A thousand thank yous.
Thank you very much to 
topaz_eyes and
dorcas_gustine. A snow flake and a penguin. Too cute, and it cheered up my morning immensely. Cheers again. :D
For the rest of you, I bring fic.
Title: Build God And We'll Talk
Author:
jazzypom
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: none
Universe1610 Ultimates fic
Pairing/Characters: Dr Gregory Stark, and Steve Rogers
Word Count: Approximately 3,900
Beta: If I told you I didn't use a beta, would you hold it against me?
A/N: Written in June 2009, when I heard about Gregory Stark from Wizard. I wrote this for
valtyr in gdocs, just to show my thoughts re: Tony's sibling, and how he and Steve might relate to each other (or not). Please keep me away from writing in gdocs. Many Cheers to e_s for the title. :D
Summary: Steve accepts Gregory Stark's invitation to dine, but finds the after dinner treat not to his taste.
Disclaimer: Characters are properties of Stan Lee, Marvel and Walt Disney.
"Captain America, thank you for coming."
Steve nodded his greeting as he handed over his invitation. He still could not get over the relative pomp of an audience with Dr Gregory Stark, so far the rituals were both arcane and fascinating. Gilt lettering on cream parchment, a flourish of an invite inside the parlour. What struck him was the colour - or absence of all colour. All shades of white on white ;snow coloured carpet cushioning his foot falls, cool brocade curtains of bone against ivory. Delicate tables of blonde wood, supporting squat glass vases of white lilies, which sweetened the air with their perfume.
The woman who greeted him at the door matched her surroundings. Fair hair, eyes pale gold, her slender form clad in vanilla coloured silk. With a small, polite smile, she gestured him to follow her, the red soles of her shoes the only shot of colour on her outfit.
" Did the driver suit?"
"Yes ma'am. Although I'd have been just as comfortable talking the subwa -"
"Nonsense," she shot him a look over her shoulder, her eyes sober. "Dr Stark wouldn't dream of it. You are his esteemed guest, after all. Come, we go this way."
Steve followed as they descended the sweep of the steps. The view from this building panoramic, helped along by the absence of walls, nothing but ceiling to floor glass that let the skyline of New York in. His guide made general noises of inquiry, her voice low and mild as cream. Yes, the drive had been smooth, thank you, ma'am. No, he had no dietary restrictions that he knew of. No, he was not vegetarian, thank you very much, ma'am. Yes, I'll wait right here. Another polished smile, and she left, her heels muted taps against the slick floor.
Steve was not here to cage a free meal. No, he was curious about Gregory Stark, because truth be told, Steve often entertained the notion that Tony had just hatched. Sprang into being fully formed, Martini in hand, swanning around as if he owned New York in his lavender robe of... what was that word... lasciviousness. Yes, Steve could see Tony clad in said robes from birth, like those aristocrats in Europe whose boys wore dresses until seven.
In certain ways, Tony never stopped being seven.
"Mr Rogers."
Gregory stood there, at the top of the stairs, hands in the pocket of his white slacks. He looked very much like Tony, but different. A lot tidier,for one, his hair swept back from his forehead, and slicked to his skull. His stance perfect, shoulders back, chin titled just so. Blond hair and eyebrows, blond van dyke, his complexion not as olive as Tony's. His eyes a lot cooler, and not just because of their lighter hue.
"Dr Stark," Steve greeted, wondering if he should cross the floor and shake his hand. Not knowing the protocol, Steve stayed where he was. Gregory did not move, and Steve guessed because it might have been the lights above his head, giving Gregory a sort of muted aura, the effect helped by his white suit and fair colouring.
Dr Stark descended the stairs, his movements measured, controlled, but not slow. No 'clip clop' of shoes on stairs, because the white loafers seemed too soft and thin. As he drew near, he held out his hand, and Steve shook it, appreciating the other man's firm grip. At least, he passed the handshake test.
"You can call me Gregory, if you must," his voice cool and distant as the rest of him. Not clipped, but formal. "Shall we eat?"
Dinner served on fine white china, with a border of blue on the edges. They were attended by white gloved waiters, who kept their glasses filled with varied beverages. The straw colour of elderflower juice, or the creamy colours of various virgin daiquiris. The choice between clear, still water, or the sort of water that had bubbles which floated dreamily from the base of their glasses before bursting on the surface.
Their meal presented with flourish; vichyssoise soup with crusted bread, for starters. The wait staff gave him practised smiles when he said 'thank you', and Steve had the feeling that his thanks meant nothing. The main course tasted like chicken and pasta, but different. The favours so delicate, it forced you to chew slowly to extend the moment, and you didn't want to spoil the taste with something as banal as water.
Unlike his first dinner with Tony, with Thor and Jarvis and conversation, there was none of that here. Just Gregory cutting his food and placing the portions on the back of the prongs of his fork. The atmosphere quiet, with nothing but the tiniest click of crockery and cutlery as their waitstaff placed the used dishes on the silver trolley. It was just so weird, he thought, as he placed his fork on the plate.
