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Steve smoothed down the front of his uniform, even though he knew full well that there wasn't a wrinkle to be seen. He always got self-conscious when he wore the dress version of his Army greens; he hadn't donned them often enough for him to be comfortable in them. His blue skin-tight Captain America suit was far more revealing and splashy-looking, but he usually was fighting when he had it on and so he didn't pay attention. Besides, he'd lived in a similar blue suit for months at a time back during the war; it was familiar. More than that, in the blue, he was Captain America, but in the Army's green he was just Steve Rogers and Steve knew which of the two personas he had more confidence in.
With one last tug at green material, Steve gathered his cover and resolutely left his room. He had just enough time to get in a quick breakfast before he had to leave. Skipping the morning meal was no longer an option, not with his teammates watching him. Since Bruce had brought it to everyone's attention that he was struggling with modern food, feeding Steve had apparently become the Avenger's favorite hobby. At least they weren't smothering him with it, something Steve was pretty sure he could thank Tony for. Instead, it had become a friendly contest of sorts, to see which of them could find the most things he enjoyed.
To be honest, Steve hadn't been aware that the food issue had gotten so bad. He'd had worse grub during the war, but hadn't had such a struggle to down it. Maybe because he knew, or at least hoped, that the war would be temporary and therefore so would the war rations. In contrast, deep down, even if his mind had been slow to accept it, Steve knew that living in the `future' was permanent and so his body had rebelled in a way that it hadn't during the war. He was grateful for the Avengers' intervention, even as he was acutely embarrassed by it.
Steve had already done his morning jog and workout, so it wasn't the crack of dawn when he got to the kitchen, but it was still relatively early. Steve was surprised, therefore, to find all of his teammates already there. Tony and Bruce, in particular, were not normally early risers. Steve had thought in the beginning, at least in Tony's case, that it was due to a slothful nature, but he'd since realized that both men were somewhat nocturnal creatures and tended to work the night through.
"Good morning, lazybones." Tony's voice was cheerful enough that Steve had a feeling that the other man simply hadn't bothered to go to bed yet. Dressed in an impeccable suit, Tony was seated at the table and had an empty plate in front of him.
"Waffle, captain?" Bruce was manning the waffle machine and Steve's growling stomach answered for him. Laughing, Bruce added batter to the iron. "I'll take that as a yes."
The frozen things that the modern era called waffles had tasted like so much cardboard to Steve, but the fresh-made variety were another story. He poured himself a glass of milk from the jug on the table and took a seat, careful to place his cover on a high counter where it wouldn't get dirty.
"Cow juice." Tony shuddered. "I don't know how you can drink that stuff."
"Does a body good," Clint replied and Steve had a feeling that, once again, some sort of reference had gone over his head. "I gotta admit, this whole milk stuff's a lot better than the skim variety."
Steve grimaced. The skim milk, which he swore was faintly tinged blue, had been particularly unpalatable. "I agree and the organic part is good too."
There were soft murmurs of agreement around the table and, as he took a deep drink from his glass, Steve more closely observed his companions. They were all dressed sharply, not just Tony. Clint and Natasha had on dark blue uniforms of some sort; Steve was reminded of the coverall that Agent Hill wore, but these were two pieces and more formal. Like Tony, Bruce was wearing a dress shirt and tie and, for once, he didn't look rumpled. Even Thor had dark blue suit instead of the gear he reserved for battle, with his hair pulled back into a ponytail.
"What's going on?" Steve put his glass down. "I thought you were all going to take it easy this morning?"
The Avengers hadn't been called out on an actual incident since the Chitauri invasion, but there was still the clean-up of New York to be dealt with and training exercises to undertake. A group of virtual strangers, they'd somehow managed to work well together under fire, but Steve wasn't willing to take that chance again. Hopefully there wouldn't be another battle like that, but if luck was against them, they'd be better prepared as a team. The Avengers had, in fact, just wrapped up a series of grueling field training sessions in upstate New York. Steve had wrangled them some rest days from Fury; barring unforeseen villainous interruption, their time was their own for a few days.
"We decided to join you." Natasha told him with a smile. She stood and put her plate in the dishwasher – an appliance that Steve thoroughly approved of. In his youth, dishwashing was a job that even a scrawny guy could handle and he'd spent far too many hours up to his elbows in suds. "Didn't think you'd mind."
Steve shook his head. "I don't mind, I just didn't think you'd be interested. It's before your time." He looked at Thor. "Or before your time on this planet."
