The Secret Life of Steve Rogers (page 2)
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“Captain Rogers?”
The voice floats forward from the dark, like fighting its way through tar-like sludge. He isn’t even sure if that’s what the sound is, calling out to him; it rings familiar enough, so that’s what his brain decides it is: someone calling for him.
For an unknown period of time, there is only humming, like a machine or air conditioning rather than human voices. His focus drifts in and out at irregular intervals, making it next to impossible to detect a pattern - if there even is one.
Then, finally, he thinks he can hear words again. At first, they are simply sounds too irregular to be part of the background noise. Soon, he thinks he can make out syllables, although he wouldn’t venture to guess what language they are a part of. It reminds him of English, but maybe that’s just his brain clutching at something semi-familiar and making it seem like more than it really is.
After all, that is how the mind works, patching together often random pieces of information to make a whole picture. Whether that is the truth, or a flawed perception…
He finds little comfort in that knowledge, for obvious reasons. Distressed and constantly more aware of the fact that something is going on - that he might be in danger - he fights to collect his thoughts and wills the world around him to make more sense. He is conscious or swiftly getting there, after all, which means he can affect the outcome if he puts enough effort into it. That is the true ‘Steve Rogers Philosophy’, as Tony might say, and that is something they can agree on.
Steve has always been a doer.
The words grow a tiny bit clearer, into something more than just tonal sounds.
He thinks he makes out one word in particular: Captain.
Telling himself that someone is calling out to him, he uses that as a guideline to start pulling himself to full wakefulness. It’s harder than it should be, like climbing a steep, slippery slope. Tenacity is in his nature, though, and he is making headway, albeit painfully slowly. Sometimes it feels like he’s right back where he started, in the midst of the humming, blurred sounds - like being trapped underwater.
His tenacity is starting to pay off, however. He can feel a change, for the first time connecting with his physical form and not just his jumbled thoughts and feelings he struggles to be in control of.
As his consciousness slowly begins to connect with physical sensations, he instantly feels sick and disoriented. He hasn’t felt quite like that in a very long time, and for a tiny moment he wishes he could just sink back under where every sensation is minimal. However, he already knows what awaits him there, and it isn’t what he wants.
The dizziness intensifies, solidifying as nausea deep within his chest. It makes him just a little more aware of his body, but not in a way he would prefer. He soldiers through it, though, because what other options does he have?
“Captain Rogers?”
The words are much clearer now, the fog dissipating from his mind. A woman’s voice, but not someone he recognizes. Her tone suggests uncertainty, perhaps even a tiny hint of fear.
Slowly, Steve climbs to the surface; he grows aware of his own breaths, and the continued heaviness in his chest; the clamminess of his skin as if he has been running an intense fever or a radical case of night sweats; an unusual heaviness in his limbs, like rigid tension slowly melting into pliability as he slowly begins regaining control.
Simply being able to feel his body is a revelation. To actually move takes more concentration than it should, and he still experiences intense nausea and dizziness.
“Take your time, Captain,” the woman’s voice tells him. “You have been asleep a long time…”
His mind latches onto the words, and he feels sick for a very different reason. Still, he tells himself not to read too much into it, to over-think the simple message. Just because he thinks it might mean something doesn’t make it so. His fears can easily play tricks on him, especially when he is already feeling quite out of it.
Though, when he woke up at the S.H.I.E.L.D. base after the ice, he didn’t feel like this. It was rather like waking up from a long nap.
This knowledge does little to comfort him, and Steve focuses on regaining control of his body. One step at a time, no reason to worry about it prematurely. He doesn’t have all the facts, and until he does, he has to be patient.
When it’s hard to even twitch your finger, patience is hard to come by.
Steve’s used to not getting what he wants - at least not right away - but it’s never been from lack of trying. He decides this time will be no different, and keeps on trying to reclaim his body and get past the sickening sensation of dizziness.
He hasn’t been sick since the serum, and he wonders if getting ill now might actually feel that much worse. The serum was supposed to make him the perfect soldier, and those don’t exactly catch the seasonal flu. So, for him to feel this bad, it has to be pretty serious.