"Isn't the meal to your taste, Steve?"
"What? No, it's not that, the meal is delicious," Steve placed his glass on the table and looked across at Gregory. "I just - you don't drink. Alcohol, I mean."
"No. Unlike my brother, I aspired to be something more than a drunk with ... questionable tastes."
Well, ouch.
Soon, too soon, the dinner now finished, the waiters cleared the plates, no sound save the clink of cutlery against the crockery as they were placed into the trays, before being taken away. Gregory dabbed at the corner of his mouth with his napkin. His moves graceful, but not effete. Afterwards, he placed his knife and fork together with the tines of the fork facing upwards on his plate. Steve followed suit.
"You and Tony," Steve began, groping for conversation. It was only polite, and Steve could do polite. In a strange way, he was glad that he had met Tony first, in that whatever Gregory Stark did, it could not surprise him as much as Tony had when Steve first came out of the ice. "You and Tony decided to ignore each other for ten years?"
Gregory smiled, and for a brief moment, there were crinkles of amusement around his eyes, but no warmth. Absently, Steve searched Gregory's face, hoping to find a bit of Tony there, surprised and disappointed when he did not.
"...as I was saying," Gregory continued, and Steve clicked his attention to the present. "Tony is..." Gregory's voice trailed off as he gave an expansive gesture, the white gold metal of his watch catching the light. The action and Gregory's sigh carried a lot of meaning, Steve thought, only to be proved right a few seconds later. "...a wastrel, a... well, I'm sure I'm preaching to the converted, here. You know what he's like, don't you?"
"Tony is..." Steve began, not wanting to roll over on Tony, no matter how much of a point Gregory might have had. Gregory raised his eyebrows, the only outward expression of interest as he waited on Steve's answer. Steve shrugged his shoulders, plumped for an out. "Tony." he finished, only to be rewarded by Gregory's smile. All white teeth, amused again, his eyes still cool.
"Exactly," Gregory nodded. "Only Tony would decide to -well, not leave munitions behind - not as much as using the Stark name to join some sort of Peace Choir. To become a mascot, if you will. "
"The Ultimates have done a fair bit of -"
"You have done a fair bit. From what I gather, my sibling was having a breakdown in Arizona."
"It was a tense time." Steve replied, trying to keep his tone even. Tony was a team mate, and as a result, deserved his loyalty. If nothing else, for the fact that at least Tony took Captain America seriously. Not to mention, goddamnit, the Ultimates might not have been the American super-group it started out as initially but they still kept the peace.
Gregory must have heard the censure in Steve's voice because he had the grace to look embarrassed. "I've offended you. I'm sorry. But Tony and I... you know how siblings are like, I expect?"
Steve nodded. Remembered Bucky, who had been a brother in all the ways that counted. He protected him from the bullies at St Mary's, made it so that Steve got to participate in the games being played, even though he had a gimp leg, and could only hobble. Steve had a distinct feeling that Gregory and himself might be singing from different hymn sheets, but he only answered, "I know."
"I have been beastly," Gregory pushed himself from the chair, and gestured towards a passageway adjacent to the dining room. "Let me make it up to you."
Suddenly, Steve wanted to refuse. To demur and plead fatigue and go home. He had a handy excuse, considering he was an Ultimate and all. But to turn down Gregory's wanting to make amends seemed churlish, so he followed Gregory down the hall. Recessed lights on either side of the passageway, little cats eyes guiding their steps, as they came to a door. Painted white and fairly nondescript - if it weren't for Gregory punching in a password with the little buttonpad at the side. Steve was curious, and could not turn back even if he wanted to.
The door opened with a hiss, and Gregory waved his hand, as he were a magician ready to make cards vanish out of thin air. "Please, this way," Gregory said.
Steve found himself in a room. Its lighting dim, down about ninety percent. There was enough illumination for him to see his way, but not not so much as for him to get the lay of the room. It reminded him of the parts of the Met gallery where the watercolour paintings were. Steve was no artist, but knew enough that watercolours tended to fade in strong light, hence them bathed in surroundings the colour of amber. Dr Stark brought him down here to show him... watercolours? Gregory was beside him, their shoulders close enough to touch, and automatically Steve leaned away. Gregory just smelt... clean. No tell tale odour of soap, cologne or even the solvents that freshened his clothing.
"Let me show you my pride and joy."
At this comment, Steve expected the usual trinkets of the rich; being around Tony improved his education on that score. He half predicted to see 'classic' cars, the odd statue dug up from antiquity, or raided from national museums somewhere. The air was cool, as if the a/c had been turned off for a few minutes, with the bite of cold air gone, the room temperature a comfortable chill.
With Gregory's spoken words, as if some sort of magic, the lights went up in the room. Still dim though, the room the colour of that green tea Jan insisted on drinking when they were together. The lights bright enough for Steve to see that they were a room with stickers - no, frames, picture frames of posters, back when posters had that 'painterly' quality, and then shot to capture the brush strokes through the ink, not the unnatural computer smoothed lines like they did now.