"I have a great interest in meeting more of the Midgardian's `Greatest Generation.'" Thor stated quietly. There was a veritable tower of empty PopTart wrappers in front of him. "If you are any example, they were doughty warriors indeed."
Steve put aside his personal discomfort; he had a feeling he was being fussed over again and, while he appreciated the caring behind it, he also didn't like being treated any differently than anyone else. He never had. Still, given what his plans for the day were and who he hoped benefited from his actions, it would be selfish to turn the other Avengers away.
"All right." He nodded at the others.
"Good, that's settled." Bruce put a plate in front of Steve and the waffle on it covered practically the whole surface.
Steve's mouth started watering and he quickly reached for the jar of hazelnut chocolate spread. It was a modern food that Natasha introduced to him and he'd quickly fallen in love with it. He'd thought `monkey butter' was good back in the day, but this was much, much better. He ate quickly enough that, although he was the last to arrive, Steve wasn't the last one finished. In short order, the Avengers had assembled in the parking garage and were on their way.
His motorcycle was great, but Steve had been wondering how he'd get to the facility in a presentable state. Riding with Clint, Natasha and Thor in a SHIELD SUV was a much better option. Tony, of course, refused to use such a utilitarian vehicle and insisted on driving separately. Steve rather envied him and Bruce the little convertible they drove in instead, but figured it wasn't much better than a motorcycle when it came to arriving to his destination windblown.
New York State was big enough that it had several veterans' homes and Steve had visited all of them. So many of the residents were born in the same decade he'd been, yet they were fragile, elderly men while Steve remained young and whole. It didn't seem fair, although on days were Steve felt particularly overwhelmed with loss, he wasn't sure who it wasn't fair too.
This visit was a little different than the others, because it included a celebration of V-E Day.
After awakening in the modern era and realizing how much time had passed, Steve had insisted on being updated on the status of the war. He'd been very relieved to find out that it was over and that his side had won. Some of the details, however, had been hard to swallow, especially how the Japanese were ultimately defeated. As a result, he was far more comfortable celebrating the end of hostilities in Europe and not just because that's where he'd served.
The Chitauri invasion had effectively cancelled most recognition ceremonies of V-E Day. This particular veterans' home had merely postponed theirs and Steve was grateful for that. For everyone else, it was a day for history more than emotion, but for him, it was his first celebration of the war's end. He didn't know how better to mark the occasion than with other people who'd actually experienced it.
Natasha and Tony were both excellent drivers and they arrived at the facility in good time, even though it was located well outside the city. Because of its location, it'd been spared any damage from the battle with the Chitauri, for which Steve was grateful. Enough citizens had been injured; he was glad that at least this set of the especially vulnerable had been out of harm's way.
It was a Saturday, so the parking lot was nearly full. Steve was glad to see it, because it meant that more residents were getting visitors. The place was something of a ghost town during the week. He got out of the SUV and immediately put his cover back on, taking a moment to straighten it before striding towards the door. He knew without looking that the other Avengers were following him.
There was a large reception desk directly inside the doors and Steve went directly to it. He recognized the woman there. "Good morning, Mrs. Cooper."
"Good morning, Captain." The secretary – no, he corrected himself, receptionist – was old enough to be Steve's mother or maybe his grandmother. Never an expert on women to begin with, it was hard for Steve to correctly guess a woman's age in the modern era. She picked up her ever-present candy dish and offered it to him. "You're still looking a little worn down, would you like a chocolate?"
Steve heard a couple of snickers behind him and a softly uttered `I told him so' in a voice that was probably Bruce's. "No thank you, ma'am."
Mrs. Cooper sighed; she had yet to persuade Steve to take a candy. "I expect you're here for the VE-Day gathering, it's in the chapel."
Steve nodded his thanks and headed in the right direction. Mrs. Cooper kept the candy dish out and he noticed that Tony and Clint helped themselves as they went by, Tony with such a cheeky grin that Mrs. Cooper blushed like a school girl.
Once they got to the right room, Steve stopped at the entrance rather than going in. The chapel had been decorated to look like a war-time bistro. On the home's limited budget, there was only so much they could do. The tables that had been set up had red checked table cloths and there were candles on each, although from the too-regular way the candles flickered, Steve had the feeling they were artificial. Posters that looked like they came straight of WWII adorned the walls and the sound of very familiar music gently played in the background. The combination was surprisingly effective and Steve found himself blinking his eyes rapidly.
A soft touch to the small of his back grounded him.
"You okay?" Tony's voice was quiet and his gaze warm.
Steve nodded. "Yeah." He felt the need to explain, not wanting the other man to think he was blowing off the concern. "It's just, so many times during the war, we had to improvise with gathering areas. This actually feels pretty authentic."