The closer he comes to regaining full consciousness, the more the nausea is pushed back. That is a relief, finally, and even though he doesn’t need motivation, every little thing helps - especially when he doesn’t know what waits on the other side. He likes being prepared, but he has a feeling this is one of those things he just has to take as they come.
As sensory input starts reaching his brain in a comprehensible fashion, he is able to deduce he’s lying down on a surface that is just soft enough to be comfortable - like a hard bed. Shifting his fingers, he feels the sheets, further confirming his theory on what he is lying on.
The hum is still there, but not as overwhelming anymore. He can definitely classify it as air conditioning, something in a more industrial setting than a home. There are no other sounds that he can make out, though, and he suspects the room he’s in isn’t all that large.
Then there’s the woman who has been talking to him: he can’t sense her, exactly, but there is a distinct feeling that he is being watched. The hum of the AC is too loud for him to hear her breathe, if she’s that close to him, and that prompts him to finally fight to open his eyes and take a look at his surroundings.
The nausea comes back with a vengeance, his vision filling with spots of light for a moment before his eyes adjust, albeit painfully. It feels like something finally pops into place in his brain, the rest of his body registering as it should - even though he feels pretty horrible.
This is not the kind of discomfort that follows physical injury; Steve is intimately familiar with that. What he is currently experiencing is like waking up after a too-long sleep, possibly preceded by grueling conditions and too little rest. After all, that’s about the only stuff that makes him crave that much rest.
As his eyes finally begin to cooperate, he can make out a bare room with metallic walls and too-bright lamps embedded in the ceiling. It’s as if whoever adjusted the lighting didn’t want him to remain under for any longer than is necessary.
There is indeed a woman in the room with him: she sits on a simple chair three feet from him, body rigid with nervousness. At first glance she doesn’t seem frightened, exactly, but she is definitely not within her comfort zone.
“Take it easy, Captain,” she says upon noticing his gaze, leaning forward just a bit. “You will most likely feel disorientation…”
So, she knows he’s not feeling his best. That doesn’t exactly fill Steve with confidence, and he struggles to move. The nausea rolls over him as he forces his body upright, the simple act of sitting up threatening to throw him back down with extreme vertigo. He felt something akin to this before the serum, especially if he had been ill and bedridden for days.
He looks down at himself to make sure that is not the case now, and finds his body strong and serum-enhanced beneath the simple white hospital pajamas he’s wearing - at least by outwards appearances. At the moment he doesn’t feel strong, but he’s certain he’ll have more information in a few minutes once the vertigo passes.
In the meantime, he keeps an eye on the woman, checking her for clues. She is wearing a simple steel gray uniform that doesn’t much differ from the color of the walls around them. There is a symbol embroidered at the chest of the jacket that he doesn’t recognize, although it looks a bit like a variant of the S.H.I.E.L.D. insignia. Her brown hair is tied in a bun behind her head, no frills or a strand out of place.
She offers him a tiny smile, possibly one of encouragement, and Steve slowly straightens himself further, dropping his gaze to examine the bed he has been lying in. It’s as simple as the rest of the room, a thin mattress and sheets a bit too coarse to be comfortable covering a simple metal frame. The bedding feels warm, suggesting he’s been lying there for some time.
“Are you feeling any better?” the woman asks. Steve detects no accent in her speech, nothing to place her. She sounds genuine enough, interested in his wellbeing, making herself appear a less of a threat than she perhaps is.
Steve has no reason to doubt her, just as he has no reason to trust her, and decides to take it slow, just in case. Instead of answering, he looks around some more, and slowly begins to shift his body sideways so that he’ll be able to place his feet on the floor. The woman watches him, not trying to stop his progress, and slowly Steve settles his bare feet onto the cool floor. It makes him shiver, but he doesn’t lift his feet, finding the sensation rather grounding.