UNCLE SAM WANTS YOU said one, the gaunt wizened man all steely eyed and and imperious. The posters from his youth, with the national personification of the US government; the elderly white man with white hair and goatee beard, his forefinger seemed so real, as if it would poke you in your chest, for not wanting to even think of volunteering. Steve remembered that poster, how he wanted to be wanted, only to be turned away from the recruitment office because he was too weak, had a gimp leg, too frail. His eyes shifted, and snagged on the other poster with that man on it, and he'd recognise that toothbrush moustache anywhere. The portrait of the small, swarthy man, with his boots and Nazi regalia.
Steve recoiled, because Jimney Cricket, was this some sort of sick joke? He turned to go, but his feet couldn't move, as he took in the rest of the wall, nothing but pictures of him. Newspaper clippings, posters, the comics and trade cards bearing his likeness. Steve remembered taking a ribbing from Bucky and the rest of his platoon back then.
"What in the -? Jesus," Steve breathed, rubbing the palm of his hand against his chest, as if he wanted to free up his breathing. "Is this some sort of joke?"
Gregory shook his head, his face calm, his hands in the pockets of his white slacks. "No, actually," he said, not moving from the corner of the room, but again, he was under one of the few lights in the room, his hair and suit white to the point of platinum. Steve shifted to the balls of his feet, ready for anything, but contented himself for now by snarling, "Start talking."
"Tony and I collected figurines and action figures of the Second Great War. The various theatres were a source of fascination... and horror." Gregory said, as he moved an inch, and the colour of his suit was now a sort of cream in this light. He wasn't so white, nor his hair that fair. "That was the only thing we had in common. Argued about strategies, went through various scenarios. Suppose the Third Reich had won, what then? Or if the allies hadn't... " he waved the comment away. "It was the only thing we had in common. I'm sure you've heard about our father and his deal with SHIELD? The contracts, I mean."
Steve nodded. Oh yeah, he heard. There were whispers about it, and even the whispers were classified, way above his pecking order.
"We really couldn't join the army, so we decided the best way to serve our country wasn't to dress up in uniforms, but to protect it in the best way we knew how. Weapons. Tech. Loads of tech. For a time, Tony and I agreed with each other, and it wasn't too unpleasant. We might have been almost equals, if he deigned to apply himself, but then... he discovered drink. " Gregory's eyes became cold and distant, and Steve had a feeling that somewhere, sometime ago, Gregory might have left the room.
"Tony got distracted. Took a year off to look at the internet-" at this Gregory gave a delicate shudder. "Vile, started with the drinking, women, became distressingly ... indiscriminate. Steve," Gregory's hands were now out of his pockets, and he spread them wide, that sort of exaggerated motion as if he had tried to save Tony from himself but failed. "It was difficult."
As much as he should not have, Steve found his attitude towards Gregory softening. Yes, he could see Tony sticking his heels in and being contrary. Gregory continued, emboldened by his silence.
"Terribly difficult. We had words, we fought. Tony wasn't committed and Stark industries couldn't continue like this, what with us scrapping at the helm. Romulus and Remus, but alas, we wouldn't have built Rome this way, not in the way of the world as it is , and fratricide is ... distasteful. We couldn't go on the way we did. We came to a solution."
"The gentleman's agreement?" Steve asked, because it seemed to be something he should say.
"Exactly," Gregory smiled, as if he were grateful to be understood.
"And this..?" Steve frowned, walking towards the centre of the room, and stopped short as the light became sharper and opened over his shield. Not the disc he had now, the one that looked like a ... heraldic badge of some sort. A - Kite shield.
It was still scratched -still- and before he could stop himself, Steve reached out, touched. His fingertips journeying over the pits and grooves and dents of the shield. Each nick, each dent a recollection of images past. The stars, the stripes, a symbol of what he put himself through, and he closed his eyes against the sudden burst of phantom pains in his muscles.
The shield - a symbol of what he became. The flashbacks bowled him over, brought him to his knees, the pile of carpet thick enough to cushion them against the concrete. The campaigns he participated in were explosions of memory against the backs of his eyelids. The launch on Omaha, the stink of cordite as bombs fell around them, lighting the sky in a grotesque celebration of the fourth of July. The ground roiled and shook underfoot as if in uncontrollable fits, and he took the lead, trying to keep an eye on Bucky. One eye on Bucky and oh God, the rocket, the tremble along his thighs, the flash before his eyes as bright as an exploding sun. The shock of cold water as it ripped his air from his lungs, black flakes at the edges of his vision.
One last thought. The only thought. Gail - and then gone.
Steve rested the heels of his hands against his forehead, kept his eyes closed, holding back the sting of tears and came back to himself, feeling the comforting heat and weight of Gregory's hand on his shoulder.
"It's overwhelming, yes?" Gregory's voice was soft; a whisper in this place of of the dead.