"I bet." Tony looked like he was going to say more, but was interrupted by the woman approaching them.
"Captain Rogers!"
The home's director, Stacy Chambers, had spotted them and was coming forward. She was the type of no-nonsense woman that was easy for Steve to talk to. Instead of her normal pantsuit, she was wearing a replication of a woman's Army uniform circa WWII. Steve appreciated the gesture and had no intention of pointing out its inaccuracies.
"Miss Chambers," Steve greeted her. He gestured at the rest of the Avengers. "I hope you don't mind that I brought some friends."
"The more the merrier." Miss Chamber's smile took them all in and her eyes widened as she realized the identities of at least a couple of the people accompanying Steve. Clint and Natasha's faces had not been revealed to the public, although some grainy amateur pictures had been published. Tony, Bruce and Thor, on the other hand, had been pictured extensively in the media. "Please don't take this the wrong way, but most of our residents aren't aware of the attack on New York and those that have are very confused about the whole thing."
"Don't worry, ma'am, we're not here to upset anyone." Steve was quick to assure her.
"This day is to celebrate their glorious victories, is it not?" Thor pointed out. "There is no need to mention our own exploits."
Tony solemnly nodded, an unusually sober expression for his normally lively face. "It's not about us today."
Ms. Campbell was clearly relieved. "Well, then, by all means, you're doubly welcome." Her smile slipped. "But you missed the speeches; if I'd known you were coming, Captain, I would have had you say a few words."
"That's not necessary, ma'am," Steve stated firmly. He refused to feel guilty; he'd endured enough pomp and circumstance to last a lifetime. "Like Tony said, it's not about us today."
A young man in a waiter's uniform approached and frantically waved at Ms. Campbell. She smiled at them apologetically. "Sorry, I have to run. Please feel free to mingle."
The small group watched her go and then, as perfectly as though they'd rehearsed the move, turned towards Steve.
"We arrived too late for the speeches, huh?" Clint smirked. "Funny that."
Steve returned the smile, but just shrugged instead of saying anything.
"Call it, Cap." Tony spoke for all of them.
Tony'd said something similar during the Chitauri invasion and Steve still considered that the moment when he'd been given the leadership of the Avengers. It was a matter of pride to him, that someone who instinctively bucked authority as much as Tony did had been willing to follow him.
It said something about the Avengers that they needed as much guidance dealing with a group of the elderly as they had with an alien invasion. Steve tried not to let his amusement show.
"Split up and each take a table." Even though it was still early, lunch was starting to be served. Steve noticed that, while a buffet had been set up, volunteers were bringing food to the residents. "Thor, make sure that everyone else gets something to eat before you get started." The Asgardian nodded, not at all offended by the comment. "Remember, try to draw them into conversation, about the war if they seem comfortable talking about it."
The others nodded and put action to his words. Steve himself picked a table off to the side, not choosing until his companions had each settled at one. There were six men and one woman at his table. Steve wasn't surprised to see a woman present and also didn't assume that she had worked with the Armed Forces; the veterans' home was open to spouses too. Having been turned down so many times during the beginning of the war, he'd been around to see for himself the efforts of the wives, sisters and daughters left behind and knew that they were worthy of recognition too. Sacrifice and bravery didn't always happen on the battlefield.
"They grow `em big where you're from, son." The man seated closest to him greeted Steve as he approached the table. The oldster was in a wheelchair and needed to tilt his head to look up at Steve.
"Thank you, sir, but the Army's responsible for most of it." If only the man knew how much of Steve's physique the Army was responsible for.
"Army, bah! Bunch of land-hugging clodhoppers. A Navy sailor now, there's a real man." He waved at an empty chair. "Sit down before I get a crick in my neck."
Steve did, nodding his thanks. He swept his cover off and set it on the table, but before he had a chance to introduce himself, a gentleman across the table had a belated response to the previous comment.
"Clodhopper? You lazy SOB. We had to slog our way across country, while you sailors had yourselves a nice little cruise!" The second man banged his hand down on table with such vehemence that Steve was worried that he'd hurt himself.
"Cruise? We were on floating tin can death traps," the first man countered. "If the Nazis didn't get us, the sharks would."
A third man entered the fray. "At least sharks are God's creatures. Nazis, they were the devil's own creation."
To Steve's relief, the conversation steered towards a common enemy instead of arguing which of the Armed Forces had faced the worst conditions. A soft touch on his hand pulled his attention away from the others.