“How do you feel?” the woman asks again. She is being patient, but Steve thinks there’s still a hint of nervousness in her. Well, he is a stranger, and woozy or not, he would be able to hurt her in case she’s a threat. Smartly, she is not implying anything like that.
Steve opens his mouth to reply, and finds his throat so scratchy barely any sound escapes. He clears his throat, swallows, and tries again: “Better,” he says, not revealing just how horrid he was feeling mere moments ago; his head is starting to clear, the vertigo loosening its hold.
“Good,” the woman says. “I can get you something to drink, if you’d like.”
Steve considers the offer, then slowly nods in agreement.
The woman nods back and stands up, walking to the nondescript door and opening it, slipping out and closing it after her. Steve can hear a lock click into place, and attempts to listen to her footsteps. The walls are thick enough to block any sounds, however, and he busies himself by standing up and slowly stretching, feeling more in control by the minute.
He walks about, further testing his body for injuries, inspecting the room as he goes. Steve thinks he can spot a few cameras, effectively covering the entire room that isn’t much larger than twenty by twenty-five feet. The ventilation is loud in his ears, and he can detect a breeze on the bare sections of his skin, although he can barely make out the holes near the ceiling. There are no windows, medical equipment or even a faucet. For all intents and purposes, the room looks like a prison cell with its simple bed, two uncomfortable looking chairs and a small table.
As he’s making another slow turn about the room, searching for clues and waking up his body, he hears the lock move and turns around to watch the same woman enter, this time with a tall glass of water. She doesn’t show her surprise at him being on his feet, but it’s possible she checked a security feed before entering.
“I’m glad you are feeling good enough to move around,” she says, giving him a tiny smile, and offers him the glass. As his fingers touch it, he feels hard plastic instead of actual glass, but the water gently sloshing inside appears innocent enough. He smells it, just in case, then takes a cautious sip, trying to detect any unknown elements. For now he finds none, and drinks another sip before setting the cup down on the tiny table that barely reaches past his thighs in height.
“Where am I?” Steve finally asks. “Who are you?”
“What is the last thing you remember?” the woman asks in turn.
Steve frowns and refuses to answer. When he thinks of it, he isn’t sure; his memories seem muddled and unclear, and it’s hard to pinpoint which piece exactly is the last one. He’s not about to tell the woman that, though.
She seems to realize he’s not going to volunteer any information - not until he’s received some in return. Even then, Steve’s willingness to talk will depend on what he’s going to hear, and how he feels about it.
“Would you like to sit down?” the woman asks, gesturing towards the chairs and the table.
“I’ll stand,” Steve replies. He doubts he could have a formal chat, dressed as he is, and his body isn’t feeling quite normal yet.
The woman chooses to sit on the other side of the table, either shielding herself or leaving the chair closest to Steve available to him should he choose to sit in it. “My name is Claire Hamilton. I work for G.S.N. - Global Safety Network - and this is one of our safest locations in the Greater New York area.” She shifts and hesitates. “This area used to be called Manhattan.”
“Used to?” Steve frowns.
“It is the year 2068,” Claire informs him hesitantly. “We believe you have been… asleep… for quite some time.”
Steve stares at her, making her unease grow. “I’ve heard this speech before,” he finally says.
“After you were found in the ice,” Claire immediately jumps at the chance to explain. “Our records show that, and perhaps that is why you survived… For the longest time we weren’t sure if you would awaken, but your body showed next to no deterioration, so our scientists were hopeful. Of course, they were concerned for your state of mind, once you awakened, and whether you would be coherent.”
Steve looks at her, this stranger telling him he’s lost another unbearably large number of years. The mere thought makes him feel sick, but he refuses to just believe it at face value. Last time, it took running out into the streets of New York to actually sledgehammer the truth into his head, and this time will be no different.
“I realize you have questions - but so do we,” Claire tells him. “We have so little uncorrupted information left from your time, and getting to talk to an actual person is of uttermost importance to our cause.”
“Which is?”
“To save the world,” Claire tells him with confidence.
“From what?”
“A.I.M.”
