Fic for lazulisong: A(ged)vengers | Gen | G
Title: A(ged)vengers
Author: claudiapriscus
Recipient: lazulisong
Rating: G
Universe: Movie (with a few light comic references)
Pairing/Characters: The entire movie team, no real pairings (implied/mentioned Tony/Pepper)
Word Count:4300
Disclaimer: Not mine by any count.
Summary: AU: The Avengers as a retirement home.
Notes: I have no idea where this came from. It's probably the most random thing I've ever written.
The man sitting across the desk from Steve flips through the papers in front of him, looking pensive. “Hmm. You're more than qualified for this position, Mr. Rogers, and we definitely need you, but I have to wonder why.”
“Sir?”
Nick sets the file down and leans back into his chair. “It's not often that a recipient of the Congressional Medal of Honor walks into my office and asks for a job,” he remarks amiably. Steve stiffens. “I didn't- there's nothing about that-”
“There's this thing called the internet, son,” Nick drawls. “I know I must seem nearly as ancient to you as some of our residents, but I assure you, I do know how to work a computer. It's funny the things people will lie about on their resumes.”
Steve sits up straighter. “ I didn't lie,” he says, affronted. “I just don't think it's relevant.”
“Relax, Rogers,” Nick says. “You've already got the job, if you want it. I'm just curious, that's all. You could go pretty much anywhere. You're a young man with an impressive resume and rock-solid references, and that's before we throw national hero into the mix.”
“It's just- I like helping people. I think I could be good at it. And part of it...” he glances away for a moment. “There's some appeal in doing something as straightforward as this, I'd be lying if I said there wasn't.”
“Extended exposure to politics will do that,” Nick remarks mildly. “Especially when you've been made into a mascot.”
Steve says nothing, but he gives Nick a long and evaluating look. Finally, he says, “I'll understand if this negatively impacts my application, sir, but I'd rather know now.”
Nick raises an eyebrow. “The job was already yours, Rogers. I just was curious.”
Steve blinks, his face transforming as he smiles, “Really?”
“I'd be crazy not to hire you. We won't be able to get you started until next week, but a tour of the facilities and an introduction to the residents you'll be working with could be arranged now, if you're interested.”
“That'd be great. Thank you, sir,” Steve says, reaching across the desk to shake the man's hand. “You won't regret it.”
“I already knew that,” Nick says, returning the gesture. “When you step outside, grab Phil and he'll give you the grand tour.”
Steve pushes his chair back and stands. “I will, sir. Thank you,” he says again, heading out the door.
He finds a smiling man in a suit waiting outside. “Congratulations,” the man says. It's somewhat disconcerting.
“Are you Phil?” Steve asks.
The man sticks his hand out. “Phil Coulson. Director Fury asked me to show you around.” Steve shakes the man's hand. It goes on for just a second too long. “And can I say, what an honor it is to have you working here,” the man goes on. “I caught your speech last year during the budget showdown about the importance of compromise. It was- very inspirational.”
“Um... Thanks.” Steve rubs the back of his head self-consciously with one hand. “I'd hoped everyone had forgotten about that. I didn't have a chance to prepare a response or anything, I just was put on the spot and...” he shrugs, “thought it was best to be honest. But I was under the impression it didn't go over too well.”
Phil shrugs. “Maybe not in the short-term,” he says, “but it was one for the ages.”
Steve shifts uncomfortably. “Well, whatever it was, it's over now.”
Phil nods. “Of course. If I may be so bold, I think you'll find this a pleasant change of pace. AEGIS is a fantastic place to work, and of course, we have some very interesting people living here,” he says heading down the hall, Steve hurrying to keep pace. After a bewildering number of turns and innumerable doorways, they come to an office with an open door and half-a-dozen schedules tacked up to the cork board on the wall. Inside is a woman sitting at her desk, a phone pressed to her ear and held against her shoulder. She scribbles something down, then idly pushes her dark red hair out of her face and tucks it behind her ear. When she catches sight of them, she mouths something to Phil and rolls her eyes. “I understand completely,” she says, her tone smooth and sympathetic, “But I was under the impression that event had been canceled, which would of course free up the facility.” In contrast to her tone, her face is a perfect picture of amused disdain. “Oh really,” she says. “Yes, I think we can work something out.” She flashes Phil a triumphant look. “If you'll send the paperwork over I can get it back to you tomorrow. Mmhm. Bye-bye.” She sets the phone down in its cradle.
“Landed it,” she says. “And for half the price.”
“I never doubted you,” Phil avers.
The woman stands. “Is this the new hire?”
“It is,” Phil says. “Natasha, I'd like to introduce you to Steve Rogers. He'll be working on A-Wing.” He turns to Steve. “Steve, this is Natasha Romanoff, she's our activities director.”
“Ma'am,” Steve says, holding out his hand. “It's a pleasure to meet you.” She takes his hand and returns the handshake. Her grip is firm and her hand is cool. “Likewise,” she says. “The adventure excursions are very popular with the residents on A, so I am sure we'll end up working together at some point.”
Steve nods. “I look forward to it,” he says. Natasha turns to Phil. “Are we still on for racquetball today?”
“Of course,” he says, ushering Steve out of the office.
“Racquetball?” Steve repeats, bemused.
“We have a court here,” Phil says, “It's....invigorating. Do you play?”
“Um,” Steve says, his eye momentarily caught by a photo on the wall of Natasha holding a very large trophy, “No, I can't say I've ever had the opportunity.”