"How?" Steve could only wail, the outline of the shield blurred by his tears. "How?"
"I saw it in auction, and just had to get it."
"Where -" the word was a burr in his throat. Steve swallowed, cleared his throat and tried again. "Where did they ..."
"Over Iceland, it seemed that your shield floated to Jan Mayen, and a fisherman took it to his village in Tromsø, along the Norwegian coast. It was a curio, an item of interest at a local museum. The owner died, it went through various channels, came up in Soethby's two years ago and here it is."
Steve was unable to say a word.
"Tony got the helmet," Gregory seethed. "But I heard he gave it away. But then again," he went on, as if he was trying to hold on to his temper. "Tony's sentimentality was always his Achilles heel."
"Tony is... Tony." Steve breathed, his eyes still on the shield, remembering how his hands shook when he took the helmet out of the box at Tony's Park Avenue apartment. When his hands landed on the helmet, Thor and Tony's voices faded into the background. In a world that was strange and new, something known nearly unmanned him, caused his throat to close. It was - something recognisable in a world that was filled with nothing but the bizarre. Tony had given him something familiar.
"Indeed," Gregory agreed. From Steve's vantage point he saw the white of his slacks, and the soft pale kid of his shoe in the plush pile of the carpet.
"Hand?"
"What?" Steve raised his head, his eyes lit on Gregory's outstretched palm.
"I said, do you need a hand?"
Steve nodded, and placed his hand in Gregory's, allowing himself to be helped up, leaving his heart behind, tied in with the dents and scratches of the kite shield. In retrospect, if he had not been so distracted - Steve told himself- what happened next, would not have happened.
With a tug, Gregory hauled Steve up.
"Whoa, I'm at least thirty pounds on you and you just-"
"Ta'i chi," Gregory interjected, his voice smooth suggesting no exertion at all. "A little known martial art, one can move mountains, and yet be unmoved if he so desires."
"Ah... right?" Steve answered inanely, amazed that this guy looked like a pansy and yet he was strong. He dropped his eyes, saw his hand still in Gregory's grasp, and Steve tugged it away.
"You did combat training for the war, didn't you, Steve?"
"Yes but basic karate and primarily hand to hand, grappling, tripping. The usual. Nothing like this. I've been researching on styles since - I've been back."
"So if I did this?"
Yeah, Steve thought as he found himself on his back. Gregory did something with his arm, an inverse hook. Steve took in the ceiling, the foreshortening angle made Gregory seem taller than he really was.
Reflex took over, as Steve pushed his body off the floor, a low, sweeping kick that took Gregory's feet from under him. Came down with an elbow to his chest, making sure they were eye to eye. There were three options here : eyes, throat, nose. Fingers on throat, focus on windpipe, cut off air. Follow through with a quick punch to the solar plexus with the other hand.
Only for Steve to be stunned out of his bloodlust by the sound of Gregory's laughter beneath him. His laugh was different from Tony's. Louder for one, a bit... more genuine for two, and Steve skudded away, across the carpet, backing off from Gregory.
"I could have killed you," he tried to control the hitch in his breathing, the anger white hot in his chest. "You -"
"That's the thrill," Gregory laughed. Laughed! "Can't you see, Steve? This is why you can't stay under Tony's thumb. You're not like him at all. You're..." Gregory gingerly brushed his throat with his fingers as he sat up, the bastard still doing the hardsell. His eyes were still that unsettling and calm blue, and none the worse for wear although he had been this close to getting a pasting.
"You're so much better than this, than them. Fury, Barton and especially Tony. Steve -I can help you."
Steve glared at Gregory, and the bastard did not even waver, or look the least ruffled by being almost mauled by Steve.
"I can't get my life back," Steve spat, his voice bitter.
"No," Gregory answered, his tone so matter of fact, as if he were telling the time, or commenting on the weather. "You're right, you can't."
Steve brushed at his slacks, and took a step back, taking care to back away from the shield.
"But I can give you something else."
"I don't want it."
"Yes, you do."
"No, I don't. You don't have anything I'd want."
"So you say. Our dinner is over, I'm afraid. I have another appointment." Gregory was on his feet now, rolling his shoulders and tugging at the hem of his jacket. With long sweeps along his arms and thighs, he smoothed out the wrinkles in his suit, causing Steve to raise his eyebrows in surprise, because clothes just didn't do that, and Steve found himself confused. Again.
"We'll meet again, soon enough, I expect. I'll send word." Gregory said, his breath so close that Steve could almost taste the words, syllable by syllable as they rolled off his tongue. "Good night, Elena will see you to the door."
A nod, as Gregory tugged at the lapels of his jacket, and left. Steve stood there, wondering, as he saw his guide, the blonde woman he met at the beginning of this strange evening gliding towards him.What in the -? What just happened here?
Steve made his way to the exit, got in the car, feeling oddly vulnerable as the door of the limousine clicked shut behind him. Hoping that there would be no more invitations from that side of the Stark family, and appreciating Tony Stark just a bit more.