That sounds vaguely familiar.
“Advanced Idea Mechanics,” Claire clarifies. “They were just a technology company back in the day, but they had dangerous ideas. And then they got their hands on Iron Man technology.”
There were a lot of words in that sentence that Steve didn’t like, especially when put together. “How did they manage that?” he asks.
“Espionage, larceny - and possibly murder.”
“Tony would never just hand over his technology,” Steve murmurs, not liking where this conversation is going.
“Tony Stark,” Claire jumps at the name, as if Steve’s just given her the answer to a question that’s been eluding her. “You knew him, didn’t you? The creator of Iron Man technology?”
“Yes,” is all Steve says.
“Then perhaps you would be willing to help us. This technology in the wrong hands has brought the world to its knees, unmatched by anything we’ve been able to compile. A raiding party secured some blueprints a few months ago - at a great cost of life to the men and women who braved the A.I.M. facility they were housed in. However, the blueprints are incomplete, but with your knowledge of Iron Man -”
“Stop,” Steve raises a hand, stopping her over-excited babbling.
Claire leans back and attempts to compose herself. “I apologize, Captain. A chance like this hasn’t presented itself in my lifetime - not since A.I.M. set its plans in motion, in fact. Discovering your body is a breakthrough many of us have been praying for, and having you awake and conscious…”
She truly seems elated to be talking to him, but it’s a lot to take in.
“I think I need a moment to think,” Steve muses.
“Of course,” she nods and stands up. “I will bring you print outs of the blueprints, just in case you feel like taking a look. Oh, and food,” she adds belatedly. “You must be starving.”
Steve hadn’t truly felt any hunger until food is mentioned. Now, it feels like he hasn’t eaten in days - or perhaps years, if that is the case. “Food would be nice,” he admits.
Claire nods again and heads to the door. It opens for her, and she slips through. Just like before, it shuts behind her and the lock clicks.
She hasn’t offered to give him a room with actual amenities, or clothes, nor has she given him actual proof of what she has said.
Steve takes a look around, measuring the room once again with his eyes. Perhaps there is a toilet hidden somewhere and he just can’t tell, if it is indeed the future. The Tower was futuristic enough on occasion…
He feels out of his element, but he tells himself not to jump to conclusions. Claire - if that is truly her name - has been convincing enough in her act, but it could be nothing more than that. After all, S.H.I.E.L.D. tried to trick him when he first woke up, but their attempt had so many flaws he’s begun to wonder whether those were on purpose, to give him a hint of something being wrong.
This time, there are no hints - at least none he can see right away. It puts him on edge for various reasons, and one of the largest ones is the fear that he has indeed missed several decades by some means he does not yet know.
He has no recollection of how he ended up here. Last time, he could remember the crash, but now it’s all a jumbled mess he can make no sense off.
Perhaps it will come to him eventually, after a period of real sleep. What he feels now is not from natural rest.
However, he isn’t certain he wants to lower his guard just yet.
Claire returns after approximately fifteen minutes, balancing a tray of food in her hands and a stack of papers under one arm. Steve waits as long as he can, but eventually steps over to her and takes the tray before she can drop it. The smile Claire offers to him in thanks seems genuine, but Steve still tells himself to not buy it at face value.
He sets the tray down on the table, and Claire does the same with the papers, smoothing the cover that has become slightly crumpled. “There is a meeting I must attend, so I’ll leave you to it for a while,” she says.
Steve wonders if the meeting is about him, and what kind of information she’s managed to divulge. Perhaps there is no meeting whatsoever, and they’ll just monitor him and wait for a reaction.
He nods his head in confirmation, and with one last seemingly nervous brush of fingers against the paper stack, she turns and exits once more, the door opening to let her out and locking behind her.
Steve waits for a moment and takes yet another look around the room. His eyes finally rest on the food, which seems processed. A bit like army rations… He examines it, a bottle of water and some kind of juice with added vitamins, according to the label. There are also a few protein bars and what is possibly imitating a sandwich, wrapped in an air-tight plastic bag.