“Well, that'll change that soon enough. It's something of a staff hobby.”
“Really? I can't say I expected that when I applied here.”
Phil shrugs. “Originally we had a softball league, but we have a court on-site...and Natasha can be very persuasive. Personally, I prefer it.”
“Oh,” Steve says, for lack of anything better to contribute to this particular conversation. Racquetball never figured highly on his radar. He's got a vague idea that it's some sort of aggressive indoor version of tennis, but that's about all. Phil leads them around another corner and to another office. The door to this one is closed and locked, however, and Phil's polite knock is to no avail. The nameplate on the inbox outside the door says “C. Barton.”
Phil frowns. “Hmm. He must have taken an early lunch. Well, you get another chance to meet him soon enough. Clint's head of security here, and when you start, he's the one that'll set you up with your ID and passcodes.” The man frowns at the door for another moment, then shakes his head. “Come on, I want to introduce you to some of the residents you'll be working with,” he says, whisking Steve down yet another hallway. “Down here is how you'll get to A-Wing.”
“I don't suppose orientation will include some maps?” Steve says, half joking, half hopeful.
“It doesn't, I'm sorry to say. Something of an oversight. But I think you'll get the hang of it pretty quickly. Almost everyone does.”
Steve is not particularly reassured by “almost,” but before he can say anything more, Phil leads him through another doorway into a beautifully appointed common room. The first thing to catch Steve's eye is a slender, fragile looking woman sitting next to the window in an oversized chair reading a book. She glances up as they walk in, and a smile transforms her face.
“Captain Rogers!” she exclaims. She reaches for the walking stick propped up against the chair, but before she can start to get up, Steve strides forward. “Oh no, Senator, no need to get up on my account.”
She makes a dismissive noise and rises to her feet. “Don't be silly. I want to get a good look at you, Captain. You've grown quite a bit since I saw you last.” Her smile is knowing, and he can't help but to smile back. “I'm no longer serving, ma'am,” he says, “So it's just Steve now.”
“In that case, you may call me Virginia, young man. My days in office are far behind me.”
“Still,” he says, slightly intimidated at the thought of calling the woman he's been thinking of The Senator for his entire adult life anything else, “I think my mother would have my head for not showing the proper respect.”
Phil looks from one to the other and says,“You know each other?” The question is bland, but Steve can sense the curiosity behind the man's unflappable demeanor.. The Senator jumps in before Steve can clarify: “Of course we do,” she says. “Who do you think sent him the job posting?”
Phil considers this. Steve says, “Ma'am, I owe you my thanks for that. It's just what I needed.”
The former senator makes a dismissive wave of her hand. “Pish tosh. Think nothing of it. My motives were purely selfish. And it'll give us plenty of time to plan.”
Steve blinks. But before he can ask what exactly she has in mind, something beeps. She carefully pulls a phone out of her pocket and gives it an exasperated look. “Excuse me, gentlemen,” she says as she answers it. She listens for a moment, rolls her eyes and says, “No. No, I don't think that's a good idea, I don't care about optimizing the diagnostics. No. It's fine. Leave it be. No. The fact that it'd be easy is not enough of a reason to do it.” Her tone turns so firm that Steve has to fight the urge to stand to attention. “Tony, you're not hacking your pacemaker. I refuse to discuss this further with you. We have guests. Yes. You remember. Yes, yes, the Rogers boy. He's here now.” She sighs and hangs up the phone. “I better go collect him before he gets up to any more mischief,” she says.
“Ma'am.” Steve nods his head respectfully.
“And Phil,” she says, “I still expect to hear all about the big night.” Phil smiles. “Of course.”
The senator smiles at both of them, then turns to walk off, still graceful, even at that age.
Phil raises an eyebrow inquiringly. Steve shrugs apologetically. “The Senator sponsored my application to West Point,” he says. “I had no idea she even remembered me until I received her letter.”
“Hmmm,” Phil says, non-committal. “Let's head into the garden, it's a popular spot.” Phil ushers him through a sliding glass door and out into a lush and verdant garden. And it is a garden, the huge and expensive kind he associates with mansions and old fashioned public parks, not the the lawn-and-potted-plants he'd been expecting. The path immediately outside the sliding glass door leads to a courtyard. There's a fountain splashing in the center, the sunlight casting rainbows into its spray. Off to the side, a large and expansive tree shades a table and several padded patio chairs, where an elderly man sits, regarding a chessboard thoughtfully. There are paths leading away from the courtyard and deeper into a garden filled with roses, small groves of trees, and neatly trimmed hedges.
“Wow.”
Phil's smile stops just short of smug. “There's a reason it's popular.”
“How is this...?” Steve trails off, not sure how to end the question.
“AEGIS is a subsidiary of Stark Industries.”
“Oh.” Steve frowns. “I meant to ask that. Why- I mean, I was a little surprised that The Senator would move to a place like this, even as nice as it is, let alone Tony Stark.”
“You'll have to ask them that,” Phil says, tone still bland. “But for now, I'd like to introduce you to one of our newest residents on this wing.” He pitches his voice just high enough for it to be heard by the man playing chess. They're still a fair distance away. Steve sends Phil a questioning glance. “We try not to startle him,” he murmurs, which isn't exactly an answer but there isn't time to dig deeper- they've already reached the man in the chair, who has been regarding the chessboard in front of him very steadily. The man looks up, regarding them with serene indifference. He's wiry, for an old man, with arms of solid sinew for all their scrawniness. His skin has that weathered and sun-beaten look of someone who spent the majority of his life outdoors.