Fin.
topaz_eyes and
dorcas_gustine. A snow flake and a penguin. Too cute, and it cheered up my morning immensely. Cheers again. :D
For the rest of you, I bring fic.
Title: Build God And We'll Talk
Author:
jazzypom
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: none
Universe1610 Ultimates fic
Pairing/Characters: Dr Gregory Stark, and Steve Rogers
Word Count: Approximately 3,900
Beta: If I told you I didn't use a beta, would you hold it against me?
A/N: Written in June 2009, when I heard about Gregory Stark from Wizard. I wrote this for
valtyr in gdocs, just to show my thoughts re: Tony's sibling, and how he and Steve might relate to each other (or not). Please keep me away from writing in gdocs. Many Cheers to e_s for the title. :D
Summary: Steve accepts Gregory Stark's invitation to dine, but finds the after dinner treat not to his taste.
Disclaimer: Characters are properties of Stan Lee, Marvel and Walt Disney.
"Captain America, thank you for coming."
Steve nodded his greeting as he handed over his invitation. He still could not get over the relative pomp of an audience with Dr Gregory Stark, so far the rituals were both arcane and fascinating. Gilt lettering on cream parchment, a flourish of an invite inside the parlour. What struck him was the colour - or absence of all colour. All shades of white on white ;snow coloured carpet cushioning his foot falls, cool brocade curtains of bone against ivory. Delicate tables of blonde wood, supporting squat glass vases of white lilies, which sweetened the air with their perfume.
The woman who greeted him at the door matched her surroundings. Fair hair, eyes pale gold, her slender form clad in vanilla coloured silk. With a small, polite smile, she gestured him to follow her, the red soles of her shoes the only shot of colour on her outfit.
" Did the driver suit?"
"Yes ma'am. Although I'd have been just as comfortable talking the subwa -"
"Nonsense," she shot him a look over her shoulder, her eyes sober. "Dr Stark wouldn't dream of it. You are his esteemed guest, after all. Come, we go this way."
Steve followed as they descended the sweep of the steps. The view from this building panoramic, helped along by the absence of walls, nothing but ceiling to floor glass that let the skyline of New York in. His guide made general noises of inquiry, her voice low and mild as cream. Yes, the drive had been smooth, thank you, ma'am. No, he had no dietary restrictions that he knew of. No, he was not vegetarian, thank you very much, ma'am. Yes, I'll wait right here. Another polished smile, and she left, her heels muted taps against the slick floor.
Steve was not here to cage a free meal. No, he was curious about Gregory Stark, because truth be told, Steve often entertained the notion that Tony had just hatched. Sprang into being fully formed, Martini in hand, swanning around as if he owned New York in his lavender robe of... what was that word... lasciviousness. Yes, Steve could see Tony clad in said robes from birth, like those aristocrats in Europe whose boys wore dresses until seven.
In certain ways, Tony never stopped being seven.
"Mr Rogers."
Gregory stood there, at the top of the stairs, hands in the pocket of his white slacks. He looked very much like Tony, but different. A lot tidier,for one, his hair swept back from his forehead, and slicked to his skull. His stance perfect, shoulders back, chin titled just so. Blond hair and eyebrows, blond van dyke, his complexion not as olive as Tony's. His eyes a lot cooler, and not just because of their lighter hue.
"Dr Stark," Steve greeted, wondering if he should cross the floor and shake his hand. Not knowing the protocol, Steve stayed where he was. Gregory did not move, and Steve guessed because it might have been the lights above his head, giving Gregory a sort of muted aura, the effect helped by his white suit and fair colouring.
Dr Stark descended the stairs, his movements measured, controlled, but not slow. No 'clip clop' of shoes on stairs, because the white loafers seemed too soft and thin. As he drew near, he held out his hand, and Steve shook it, appreciating the other man's firm grip. At least, he passed the handshake test.
"You can call me Gregory, if you must," his voice cool and distant as the rest of him. Not clipped, but formal. "Shall we eat?"
Dinner served on fine white china, with a border of blue on the edges. They were attended by white gloved waiters, who kept their glasses filled with varied beverages. The straw colour of elderflower juice, or the creamy colours of various virgin daiquiris. The choice between clear, still water, or the sort of water that had bubbles which floated dreamily from the base of their glasses before bursting on the surface.
Their meal presented with flourish; vichyssoise soup with crusted bread, for starters. The wait staff gave him practised smiles when he said 'thank you', and Steve had the feeling that his thanks meant nothing. The main course tasted like chicken and pasta, but different. The favours so delicate, it forced you to chew slowly to extend the moment, and you didn't want to spoil the taste with something as banal as water.
Unlike his first dinner with Tony, with Thor and Jarvis and conversation, there was none of that here. Just Gregory cutting his food and placing the portions on the back of the prongs of his fork. The atmosphere quiet, with nothing but the tiniest click of crockery and cutlery as their waitstaff placed the used dishes on the silver trolley. It was just so weird, he thought, as he placed his fork on the plate.
