scattered around from that day.
“Copy that. I’ll meet you back at the tower. I’m just a few blocks out.”
“Don’t keep me waiting, Captain.” And then the call ended.
It wasn’t how Steve was planning to spend today, but as long as he was out of the room, right?