“You must be the new guy,” he says to Steve.
“Dr. Banner,” Phil says formally, “I'd like to introduce you to Steve Rogers. He'll be working here on A-Wing.”
“It's a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Banner,” Steve says dutifully, sticking his hand out. He's left hanging. Dr. Banner stares at the hand with some bemusement before returning the gesture with the stiltedness of a cultural anthropologist participating in some new and unknown ritual. He smiles at Steve's confusion. “You'll have to forgive me,” Dr. Banner says, “I'm still a little rusty on the niceties. It's been a while.”
“Dr. Banner spent the last thirty years of his retirement homesteading alone deep in the Alaskan wilderness,” Phil adds, by way of explanation.
“That's incredible,” Steve says. It'd been an impressive accomplishment for a young man, let alone one old enough for retirement. “I can't even imagine what that must have been like.”
Dr. Banner shrugs easily. “It had its moments,” he says. “Mostly, it was very....peaceful. I enjoyed it.”
“If you don't mind me asking, sir, how did you end up down here from all that way up North?”
“I don't mind,” Dr. Banner remarks mildly, putting a finger on a chess piece and regarding it with that same steady gaze. “I take it you haven't met Tony yet. He can be very- persistent.”
Steve knows he should probably leave the 20 questions for another day, but he's curious enough that he can't help one or two more. “Sir- I have to ask, just out of curiosity- all those years up north- wasn't it lonely?”
Dr. Banner's gaze turns distant. “Not really, no. I guess you could say I'd had enough of people to last a lifetime. As to bored....well.” He looks down at his chessboard. “The game of kings. Do you play?”
“Not much, sir, no. Not since my grandfather died. I was never very good at it, to tell you the truth.”
Dr. Banner's lips twitch ever so slightly. “Weren't you the war hero?” he asks.
Steve starts a little. “How- oh. The Senator.”
“Yes, she's very proud of you. But that doesn't answer my question.”
“Well...” Steve pauses. He's asked too many questions himself to shy away from answering a few. “I never won. Against my grandfather, I mean. Didn't really ever play anyone else.”
“You should give it another try,” Dr. Banner remarks. “The game against your opponent is never quite as important as the game you're playing against yourself.” He carefully moves the chess piece from one square to another. He spins the board around and looks up at Steve. “That's the real challenge.”
Steve nods. “Then I suppose we should leave you to it,” he says. “It was good to meet you, sir.”
“Likewise,” Dr Banner says. “When you officially start, stop by for a game. I think you'll find it enlightening.”
“It's a deal,” Steve says. The man goes back to his game, and Phil steps away, motioning for Steve to follow. They head towards one of the paths leading deeper into the garden.
“Dr. Banner is an interesting man,” Steve remarks. “Yes he is,” Phil says, leading them down and around the hedges. “Most of our residents are.”
Steve thinks about Banner's mention of Tony, and asks, “Is everyone here a friend of the Starks'?”
“Not exactly,” Phil says, absently. They skirt a duck pond, and Steve is glad for the guide. This place is as close to a maze as it can be without either a lot more hedges or a field of corn. As they pass a tall, wide tree, Steve hears something shift and creak. It doesn't quite sound natural, and it sets him on alert. He looks around, but Phil doesn't seem to have noticed. As he turns his gaze upward, a pair of bright, mischievous green eyes catch his. There's a boy high in the tree, watching them as they go by. He's got a good vantage point, Steve thinks, and probably has a decent view of most of the grounds. The boy pushes dark hair out of his eyes and looks meaningfully at Phil. Steve grins inwardly and, checking to see that he's outside of Phil's peripheral vision, mimes zipping his lips closed. That earns him a grin from the boy. As they pass under the tree, he wonders what the kid was up to, and how old he is. He'd looked about eleven, which was a good age for mischief, if Steve's own childhood had been anything to go off, but he'd had a toy bird tucked in one of the branches.
Steve tries to think of a good way to ask about the kid without giving him away, but hasn't come up with a single one before they arrive at a large and fragrant rose garden. A gardener is industriously pulling weeds, but he's the only other person there, besides Phil and himself.
“Good afternoon,” Phil says, and the gardener glances up at them. He's much older than Steve first assumed, but his blue eyes shine from underneath his broad-brimmed hat and speak of a vitality and alertness that belie his years. His grin is welcoming, broad, and full of teeth. He clambers to his feet, and Steve, who has become accustomed to usually being the tallest in almost every room, is slightly startled to be so suddenly dwarfed. “Hello,” the man says, clapping him on the shoulder. “Stark's lady speaks very highly about you. Welcome!” His voice carries a hint of an accent that Steve can't quite place. Steve sticks his hand out and braces himself. “Well, I don't know about that, but I'm Steve Rogers...I'll be the new staff member on this wing.”
The man's grin, if anything, gets broader. His handshake is enthusiastic, and his grip is just short of crushing. Steve can't help but notice that his hands are rough and calloused, and wonders briefly if this is the man responsible for the magnificence of these gardens.
“It is good to meet you then, Steve Rogers,” the man says. “Though I dare say the lady has plans for you, boy. Though have care- I don’t believe she tolerates much disappointment.”
Steve thinks about this for a moment, feeling another twinge of unease over whatever the Senator has been plotting. “Trust me, that's the last thing I'd want to do,” he says at last. It earns him another bone-jarring clap on the back. “Good man,” the other man says with hearty approval.
“These gardens are definitely something,” Steve says, trying to move the conversation to safer ground. “They must be a lot of work.”