"Isn't the meal to your taste, Steve?"
"What? No, it's not that, the meal is delicious," Steve placed his glass on the table and looked across at Gregory. "I just - you don't drink. Alcohol, I mean."
"No. Unlike my brother, I aspired to be something more than a drunk with ... questionable tastes."
Well, ouch.
Soon, too soon, the dinner now finished, the waiters cleared the plates, no sound save the clink of cutlery against the crockery as they were placed into the trays, before being taken away. Gregory dabbed at the corner of his mouth with his napkin. His moves graceful, but not effete. Afterwards, he placed his knife and fork together with the tines of the fork facing upwards on his plate. Steve followed suit.
"You and Tony," Steve began, groping for conversation. It was only polite, and Steve could do polite. In a strange way, he was glad that he had met Tony first, in that whatever Gregory Stark did, it could not surprise him as much as Tony had when Steve first came out of the ice. "You and Tony decided to ignore each other for ten years?"
Gregory smiled, and for a brief moment, there were crinkles of amusement around his eyes, but no warmth. Absently, Steve searched Gregory's face, hoping to find a bit of Tony there, surprised and disappointed when he did not.
"...as I was saying," Gregory continued, and Steve clicked his attention to the present. "Tony is..." Gregory's voice trailed off as he gave an expansive gesture, the white gold metal of his watch catching the light. The action and Gregory's sigh carried a lot of meaning, Steve thought, only to be proved right a few seconds later. "...a wastrel, a... well, I'm sure I'm preaching to the converted, here. You know what he's like, don't you?"
"Tony is..." Steve began, not wanting to roll over on Tony, no matter how much of a point Gregory might have had. Gregory raised his eyebrows, the only outward expression of interest as he waited on Steve's answer. Steve shrugged his shoulders, plumped for an out. "Tony." he finished, only to be rewarded by Gregory's smile. All white teeth, amused again, his eyes still cool.
"Exactly," Gregory nodded. "Only Tony would decide to -well, not leave munitions behind - not as much as using the Stark name to join some sort of Peace Choir. To become a mascot, if you will. "
"The Ultimates have done a fair bit of -"
"You have done a fair bit. From what I gather, my sibling was having a breakdown in Arizona."
"It was a tense time." Steve replied, trying to keep his tone even. Tony was a team mate, and as a result, deserved his loyalty. If nothing else, for the fact that at least Tony took Captain America seriously. Not to mention, goddamnit, the Ultimates might not have been the American super-group it started out as initially but they still kept the peace.
Gregory must have heard the censure in Steve's voice because he had the grace to look embarrassed. "I've offended you. I'm sorry. But Tony and I... you know how siblings are like, I expect?"
Steve nodded. Remembered Bucky, who had been a brother in all the ways that counted. He protected him from the bullies at St Mary's, made it so that Steve got to participate in the games being played, even though he had a gimp leg, and could only hobble. Steve had a distinct feeling that Gregory and himself might be singing from different hymn sheets, but he only answered, "I know."
"I have been beastly," Gregory pushed himself from the chair, and gestured towards a passageway adjacent to the dining room. "Let me make it up to you."
Suddenly, Steve wanted to refuse. To demur and plead fatigue and go home. He had a handy excuse, considering he was an Ultimate and all. But to turn down Gregory's wanting to make amends seemed churlish, so he followed Gregory down the hall. Recessed lights on either side of the passageway, little cats eyes guiding their steps, as they came to a door. Painted white and fairly nondescript - if it weren't for Gregory punching in a password with the little buttonpad at the side. Steve was curious, and could not turn back even if he wanted to.
The door opened with a hiss, and Gregory waved his hand, as he were a magician ready to make cards vanish out of thin air. "Please, this way," Gregory said.
Steve found himself in a room. Its lighting dim, down about ninety percent. There was enough illumination for him to see his way, but not not so much as for him to get the lay of the room. It reminded him of the parts of the Met gallery where the watercolour paintings were. Steve was no artist, but knew enough that watercolours tended to fade in strong light, hence them bathed in surroundings the colour of amber. Dr Stark brought him down here to show him... watercolours? Gregory was beside him, their shoulders close enough to touch, and automatically Steve leaned away. Gregory just smelt... clean. No tell tale odour of soap, cologne or even the solvents that freshened his clothing.
"Let me show you my pride and joy."
At this comment, Steve expected the usual trinkets of the rich; being around Tony improved his education on that score. He half predicted to see 'classic' cars, the odd statue dug up from antiquity, or raided from national museums somewhere. The air was cool, as if the a/c had been turned off for a few minutes, with the bite of cold air gone, the room temperature a comfortable chill.
With Gregory's spoken words, as if some sort of magic, the lights went up in the room. Still dim though, the room the colour of that green tea Jan insisted on drinking when they were together. The lights bright enough for Steve to see that they were a room with stickers - no, frames, picture frames of posters, back when posters had that 'painterly' quality, and then shot to capture the brush strokes through the ink, not the unnatural computer smoothed lines like they did now.