His eyes move on to the papers, but he resists the urge while opening the bottle of water and sniffing it. There are no unfamiliar odors, and he takes a careful sip, waiting for unwanted effects to take hold. As far as he can tell, it is just water, but he doesn’t drink it all at once even though he is starting to feel a bit thirsty.
Curiosity is beginning to win the struggle inside him, and he finally looks at the papers, which contain imagery and some kind of scientific calculations. Not a single page he looks at seems complete, more like a piece in a puzzle - or pieces from various puzzles - and he tries to arrange them in groups to make sense of it. He can see images that are obviously related to Tony’s suits, some clearer than others. There are many that are probably related to the inner workings of the armor, but he can’t tell whether it’s weaponry or a coolant system.
There are over a hundred pages of data, and he ends up with eight stacks after sorting through them. He can’t tell if any of them contain a complete set, or if it’s just partials and fractions - plus there are pages he can make no sense of whatsoever, sitting in a stack of their own.
Images are easier for him to handle, obviously, and some seem familiar, even. For all he knows, they could be from suits he’s seen Tony wear, but he really can’t tell. Surely Tony’s been recycling ideas and designs, because most of the suits look pretty much the same to an outsider.
If they expect Steve to be able to piece any of this together…
He halts, hand resting on top of a page that features a familiar face plate. All he’s done is divide the pages into groups, which practically anyone could do based on the information found on said pages, but if this is some kind of a trap, he doesn’t want to help these people with whatever goal they have in mind.
Even this much could be playing into the hands of his captors…
However, if these people are genuinely under attack from A.I.M. and their stolen Iron Man technology, Steve should do his best to help them.
He has to come up with some way to either confirm Claire’s claims, or expose her lies.
Looking at the room he’s been confined in, he tries to find some clue to solve his problem. He’s tempted to try and break out; if Claire is telling the truth, there will be no real harm in it, he’s certain. If this is some ploy to get information on one of his teammates, however, an escape attempt will no doubt create an instant backlash.
Steve starts with the door, seeing as that is the single point of entry he’s seen so far. It doesn’t budge in the slightest as he experimentally pushes at it, and there is no control panel on the inside that he can see; the door must be controlled from the outside, and that means someone is watching.
He tries to pry some of the wall paneling loose, to see if there is wiring he can manipulate instead of using brute force. His fingers ache as he pulls and yanks, then scans the room for a tool he can use to assist his bare hands. He ends up choosing one of the chairs, tearing apart one of its legs and using that to attack the wall.
By the time one of the panels is getting slightly twisted and he can just barely hook his fingers beneath one of its corners, he’s sweating and there are a few wounds on his hands. He wipes the blood onto his clothes to minimize the slickness, but he eventually steps back and frowns at the wall, waiting for the wounds to close and stop bleeding. The place has been built to resist the escape attempts of an enhanced individual, that’s for sure.
He’s still biding his time, frowning at the door, when it suddenly opens. Claire’s expression is one of uncertainty, as if she knows what he’s been up to.
“Captain, your hands,” she starts, then shakes her head. “I apologize, I didn’t realize just how distressing the circumstances would be, considering your history.”
Steve waits. She still seems genuine enough in her actions. If there is a chance she isn’t lying… He can feel unease twist in his stomach. Not again.
“I will give you a tour of the facilities, of course,” Claire promises. “However, we want to make sure you’re in good enough health before doing so.”
“If you want me to trust you, you’ll have to give me more than that,” he says honestly. The door is still open, Claire hovering in the doorway. He could easily rush her and push out. She seems to realize that as well, tensing slightly.
“I know this is confusing -”
An alarm begins blaring, cutting her off. She looks startled by it, and color drains even further from her face.
If she plans on saying something, it is drowned by an immediate explosion which rocks the foundations of the facility and makes the lights flicker both inside and out of Steve’s room.