“You may speak truthfully- I confess it is not something I have spared much thought for,” the man says. Steve's face must have shown his confusion, because the man glances down at the dirt on his knees and the trowel in his hand and chuckles. “Despite appearances, the growing of things is an art I long neglected,” he says. He shakes his head. “Would that I could claim such splendor. I had little enough time for it in my youth. But the lady suggested it as a fine project to embark upon with my grand-nephew-”
Steve notices Phil's smile becoming a little bit more fixed at the mention of a grand-nephew. “Where is Luke? I haven't seen him,” Phil interjects.
The man waves the hand holding the trowel vaguely. “Lurking about, as is his wont. He's a good boy, but not well disposed to honest labor.” He grins. “In that, like many things, he reminds me of my late brother.”
Something like apprehension crosses Phil's face, but it's gone so quickly Steve almost thinks he imagined it. “I'm sure you'll be able to keep him out of trouble,” he says. It's not the most convincing statement Steve's ever heard.
“I fear that's beyond the ability of any man,” the old man says with some amusement. “But I don't think he has any grand schemes in place for today.”
“Of course.” Phil does not sound amused.
“He's a troublemaker?” Steve says, thinking of the boy in the tree. About-eleven-ish was a good age for mischief.
“In a manner of speaking,” the other man says, after a pause. Steve hears Phil mutter under his breath. It sounds like “In the only manner of speaking.”
The other man continues, “But I have always found his presence to be a balm. It is good to have youth here, it keeps a man young.”
“What does he look like?”
The man waves vaguely. “Oh, about so tall,” he says, indicating something that could be anything from four to six feet. “He's but a boy, with dark hair.”
“I'll keep an eye out,” Steve says, and the man nods.
Phil pipes up, saying, “We should probably head back inside. I'm sure Mr. Stark would like to meet you before you go.”
“I will not keep you,” says the old man. “Besides, I have matters of my own to attend to.” His tone is rueful as he regards the weeds.
“We'll leave you to it,” Phil says. The old man waves cheerfully as they head away.
“What's so bad about the kid?” Steve asks. Phil strikes him as the unflappable type. Steve figures that anything that puts him on edge, however mildly, probably is worth noting.
“Well, the first red flag was the underground gambling ring, but mostly- well, I take it you heard him mention the brother.”
“Yeah, he said the kid reminded him of his brother.”
“His brother was the anarchist terrorist known as Loki.”
“The Loki? The one who blew up like half of Europe back in the 70s?”
“Half is a wild exaggeration,” Phil said matter-of-factly. “But yes.”
It wasn’t that much of an exaggeration, going off the history books, but Steve let it slide. “That nice old....gardener is Loki the anarchist’s brother?”
“He wasn’t always a gardener,” Phil remarks, amused. “But yes. Half brother or adopted brother or something like that,” Phil shrugs. “He’s always been a little vague on that point.”
As they walk under the tree, Steve again looks up, but sees no sign of the kid. But as they pass the hedges on their way back to the main building, Steve catches a glimpse out of the corner of his eye of a small figure sneaking into a shed. Steve shakes his head. He can’t blame the kid for getting into a little trouble. Place like this has to be pretty boring for a kid that age.
When they re-enter the complex, Steve half expects to find the illustrious Mr. Stark waiting, but the common area is empty. Phil cuts through it without pausing. Steve has to admit he’s curious...and a little intimidated. He’s never met Anthony Stark. He’d heard his name mentioned on occasion, the same way people talk about Warren Buffett, but that was not really enough to form an idea of the man. But he and the Senator had been married forever, and she had a famously low tolerance for fools... no matter which way he cut it, Steve figured the man must be formidable.
Phil leads them down a hallway, stopping in front of the door at the end. He presses a button outside, and after a second, the door buzzes and unlocks.
“Mr. Stark takes security very seriously,” Phil says, pushing the door open.
Inside is a living room more lavishly appointed than the common area outside. They walk a few steps to the dining area. There, sitting at a beautifully carved wooden table, is an elderly man wearing a formerly-impeccable suit, holding a screwdriver and a sodering iron and staring vexedly at the million screws and pieces and gizmos scattered across the table. He’s got a smear of oil across one cheek.”Piece of junk,” he mutters. He glances up at them, and his frown eases.
“So you’re the new kid,” the man says. He turns to Phil and says, “No running and screaming yet, I take it.”
“Not that I’ve noticed,” Phil says, ever droll.
Steve can’t quite take his eyes off the table. “Is that a....actually, I have no idea what that is.”
“Oh, it’s a bit of this and that. But mostly it’s the television. Or it was. It’s gonna be something else soon.”
Steve shakes his head, clearing it.”Cool.”
The man smirks. “Kinda, yeah. It’s small time, but it keeps me sane,” he said, “Though I suspect it’s driving Potts nuts. Serves her right, siding with the quacks.” He knocks a fist against his chest. “It’s this damn pacemaker, the magnetics...” Stark shrugs. “But I’ve got ideas for that.” He gives Steve a shrewd look. “How are you with an arc welder?”
“Can’t say I know, sir. Never had much call to use one.”
“Hmm. You’ll learn,” the man says in a tone that makes Steve almost as nervous as the Senator and her ‘plans’.
Steve remembers his manners and sticks out his hand. “I’m Steve.”
“Call me Tony,” the old man says. “Pretty much everyone who matters does. So,” he says, with a significant glance at the chaos behind him, “What do you think?”