"Don't worry, dear." The woman reassured him as she patted his hand. "Arguing is their favorite hobby. If they weren't disagreeing about this, it would be about something else and I, for one, am glad that the topic is something other than how awful the food is." She leaned in close to continue in a whisper. "Although to be honest, the chow here is fucking shitty."
Steve felt his eyes widen. While he was reluctantly getting used to modern women swearing, it took him back to hear it coming from a sweet old lady. The man seated on her other side saw his surprise and chuckled.
"Don't mind Doris none," he advised Steve. "Since the stroke, she swears up a blue streak. She don't even know she's doin' it." He gazed at Doris lovingly. "Still the best darn gal there is, though. Wouldn't trade her for the world, foul mouth and all."
"Aw, that's bullshit, you cock-sucking bastard." The words were ugly, but said in a fond tone and Doris' smile as her husband kissed her hand was loving. Obviously, this longtime couple had no trouble communicating, despite her stroke-induced speech pattern.
The table's other occupants were just as obviously used to Doris, because their lively conversation hadn't faltered at all. Steve found himself drawn into discussions of battles and re-hashing of old strategy. Despite the differences in their apparent ages, they had a lot in common.
It was a good thing that the conversation was so interesting, because unfortunately Doris had been spot on about the food. It was pretty bad, but Steve ate it anyway. Not only had he lived through a Depression and knew not to waste what was put in front of him, but he had a feeling the other Avengers would be watching him. Sure enough, Steve glanced over at Bruce's table and saw the doctor grin at him. Steve lifted an unappealing forkful of mystery meat and put it in his mouth, chewing with exaggerated motions. Bruce grinned and winked before turning his attention back to his own companions.
Steve used the opportunity to check on the rest of the Avengers. Natasha, not too surprisingly, had the complete attention of the men at her table. Steve had a feeling that her table was the envy of the others, because even in a utilitarian uniform, Natasha was still a beautiful woman. A further look, though, showed that all of the tables were equally engaged with their visiting Avenger. Thor and Clint were at separate tables, but were both clearly talking weapons' strategy with their table-mates, even if Clint were motioning like he were holding a bow and Thor a hammer. Bruce was in deep conversation with wizened gentleman with a particularly serene expression on his face; Steve could only imagine what they were talking about.
He checked on Tony's table last.
Steve had been to a couple of fund-raising parties with Tony Stark before and knew that the man didn't just socialize – he held court. Whether they loved him or hated him, people were drawn to Tony like moths to a flame. Steve was no exception. At first, he'd been in the `hate him' side of the equation, but as Steve got to know the other man better, that had changed. If anything, Steve was a little too far on the `love Tony' side. At least, that's what Steve had thought until recently, when it seemed that his growing attraction might be returned.
Despite Tony's tendency to hog the spotlight, he wasn't doing it at this particular function. Everyone at Tony's table, including Tony, was currently focused on the bald man that was speaking. Tony was giving the man his undivided attention, leaning forward and gazing intently at him. Steve momentarily felt jealous, but then chided himself. He saw Tony all the time, but today was about the home's residents.
As though he sensed the attention he was receiving - and considering how much Tony reveled in attention, that was entirely possible - Tony turned his head and caught Steve looking at him. His eyebrow quirked up and Steve blushed, which made Tony grin. Steve quickly turned his attention back to his own table, only to find himself the focus of attention.
"Excuse me?" He said once he realized that the eyes of all of his tablemates were on him.
"Ben over there said that your fancy blue suit was an insult to soldiers everywhere," the man in the wheelchair explained. "But I told him that if he'd ever seen you in action, he'd know that it drew the enemy's fire. Captain America's a hero for all sorts of things, Cap, but the way you did your best to protect us grunts at risk to yourself? That was maybe the bravest thing you did. Even more than all those times you took on Hydra."
Steve blinked. He hadn't exactly been hiding his identity, but neither did he expect the home's residents to realize who he was. "Captain America?"
The Navy man snorted. "Son, don't. We're old, not stupid."
Doris' husband chimed in. "Not sure where you went or why you don't look like you aged none, but sure am glad you came back."
"Just in time to kick those mother fucking aliens in the poop
chute," Doris added.
"Where did you go, anyway?" Another man asked. "When word came down that you'd disappeared, me and my buddies thought for sure the war was lost."
Steve shook his head, deciding to address the last comment and hopefully avoid answering the question. "I didn't do anything anyone else wouldn't have done, if they'd been given the same advantages. All of you," he gestured around the room, "and those that didn't make it back, you're the ones that won the war."
There was a moment of silence and then Doris spoke up. "Bull shit."