“No,” Claire whispers, looking up and down the hallway. A range of emotions crosses her features, the last one desperation as she looks at Steve. “Please, Captain, you need to help us -”
The wall explodes behind her, throwing her to the floor. Dust fills the air and Steve’s lungs, forcing him to cover his face and blink his eyes rapidly to keep them as clear as possible. There is a hole in the wall now, and something is stepping through it - something heavy and mechanical. It is upright and humanoid in shape, and the glowing chest piece gives it away.
Iron Man.
Claire is whimpering on the floor, possibly injured. Steve looks down at her, and then at the advancing suit of armor. It seems familiar, but not that familiar. It could be a new design - or something this A.I.M. organization cooked up from stolen blueprints.
Tension burns in his muscles. He doesn’t have his shield or uniform, leaving him quite open and exposed for an attack. Whether his body is fit to fight after whatever he’s been through is also questionable; he’ll give it a shot, but taking on Iron Man is no light feat. There are some weak spots he’ll go for, and as he thinks that, his hand is already reaching for the leg he broke off the chair.
The armor’s eyes track the movement, and when he picks up the leg, fingers curling around the metal length, the armor takes a step forward.
Steve raises his arm, and his weapon, adopting a defensive stance.
“Woah, Cap,” says the occupant of the armor, raising his arms. It sounds like Tony… Steve doesn’t relax his stance, fearing this will be a trick - and that’s when the faceplate pops open, revealing a familiar face. “It’s me,” Tony says.
“No,” moans Claire.
Tony glances down at her, then at Steve and the room behind him. A frown creases his brow. “We’ll have a talk about this soon, but first I’ve got to crack some heads and recover stolen data.”
Steve feels like smiling. A truth within a lie is always better than a lie based on complete deception… “Wait,” he calls out as Tony moves to turn. “Who are they?” He wants to know - needs to put a face and name to this lie, aside from Claire’s smudged features that now stare up at him with resentment, knowing the game is over.
“A.I.M.,” Tony replies with a tiny motion of his shoulders that is probably a shrug. “Some offshoot of the original, anyway.” He looks down at Claire again. “Whatever she told you was a lie,” he adds, as if guessing some kind of deception was taking place prior to his arrival.
Steve nods.
Tony gives him one in return, then snaps the faceplate shut and walks down the hall. Gunfire and repulsor shots follow, but Steve remains where he is, pondering whether he feels relief or anger at almost being tricked into believing a lie - again. Because he knows he was considering trusting Claire and her message, the heartfelt hope in her every expression.
He looks down at her and finds a sneer has replaced that hope as she fights to get to her feet. “A little longer, and we would have had you,” she huffs angrily.
“To do what? Spill all I know about Iron Man?” Steve hears the anger in his voice, fueled by the shame at being so gullible. “You would have been sorely disappointed,” he informs her. “Stark’s janitorial staff knows more about his work than I do.”
She gets to her knees and sways a bit. Her hair is no longer neat, dusty and coming out of its bindings. There’s no more room for the act, no reason to keep it up. “It was worth a shot,” she says. “You were the weakest link.”
He takes a step forward and punches her in the face, faster than he can register he’s doing it. She slumps down, unconscious, more blood on her face than there was a moment ago.
Steve wonders whether the new wave of shame he feels is for hitting an unarmed woman, or the fact that she was perhaps right.
He looks down the hallway, listening to the semi-silence; the battle is clearly over, and aside from the distant crackle of fire and occasional rumble of collapsing structures, there are no sounds. Waiting has never been something Steve excels at, despite what people think, but he doesn’t go off wandering, tossing aside the chair leg he’s been holding onto and waiting for Tony to come back.
When Tony returns, his armor doesn’t look much worse save for a layer of dust attempting to cling to it.
“There are some prints in there,” Steve tells him, nodding towards the room behind him, and Tony steps past him and fires a quick blast, sending a new wave of rubble and smoke billowing out of there. As he steps away, he notices Claire on the floor - whether that is even her real name. Most likely not.
“She give you any trouble?” he asks lightly.
“None that I couldn’t handle,” Steve replies dryly.