UNCLE SAM WANTS YOU said one, the gaunt wizened man all steely eyed and and imperious. The posters from his youth, with the national personification of the US government; the elderly white man with white hair and goatee beard, his forefinger seemed so real, as if it would poke you in your chest, for not wanting to even think of volunteering. Steve remembered that poster, how he wanted to be wanted, only to be turned away from the recruitment office because he was too weak, had a gimp leg, too frail. His eyes shifted, and snagged on the other poster with that man on it, and he'd recognise that toothbrush moustache anywhere. The portrait of the small, swarthy man, with his boots and Nazi regalia.
Steve recoiled, because Jimney Cricket, was this some sort of sick joke? He turned to go, but his feet couldn't move, as he took in the rest of the wall, nothing but pictures of him. Newspaper clippings, posters, the comics and trade cards bearing his likeness. Steve remembered taking a ribbing from Bucky and the rest of his platoon back then.
"What in the -? Jesus," Steve breathed, rubbing the palm of his hand against his chest, as if he wanted to free up his breathing. "Is this some sort of joke?"
Gregory shook his head, his face calm, his hands in the pockets of his white slacks. "No, actually," he said, not moving from the corner of the room, but again, he was under one of the few lights in the room, his hair and suit white to the point of platinum. Steve shifted to the balls of his feet, ready for anything, but contented himself for now by snarling, "Start talking."
"Tony and I collected figurines and action figures of the Second Great War. The various theatres were a source of fascination... and horror." Gregory said, as he moved an inch, and the colour of his suit was now a sort of cream in this light. He wasn't so white, nor his hair that fair. "That was the only thing we had in common. Argued about strategies, went through various scenarios. Suppose the Third Reich had won, what then? Or if the allies hadn't... " he waved the comment away. "It was the only thing we had in common. I'm sure you've heard about our father and his deal with SHIELD? The contracts, I mean."
Steve nodded. Oh yeah, he heard. There were whispers about it, and even the whispers were classified, way above his pecking order.
"We really couldn't join the army, so we decided the best way to serve our country wasn't to dress up in uniforms, but to protect it in the best way we knew how. Weapons. Tech. Loads of tech. For a time, Tony and I agreed with each other, and it wasn't too unpleasant. We might have been almost equals, if he deigned to apply himself, but then... he discovered drink. " Gregory's eyes became cold and distant, and Steve had a feeling that somewhere, sometime ago, Gregory might have left the room.
"Tony got distracted. Took a year off to look at the internet-" at this Gregory gave a delicate shudder. "Vile, started with the drinking, women, became distressingly ... indiscriminate. Steve," Gregory's hands were now out of his pockets, and he spread them wide, that sort of exaggerated motion as if he had tried to save Tony from himself but failed. "It was difficult."
As much as he should not have, Steve found his attitude towards Gregory softening. Yes, he could see Tony sticking his heels in and being contrary. Gregory continued, emboldened by his silence.
"Terribly difficult. We had words, we fought. Tony wasn't committed and Stark industries couldn't continue like this, what with us scrapping at the helm. Romulus and Remus, but alas, we wouldn't have built Rome this way, not in the way of the world as it is , and fratricide is ... distasteful. We couldn't go on the way we did. We came to a solution."
"The gentleman's agreement?" Steve asked, because it seemed to be something he should say.
"Exactly," Gregory smiled, as if he were grateful to be understood.
"And this..?" Steve frowned, walking towards the centre of the room, and stopped short as the light became sharper and opened over his shield. Not the disc he had now, the one that looked like a ... heraldic badge of some sort. A - Kite shield.
It was still scratched -still- and before he could stop himself, Steve reached out, touched. His fingertips journeying over the pits and grooves and dents of the shield. Each nick, each dent a recollection of images past. The stars, the stripes, a symbol of what he put himself through, and he closed his eyes against the sudden burst of phantom pains in his muscles.
The shield - a symbol of what he became. The flashbacks bowled him over, brought him to his knees, the pile of carpet thick enough to cushion them against the concrete. The campaigns he participated in were explosions of memory against the backs of his eyelids. The launch on Omaha, the stink of cordite as bombs fell around them, lighting the sky in a grotesque celebration of the fourth of July. The ground roiled and shook underfoot as if in uncontrollable fits, and he took the lead, trying to keep an eye on Bucky. One eye on Bucky and oh God, the rocket, the tremble along his thighs, the flash before his eyes as bright as an exploding sun. The shock of cold water as it ripped his air from his lungs, black flakes at the edges of his vision.
One last thought. The only thought. Gail - and then gone.
Steve rested the heels of his hands against his forehead, kept his eyes closed, holding back the sting of tears and came back to himself, feeling the comforting heat and weight of Gregory's hand on his shoulder.
"It's overwhelming, yes?" Gregory's voice was soft; a whisper in this place of of the dead.