The other men laughed, one so hard that he slapped his knee. "You took the words right out of my mouth, Doris."
To Steve's profound relief, conversation turned to other aspects of the war or, rather, the rebuilding that came afterwards. Before he knew it, servers were removing empty plates and the music began playing a little louder. There was an area towards the front of the large room that was free of tables and soon there were couples dancing. Conversation fell off as people paid more attention to the song. Doris, in particular, seemed enraptured, her eyes fixated on the dancers.
"Say, Captain, could you do me a favor?" Doris' husband patted his leg and Steve belatedly realized that the man had a prosthetic on it. "Doris loves to dance, but I can't. You think you could partner her?"
Doris turned towards Steve with hopeful eyes and his heart sank. He'd never gotten around to learning to dance. He didn't think that Doris would be a critical partner, but she was so small and frail that he was very much afraid that he'd hurt her if he messed up – and he was almost certain to mess up.
"I don't know how." Steve apologized and winced internally when he saw Doris' face fall.
"That's okay, you bastard." Doris patted Steve's hand. "I don't need to dance anyway."
If anything, her acceptance of his refusal was more upsetting than not being able to oblige her. Before he could say more, though, Steve heard a very familiar laugh and his eyes were drawn again to Tony's table.
"I don't know how to dance," Steve repeated, holding a hand out to Doris. She took it and he assisted her up from her chair. "But I know someone who does. Come on, I want to introduce you to a friend of mine."
Steve tucked Doris' hand into his elbow and escorted her to Tony's table. A woman in a wheelchair had joined Tony's group and he was sharing a joke with her. Steve waited until the laughing died down before touching his fellow Avenger on the shoulder to get his attention. "Tony?"
Tony didn't turn around. "No you don't, Cap, no poaching." He grinned at his female companion. "Edna is all mine, aren't you, gorgeous? Find yourself your own gal."
Edna, the woman in the wheelchair, giggled like a little girl. Steve wasn't put off by Tony's attitude, not when he saw how it delighted the elderly lady. Steve, however, hadn't factored in how badly that Doris wanted to dance.
"Pay attention to your friend, you mother fucking prick." Doris' pat to Tony's shoulder was a little more assertive than Steve's touch had been.
Steve stifled a laugh as Tony's shoulders stiffened and he turned around. It wasn't often that he saw Tony discombobulated. For a moment, Tony was actually speechless, but when he got a good look at Doris, his grin broke out.
"I stand corrected, you are definitely just my type of woman, you saucy little minx." Tony gave Edna a quick kiss on the cheek. "I'm going leave you in the trustworthy, but conversationally stunted, company of my friend, Captain Steve Rogers. Go easy on him, I'm pretty sure you're far too much woman for him to handle."
Tony stood and offered a gallant hand to Doris, who smiled at him. "That's more like it, you little shit." Tony wasn't the tallest Avenger, but even so, Doris barely came to his shoulder.
"Come on, my dear, I think they're playing our song." Tony led Doris to the dance area and soon they were swaying to the music.
Steve, aware that he'd hijacked Tony from his companion, sat down and tried to pick up where Tony had left off. "I'm sorry if I interrupted your conversation, ma'am."
Edna waved off his concern. "No need to apologize, this way I get to talk to two pretty young men. That doesn't happen to me every day."
Steve blushed and stammered his thanks, generating more laughter from the woman. Despite Tony's teasing, Edna turned out to be easy to talk to, mostly because she did all of the talking and his contribution was limited to an occasional nod of the head. Steve learned about how she'd lost an older brother to the war and of her adventures as a factory worker. The time flew by and when Steve stole a glance at the dance floor, he discovered that Tony was partnering a different woman and that Natasha was dancing with one of the men from her table.
As he watched, Steve belatedly realized that his companion's voice had faded off. He looked back at Edna and realized that she'd fallen asleep. He motioned towards one of the aides and she came forward to take control of Edna's wheelchair.
"Thanks," Steve said and the aide blushed.
"I'll get her to bed. This has been a big day for her." She nodded at the rest of the room. "For all of them, really."
After Edna was gone, Steve didn't make an attempt to do any more interacting with the home's residents. Instead, he continued to watch as the Avengers effortlessly mingled with the men and women of Steve's generation. There was, Steve thought, a lesson to be learned there. His life before the ice, it should be remembered and respected, but his new life had value too. The old and the new could coexist, if he'd just give it a chance.
Steve's eyes wandered to the dance floor, where Tony still moved seamlessly to the music. There was a lesson to be learned there as well. . .
. . . and not about dancing.
the end