“Let’s get out of here,” Tony says, already moving forward through the hole in the wall, and Steve follows a bit shakily.
“How did you find me?” Steve asks as they move across a larger space that looks almost like a hangar of some kind, then step out into deepening dusk. Fresh air pummels his lungs, forcing Steve to stop for a moment and take stock of his body, which is still feeling weakened.
“I wasn’t looking for you,” Tony replies. “When I breached the compound, J.A.R.V.I.S. informed me that you were on the premises.” He takes a good look at Steve, the faceplate popping open again. “We weren’t sure if you were off on your own or…”
“Missing,” Steve completes the sentence. “How long was I AWOL?”
“A couple days.” Tony shifts, which could almost be missed within the suit. “We should have checked, what with all of your gear still at the Tower…” It seems he’s feeling some guilt right about now. “How did they catch you?”
“No idea,” Steve admits before he can think about it, but that fact should make him a little nervous. “I’m sure it will come back to me eventually.”
Tony is studying him, his silence meaning he’s actively processing information in his head. If his faceplate was down, he could be having an entire conversation with his AI or someone else on the comms, but for now it’s just the two of them. “What were they trying to do?” he asks. “You don’t seem too badly injured.”
Steve debates whether to tell him, but a sudden wave of weakness passes through him and he almost falls down. Tony moves forward, a bit awkward in the suit, placing an arm under Steve’s, steadying him. “They had me under, I think. I woke up a few hours ago, and haven’t really recovered,” he confesses. “It’s nothing serious, as far as I can tell,” he adds.
Tony is notorious for overlooking his injuries when it suits him, and Steve is confident he won’t press the matter.
He doesn’t.
“What did they want?” he asks instead.
“Information,” Steve tells him. It will come up eventually. “They spun a whole tale about how A.I.M. stole your technology and took over the world or something. That this was the future and I was their only hope to defeat them, with my knowledge of your work in the past.”
Tony opens his mouth, then closes it before he can say a word. He’s silent for almost a minute before he speaks, which is an eternity for Tony Stark. It makes Steve dread whatever he chooses to put to words.
“I take it she was succeeding in convincing you,” Tony says, and then waits. Steve’s surprised he’s able to contain himself from saying more.
With a sigh, Steve takes a step away, dislodging Tony’s arms and instead moving to sit on an upturned car that’s clearly been on the receiving end of Tony’s attack. The car creaks and shifts as Steve sits down, more heavily than he intended, but remains stable after that. “She deserves an A for effort,” he admits. “I didn’t want to believe it, but…” He looks at Tony, wondering whether he wants to hash this out with him.
It’s like a dam inside him, and right now there’s too much pressure behind it, and something has to give. Tony is his teammate, and while they don’t always agree, he trusts him.
“I already went through it once, waking up from the ice. S.H.I.E.L.D. tried to trick me into thinking no time had passed, but… I don’t think they ever meant for it to work,” he says. Tony remains silent, listening for once. “Just the idea that I could have lost another chunk of time was hard to swallow.” He hopes it sounds like he didn’t believe her act for a minute.
“But you knew it could happen - because it had,” Tony uncovers the truth of it.
Steve nods, afraid he’ll say something he regrets.
Tony sighs, his left boot shifting on the ground, clumsily kicking a rock. “Well, you can count on me to come and give you a knock on the head whenever it happens again,” he jokes - or maybe it isn’t a joke, but he’s clearly trying to make light of the matter.
Maybe it’s not even that, but simply Tony’s way of promising to come after him if this should happen in the future, and to find a way to break the illusion.
The idea that someone else could think to use this ploy, perhaps with an even more elaborate plan than this one, is a painful one. Steve knows he’ll be even less trusting should it happen again, having learned from this experience, but the fact remains that one of these days, it might be real.
Living with that kind of fear isn’t something normal people experience, Steve knows.
He wonders how they would handle it if they did, because he’s having a hard time dealing with it.
“I think I need a drink,” Tony muses, unconsciously answering Steve’s question. It makes Steve chuckle, then sigh, his body feeling heavy again, like he’s being dragged back under.