Steve smiles. “I think I’m going to like this job.”
Author: claudiapriscus
Recipient: lazulisong
Rating: G
Universe: Movie (with a few light comic references)
Pairing/Characters: The entire movie team, no real pairings (implied/mentioned Tony/Pepper)
Word Count:4300
Disclaimer: Not mine by any count.
Summary: AU: The Avengers as a retirement home.
Notes: I have no idea where this came from. It's probably the most random thing I've ever written.
The man sitting across the desk from Steve flips through the papers in front of him, looking pensive. “Hmm. You're more than qualified for this position, Mr. Rogers, and we definitely need you, but I have to wonder why.”
“Sir?”
Nick sets the file down and leans back into his chair. “It's not often that a recipient of the Congressional Medal of Honor walks into my office and asks for a job,” he remarks amiably. Steve stiffens. “I didn't- there's nothing about that-”
“There's this thing called the internet, son,” Nick drawls. “I know I must seem nearly as ancient to you as some of our residents, but I assure you, I do know how to work a computer. It's funny the things people will lie about on their resumes.”
Steve sits up straighter. “ I didn't lie,” he says, affronted. “I just don't think it's relevant.”
“Relax, Rogers,” Nick says. “You've already got the job, if you want it. I'm just curious, that's all. You could go pretty much anywhere. You're a young man with an impressive resume and rock-solid references, and that's before we throw national hero into the mix.”
“It's just- I like helping people. I think I could be good at it. And part of it...” he glances away for a moment. “There's some appeal in doing something as straightforward as this, I'd be lying if I said there wasn't.”
“Extended exposure to politics will do that,” Nick remarks mildly. “Especially when you've been made into a mascot.”
Steve says nothing, but he gives Nick a long and evaluating look. Finally, he says, “I'll understand if this negatively impacts my application, sir, but I'd rather know now.”
Nick raises an eyebrow. “The job was already yours, Rogers. I just was curious.”
Steve blinks, his face transforming as he smiles, “Really?”
“I'd be crazy not to hire you. We won't be able to get you started until next week, but a tour of the facilities and an introduction to the residents you'll be working with could be arranged now, if you're interested.”
“That'd be great. Thank you, sir,” Steve says, reaching across the desk to shake the man's hand. “You won't regret it.”
“I already knew that,” Nick says, returning the gesture. “When you step outside, grab Phil and he'll give you the grand tour.”
Steve pushes his chair back and stands. “I will, sir. Thank you,” he says again, heading out the door.
He finds a smiling man in a suit waiting outside. “Congratulations,” the man says. It's somewhat disconcerting.
“Are you Phil?” Steve asks.
The man sticks his hand out. “Phil Coulson. Director Fury asked me to show you around.” Steve shakes the man's hand. It goes on for just a second too long. “And can I say, what an honor it is to have you working here,” the man goes on. “I caught your speech last year during the budget showdown about the importance of compromise. It was- very inspirational.”
“Um... Thanks.” Steve rubs the back of his head self-consciously with one hand. “I'd hoped everyone had forgotten about that. I didn't have a chance to prepare a response or anything, I just was put on the spot and...” he shrugs, “thought it was best to be honest. But I was under the impression it didn't go over too well.”
Phil shrugs. “Maybe not in the short-term,” he says, “but it was one for the ages.”
Steve shifts uncomfortably. “Well, whatever it was, it's over now.”
Phil nods. “Of course. If I may be so bold, I think you'll find this a pleasant change of pace. AEGIS is a fantastic place to work, and of course, we have some very interesting people living here,” he says heading down the hall, Steve hurrying to keep pace. After a bewildering number of turns and innumerable doorways, they come to an office with an open door and half-a-dozen schedules tacked up to the cork board on the wall. Inside is a woman sitting at her desk, a phone pressed to her ear and held against her shoulder. She scribbles something down, then idly pushes her dark red hair out of her face and tucks it behind her ear. When she catches sight of them, she mouths something to Phil and rolls her eyes. “I understand completely,” she says, her tone smooth and sympathetic, “But I was under the impression that event had been canceled, which would of course free up the facility.” In contrast to her tone, her face is a perfect picture of amused disdain. “Oh really,” she says. “Yes, I think we can work something out.” She flashes Phil a triumphant look. “If you'll send the paperwork over I can get it back to you tomorrow. Mmhm. Bye-bye.” She sets the phone down in its cradle.
“Landed it,” she says. “And for half the price.”
“I never doubted you,” Phil avers.
The woman stands. “Is this the new hire?”
“It is,” Phil says. “Natasha, I'd like to introduce you to Steve Rogers. He'll be working on A-Wing.” He turns to Steve. “Steve, this is Natasha Romanoff, she's our activities director.”
“Ma'am,” Steve says, holding out his hand. “It's a pleasure to meet you.” She takes his hand and returns the handshake. Her grip is firm and her hand is cool. “Likewise,” she says. “The adventure excursions are very popular with the residents on A, so I am sure we'll end up working together at some point.”
Steve nods. “I look forward to it,” he says. Natasha turns to Phil. “Are we still on for racquetball today?”
“Of course,” he says, ushering Steve out of the office.
“Racquetball?” Steve repeats, bemused.
“We have a court here,” Phil says, “It's....invigorating. Do you play?”
“Um,” Steve says, his eye momentarily caught by a photo on the wall of Natasha holding a very large trophy, “No, I can't say I've ever had the opportunity.”
“Well, that'll change that soon enough. It's something of a staff hobby.”