"How?" Steve could only wail, the outline of the shield blurred by his tears. "How?"
"I saw it in auction, and just had to get it."
"Where -" the word was a burr in his throat. Steve swallowed, cleared his throat and tried again. "Where did they ..."
"Over Iceland, it seemed that your shield floated to Jan Mayen, and a fisherman took it to his village in Tromsø, along the Norwegian coast. It was a curio, an item of interest at a local museum. The owner died, it went through various channels, came up in Soethby's two years ago and here it is."
Steve was unable to say a word.
"Tony got the helmet," Gregory seethed. "But I heard he gave it away. But then again," he went on, as if he was trying to hold on to his temper. "Tony's sentimentality was always his Achilles heel."
"Tony is... Tony." Steve breathed, his eyes still on the shield, remembering how his hands shook when he took the helmet out of the box at Tony's Park Avenue apartment. When his hands landed on the helmet, Thor and Tony's voices faded into the background. In a world that was strange and new, something known nearly unmanned him, caused his throat to close. It was - something recognisable in a world that was filled with nothing but the bizarre. Tony had given him something familiar.
"Indeed," Gregory agreed. From Steve's vantage point he saw the white of his slacks, and the soft pale kid of his shoe in the plush pile of the carpet.
"Hand?"
"What?" Steve raised his head, his eyes lit on Gregory's outstretched palm.
"I said, do you need a hand?"
Steve nodded, and placed his hand in Gregory's, allowing himself to be helped up, leaving his heart behind, tied in with the dents and scratches of the kite shield. In retrospect, if he had not been so distracted - Steve told himself- what happened next, would not have happened.
With a tug, Gregory hauled Steve up.
"Whoa, I'm at least thirty pounds on you and you just-"
"Ta'i chi," Gregory interjected, his voice smooth suggesting no exertion at all. "A little known martial art, one can move mountains, and yet be unmoved if he so desires."
"Ah... right?" Steve answered inanely, amazed that this guy looked like a pansy and yet he was strong. He dropped his eyes, saw his hand still in Gregory's grasp, and Steve tugged it away.
"You did combat training for the war, didn't you, Steve?"
"Yes but basic karate and primarily hand to hand, grappling, tripping. The usual. Nothing like this. I've been researching on styles since - I've been back."
"So if I did this?"
Yeah, Steve thought as he found himself on his back. Gregory did something with his arm, an inverse hook. Steve took in the ceiling, the foreshortening angle made Gregory seem taller than he really was.
Reflex took over, as Steve pushed his body off the floor, a low, sweeping kick that took Gregory's feet from under him. Came down with an elbow to his chest, making sure they were eye to eye. There were three options here : eyes, throat, nose. Fingers on throat, focus on windpipe, cut off air. Follow through with a quick punch to the solar plexus with the other hand.
Only for Steve to be stunned out of his bloodlust by the sound of Gregory's laughter beneath him. His laugh was different from Tony's. Louder for one, a bit... more genuine for two, and Steve skudded away, across the carpet, backing off from Gregory.
"I could have killed you," he tried to control the hitch in his breathing, the anger white hot in his chest. "You -"
"That's the thrill," Gregory laughed. Laughed! "Can't you see, Steve? This is why you can't stay under Tony's thumb. You're not like him at all. You're..." Gregory gingerly brushed his throat with his fingers as he sat up, the bastard still doing the hardsell. His eyes were still that unsettling and calm blue, and none the worse for wear although he had been this close to getting a pasting.
"You're so much better than this, than them. Fury, Barton and especially Tony. Steve -I can help you."
Steve glared at Gregory, and the bastard did not even waver, or look the least ruffled by being almost mauled by Steve.
"I can't get my life back," Steve spat, his voice bitter.
"No," Gregory answered, his tone so matter of fact, as if he were telling the time, or commenting on the weather. "You're right, you can't."
Steve brushed at his slacks, and took a step back, taking care to back away from the shield.
"But I can give you something else."
"I don't want it."
"Yes, you do."
"No, I don't. You don't have anything I'd want."
"So you say. Our dinner is over, I'm afraid. I have another appointment." Gregory was on his feet now, rolling his shoulders and tugging at the hem of his jacket. With long sweeps along his arms and thighs, he smoothed out the wrinkles in his suit, causing Steve to raise his eyebrows in surprise, because clothes just didn't do that, and Steve found himself confused. Again.
"We'll meet again, soon enough, I expect. I'll send word." Gregory said, his breath so close that Steve could almost taste the words, syllable by syllable as they rolled off his tongue. "Good night, Elena will see you to the door."
A nod, as Gregory tugged at the lapels of his jacket, and left. Steve stood there, wondering, as he saw his guide, the blonde woman he met at the beginning of this strange evening gliding towards him.What in the -? What just happened here?
Steve made his way to the exit, got in the car, feeling oddly vulnerable as the door of the limousine clicked shut behind him. Hoping that there would be no more invitations from that side of the Stark family, and appreciating Tony Stark just a bit more.
Fin.