“Really? I can't say I expected that when I applied here.”
Phil shrugs. “Originally we had a softball league, but we have a court on-site...and Natasha can be very persuasive. Personally, I prefer it.”
“Oh,” Steve says, for lack of anything better to contribute to this particular conversation. Racquetball never figured highly on his radar. He's got a vague idea that it's some sort of aggressive indoor version of tennis, but that's about all. Phil leads them around another corner and to another office. The door to this one is closed and locked, however, and Phil's polite knock is to no avail. The nameplate on the inbox outside the door says “C. Barton.”
Phil frowns. “Hmm. He must have taken an early lunch. Well, you get another chance to meet him soon enough. Clint's head of security here, and when you start, he's the one that'll set you up with your ID and passcodes.” The man frowns at the door for another moment, then shakes his head. “Come on, I want to introduce you to some of the residents you'll be working with,” he says, whisking Steve down yet another hallway. “Down here is how you'll get to A-Wing.”
“I don't suppose orientation will include some maps?” Steve says, half joking, half hopeful.
“It doesn't, I'm sorry to say. Something of an oversight. But I think you'll get the hang of it pretty quickly. Almost everyone does.”
Steve is not particularly reassured by “almost,” but before he can say anything more, Phil leads him through another doorway into a beautifully appointed common room. The first thing to catch Steve's eye is a slender, fragile looking woman sitting next to the window in an oversized chair reading a book. She glances up as they walk in, and a smile transforms her face.
“Captain Rogers!” she exclaims. She reaches for the walking stick propped up against the chair, but before she can start to get up, Steve strides forward. “Oh no, Senator, no need to get up on my account.”
She makes a dismissive noise and rises to her feet. “Don't be silly. I want to get a good look at you, Captain. You've grown quite a bit since I saw you last.” Her smile is knowing, and he can't help but to smile back. “I'm no longer serving, ma'am,” he says, “So it's just Steve now.”
“In that case, you may call me Virginia, young man. My days in office are far behind me.”
“Still,” he says, slightly intimidated at the thought of calling the woman he's been thinking of The Senator for his entire adult life anything else, “I think my mother would have my head for not showing the proper respect.”
Phil looks from one to the other and says,“You know each other?” The question is bland, but Steve can sense the curiosity behind the man's unflappable demeanor.. The Senator jumps in before Steve can clarify: “Of course we do,” she says. “Who do you think sent him the job posting?”
Phil considers this. Steve says, “Ma'am, I owe you my thanks for that. It's just what I needed.”
The former senator makes a dismissive wave of her hand. “Pish tosh. Think nothing of it. My motives were purely selfish. And it'll give us plenty of time to plan.”
Steve blinks. But before he can ask what exactly she has in mind, something beeps. She carefully pulls a phone out of her pocket and gives it an exasperated look. “Excuse me, gentlemen,” she says as she answers it. She listens for a moment, rolls her eyes and says, “No. No, I don't think that's a good idea, I don't care about optimizing the diagnostics. No. It's fine. Leave it be. No. The fact that it'd be easy is not enough of a reason to do it.” Her tone turns so firm that Steve has to fight the urge to stand to attention. “Tony, you're not hacking your pacemaker. I refuse to discuss this further with you. We have guests. Yes. You remember. Yes, yes, the Rogers boy. He's here now.” She sighs and hangs up the phone. “I better go collect him before he gets up to any more mischief,” she says.
“Ma'am.” Steve nods his head respectfully.
“And Phil,” she says, “I still expect to hear all about the big night.” Phil smiles. “Of course.”
The senator smiles at both of them, then turns to walk off, still graceful, even at that age.
Phil raises an eyebrow inquiringly. Steve shrugs apologetically. “The Senator sponsored my application to West Point,” he says. “I had no idea she even remembered me until I received her letter.”
“Hmmm,” Phil says, non-committal. “Let's head into the garden, it's a popular spot.” Phil ushers him through a sliding glass door and out into a lush and verdant garden. And it is a garden, the huge and expensive kind he associates with mansions and old fashioned public parks, not the the lawn-and-potted-plants he'd been expecting. The path immediately outside the sliding glass door leads to a courtyard. There's a fountain splashing in the center, the sunlight casting rainbows into its spray. Off to the side, a large and expansive tree shades a table and several padded patio chairs, where an elderly man sits, regarding a chessboard thoughtfully. There are paths leading away from the courtyard and deeper into a garden filled with roses, small groves of trees, and neatly trimmed hedges.
“Wow.”
Phil's smile stops just short of smug. “There's a reason it's popular.”
“How is this...?” Steve trails off, not sure how to end the question.
“AEGIS is a subsidiary of Stark Industries.”
“Oh.” Steve frowns. “I meant to ask that. Why- I mean, I was a little surprised that The Senator would move to a place like this, even as nice as it is, let alone Tony Stark.”
“You'll have to ask them that,” Phil says, tone still bland. “But for now, I'd like to introduce you to one of our newest residents on this wing.” He pitches his voice just high enough for it to be heard by the man playing chess. They're still a fair distance away. Steve sends Phil a questioning glance. “We try not to startle him,” he murmurs, which isn't exactly an answer but there isn't time to dig deeper- they've already reached the man in the chair, who has been regarding the chessboard in front of him very steadily. The man looks up, regarding them with serene indifference. He's wiry, for an old man, with arms of solid sinew for all their scrawniness. His skin has that weathered and sun-beaten look of someone who spent the majority of his life outdoors.
“You must be the new guy,” he says to Steve.
“Dr. Banner,” Phil says formally, “I'd like to introduce you to Steve Rogers. He'll be working here on A-Wing.”
“It's a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Banner,” Steve says dutifully, sticking his hand out. He's left hanging. Dr. Banner stares at the hand with some bemusement before returning the gesture with the stiltedness of a cultural anthropologist participating in some new and unknown ritual. He smiles at Steve's confusion. “You'll have to forgive me,” Dr. Banner says, “I'm still a little rusty on the niceties. It's been a while.”
“Dr. Banner spent the last thirty years of his retirement homesteading alone deep in the Alaskan wilderness,” Phil adds, by way of explanation.
“That's incredible,” Steve says. It'd been an impressive accomplishment for a young man, let alone one old enough for retirement. “I can't even imagine what that must have been like.”
Dr. Banner shrugs easily. “It had its moments,” he says. “Mostly, it was very....peaceful. I enjoyed it.”
“If you don't mind me asking, sir, how did you end up down here from all that way up North?”
“I don't mind,” Dr. Banner remarks mildly, putting a finger on a chess piece and regarding it with that same steady gaze. “I take it you haven't met Tony yet. He can be very- persistent.”
Steve knows he should probably leave the 20 questions for another day, but he's curious enough that he can't help one or two more. “Sir- I have to ask, just out of curiosity- all those years up north- wasn't it lonely?”
Dr. Banner's gaze turns distant. “Not really, no. I guess you could say I'd had enough of people to last a lifetime. As to bored....well.” He looks down at his chessboard. “The game of kings. Do you play?”
“Not much, sir, no. Not since my grandfather died. I was never very good at it, to tell you the truth.”
Dr. Banner's lips twitch ever so slightly. “Weren't you the war hero?” he asks.
Steve starts a little. “How- oh. The Senator.”
“Yes, she's very proud of you. But that doesn't answer my question.”
“Well...” Steve pauses. He's asked too many questions himself to shy away from answering a few. “I never won. Against my grandfather, I mean. Didn't really ever play anyone else.”
“You should give it another try,” Dr. Banner remarks. “The game against your opponent is never quite as important as the game you're playing against yourself.” He carefully moves the chess piece from one square to another. He spins the board around and looks up at Steve. “That's the real challenge.”
Steve nods. “Then I suppose we should leave you to it,” he says. “It was good to meet you, sir.”
“Likewise,” Dr Banner says. “When you officially start, stop by for a game. I think you'll find it enlightening.”
“It's a deal,” Steve says. The man goes back to his game, and Phil steps away, motioning for Steve to follow. They head towards one of the paths leading deeper into the garden.
“Dr. Banner is an interesting man,” Steve remarks. “Yes he is,” Phil says, leading them down and around the hedges. “Most of our residents are.”
Steve thinks about Banner's mention of Tony, and asks, “Is everyone here a friend of the Starks'?”
“Not exactly,” Phil says, absently. They skirt a duck pond, and Steve is glad for the guide. This place is as close to a maze as it can be without either a lot more hedges or a field of corn. As they pass a tall, wide tree, Steve hears something shift and creak. It doesn't quite sound natural, and it sets him on alert. He looks around, but Phil doesn't seem to have noticed. As he turns his gaze upward, a pair of bright, mischievous green eyes catch his. There's a boy high in the tree, watching them as they go by. He's got a good vantage point, Steve thinks, and probably has a decent view of most of the grounds. The boy pushes dark hair out of his eyes and looks meaningfully at Phil. Steve grins inwardly and, checking to see that he's outside of Phil's peripheral vision, mimes zipping his lips closed. That earns him a grin from the boy. As they pass under the tree, he wonders what the kid was up to, and how old he is. He'd looked about eleven, which was a good age for mischief, if Steve's own childhood had been anything to go off, but he'd had a toy bird tucked in one of the branches.
Steve tries to think of a good way to ask about the kid without giving him away, but hasn't come up with a single one before they arrive at a large and fragrant rose garden. A gardener is industriously pulling weeds, but he's the only other person there, besides Phil and himself.
“Good afternoon,” Phil says, and the gardener glances up at them. He's much older than Steve first assumed, but his blue eyes shine from underneath his broad-brimmed hat and speak of a vitality and alertness that belie his years. His grin is welcoming, broad, and full of teeth. He clambers to his feet, and Steve, who has become accustomed to usually being the tallest in almost every room, is slightly startled to be so suddenly dwarfed. “Hello,” the man says, clapping him on the shoulder. “Stark's lady speaks very highly about you. Welcome!” His voice carries a hint of an accent that Steve can't quite place. Steve sticks his hand out and braces himself. “Well, I don't know about that, but I'm Steve Rogers...I'll be the new staff member on this wing.”
The man's grin, if anything, gets broader. His handshake is enthusiastic, and his grip is just short of crushing. Steve can't help but notice that his hands are rough and calloused, and wonders briefly if this is the man responsible for the magnificence of these gardens.
“It is good to meet you then, Steve Rogers,” the man says. “Though I dare say the lady has plans for you, boy. Though have care- I don’t believe she tolerates much disappointment.”
Steve thinks about this for a moment, feeling another twinge of unease over whatever the Senator has been plotting. “Trust me, that's the last thing I'd want to do,” he says at last. It earns him another bone-jarring clap on the back. “Good man,” the other man says with hearty approval.
“These gardens are definitely something,” Steve says, trying to move the conversation to safer ground. “They must be a lot of work.”
“You may speak truthfully- I confess it is not something I have spared much thought for,” the man says. Steve's face must have shown his confusion, because the man glances down at the dirt on his knees and the trowel in his hand and chuckles. “Despite appearances, the growing of things is an art I long neglected,” he says. He shakes his head. “Would that I could claim such splendor. I had little enough time for it in my youth. But the lady suggested it as a fine project to embark upon with my grand-nephew-”
Steve notices Phil's smile becoming a little bit more fixed at the mention of a grand-nephew. “Where is Luke? I haven't seen him,” Phil interjects.
The man waves the hand holding the trowel vaguely. “Lurking about, as is his wont. He's a good boy, but not well disposed to honest labor.” He grins. “In that, like many things, he reminds me of my late brother.”
Something like apprehension crosses Phil's face, but it's gone so quickly Steve almost thinks he imagined it. “I'm sure you'll be able to keep him out of trouble,” he says. It's not the most convincing statement Steve's ever heard.
“I fear that's beyond the ability of any man,” the old man says with some amusement. “But I don't think he has any grand schemes in place for today.”
“Of course.” Phil does not sound amused.
“He's a troublemaker?” Steve says, thinking of the boy in the tree. About-eleven-ish was a good age for mischief.
“In a manner of speaking,” the other man says, after a pause. Steve hears Phil mutter under his breath. It sounds like “In the only manner of speaking.”
The other man continues, “But I have always found his presence to be a balm. It is good to have youth here, it keeps a man young.”
“What does he look like?”
The man waves vaguely. “Oh, about so tall,” he says, indicating something that could be anything from four to six feet. “He's but a boy, with dark hair.”
“I'll keep an eye out,” Steve says, and the man nods.
Phil pipes up, saying, “We should probably head back inside. I'm sure Mr. Stark would like to meet you before you go.”
“I will not keep you,” says the old man. “Besides, I have matters of my own to attend to.” His tone is rueful as he regards the weeds.
“We'll leave you to it,” Phil says. The old man waves cheerfully as they head away.
“What's so bad about the kid?” Steve asks. Phil strikes him as the unflappable type. Steve figures that anything that puts him on edge, however mildly, probably is worth noting.
“Well, the first red flag was the underground gambling ring, but mostly- well, I take it you heard him mention the brother.”
“Yeah, he said the kid reminded him of his brother.”
“His brother was the anarchist terrorist known as Loki.”
“The Loki? The one who blew up like half of Europe back in the 70s?”
“Half is a wild exaggeration,” Phil said matter-of-factly. “But yes.”
It wasn’t that much of an exaggeration, going off the history books, but Steve let it slide. “That nice old....gardener is Loki the anarchist’s brother?”
“He wasn’t always a gardener,” Phil remarks, amused. “But yes. Half brother or adopted brother or something like that,” Phil shrugs. “He’s always been a little vague on that point.”
As they walk under the tree, Steve again looks up, but sees no sign of the kid. But as they pass the hedges on their way back to the main building, Steve catches a glimpse out of the corner of his eye of a small figure sneaking into a shed. Steve shakes his head. He can’t blame the kid for getting into a little trouble. Place like this has to be pretty boring for a kid that age.
When they re-enter the complex, Steve half expects to find the illustrious Mr. Stark waiting, but the common area is empty. Phil cuts through it without pausing. Steve has to admit he’s curious...and a little intimidated. He’s never met Anthony Stark. He’d heard his name mentioned on occasion, the same way people talk about Warren Buffett, but that was not really enough to form an idea of the man. But he and the Senator had been married forever, and she had a famously low tolerance for fools... no matter which way he cut it, Steve figured the man must be formidable.
Phil leads them down a hallway, stopping in front of the door at the end. He presses a button outside, and after a second, the door buzzes and unlocks.
“Mr. Stark takes security very seriously,” Phil says, pushing the door open.
Inside is a living room more lavishly appointed than the common area outside. They walk a few steps to the dining area. There, sitting at a beautifully carved wooden table, is an elderly man wearing a formerly-impeccable suit, holding a screwdriver and a sodering iron and staring vexedly at the million screws and pieces and gizmos scattered across the table. He’s got a smear of oil across one cheek.”Piece of junk,” he mutters. He glances up at them, and his frown eases.
“So you’re the new kid,” the man says. He turns to Phil and says, “No running and screaming yet, I take it.”
“Not that I’ve noticed,” Phil says, ever droll.
Steve can’t quite take his eyes off the table. “Is that a....actually, I have no idea what that is.”
“Oh, it’s a bit of this and that. But mostly it’s the television. Or it was. It’s gonna be something else soon.”
Steve shakes his head, clearing it.”Cool.”
The man smirks. “Kinda, yeah. It’s small time, but it keeps me sane,” he said, “Though I suspect it’s driving Potts nuts. Serves her right, siding with the quacks.” He knocks a fist against his chest. “It’s this damn pacemaker, the magnetics...” Stark shrugs. “But I’ve got ideas for that.” He gives Steve a shrewd look. “How are you with an arc welder?”
“Can’t say I know, sir. Never had much call to use one.”
“Hmm. You’ll learn,” the man says in a tone that makes Steve almost as nervous as the Senator and her ‘plans’.
Steve remembers his manners and sticks out his hand. “I’m Steve.”
“Call me Tony,” the old man says. “Pretty much everyone who matters does. So,” he says, with a significant glance at the chaos behind him, “What do you think?”
Steve smiles. “I think I’m going to like this job.”