“Maybe you should improve the security measures around your work first,” Steve dares to suggest, to keep his mind active.
Tony huffs. “They got lucky. That leak has been plugged and sealed for good.” He shifts and his gaze breaks away from Steve for a moment. “J.A.R.V.I.S., send the Quinjet and get the med bay ready.”
Steve can’t hear the AI reply, but he knows it will be an affirmative. “I’m fine,” he says.
“You can barely stand, and you look like you’re going to fall asleep in the middle of this conversation,” Tony argues. “Whatever they put in you, we need to make sure it isn’t dangerous.”
He’s right, of course. There aren’t a whole lot of things that can put him under with such success, and have a lasting effect like what he’s experiencing.
As they wait for the Quinjet to arrive, Steve battles the weariness and also tries to stay away from unpleasant thoughts, of which there are many, fighting to occupy his mind. “Can you not tell the others about this?” he finally asks Tony, who is looking a bit bored already.
“I’ll have to tell them something,” Tony counters.
“Not the part about them trying to trick me,” Steve zeroes in on the most uncomfortable aspect of this whole ordeal.
This will be something Tony can hold over him in the future, but that can’t be helped. Steve has enough problems as it is, adjusting to living in this world, and he doesn’t need his team worrying about when he’s going to be taken by their enemies and tricked into believing he’s been transported into the future.
“Your secret is safe with me - and J,” Tony finally promises. “But it isn’t healthy to bottle up all this inside, you know,” he adds. “Or so I’ve been told,” he finishes with a joke. Frankly, Tony doesn’t appear to bottle up a lot of things - or so it seems. Steve is beginning to think that perhaps there are things he doesn’t broadcast, and the things he does put out in the open are simply there to hide his true struggles.
“I’ve got it under control, mostly,” Steve promises. It isn’t a complete lie.
Tony doesn’t challenge it.
The Quinjet arrives some minutes later, controlled by J.A.R.V.I.S. it seems. Steve is relieved to find there’s no one else on board, and he tries to relax on the flight back, even though that threatens to send his weary body over the edge. Falling asleep isn’t what he wants to do right now.
When they begin approaching New York City, Tony shifts in the pilot’s seat. He hasn’t done a lot of hands-on piloting during the flight, but clearly he prefers sitting there to standing around in his suit. It’s easier to read his body language outside the armor, and Steve is instantly on his guard, not knowing exactly what is coming next.
Tony doesn’t seem to know either, taking a while to just look at him while J.A.R.V.I.S. begins to slow down for the final approach on Manhattan. Steve can see the city lights from the window when Tony finally chooses to speak up: “If you want to talk about it, you know where to find me,” he blurts out. Clearly it takes them both by surprise, and Tony glances away. “Or, you can talk to J.A.R.V.I.S. He’s very discrete.”
“Indeed,” the AI agrees over the speakers.
Steve struggles to find an appropriate answer. “Thanks,” is what he comes up with.
He doesn’t promise to make use of that offer, because he knows he won’t. They already had a talk back at the A.I.M. compound, and as far as Steve is concerned, that’s enough for now.
It’s not that he doesn’t trust Tony, or want to occasionally share the thoughts that plague him.
That simply isn’t how Steve Rogers deals with his problems.
The End
- - -
“Captain Rogers?”
The voice floats forward from the dark, like fighting its way through tar-like sludge. He isn’t even sure if that’s what the sound is, calling out to him; it rings familiar enough, so that’s what his brain decides it is: someone calling for him.
For an unknown period of time, there is only humming, like a machine or air conditioning rather than human voices. His focus drifts in and out at irregular intervals, making it next to impossible to detect a pattern - if there even is one.
Then, finally, he thinks he can hear words again. At first, they are simply sounds too irregular to be part of the background noise. Soon, he thinks he can make out syllables, although he wouldn’t venture to guess what language they are a part of. It reminds him of English, but maybe that’s just his brain clutching at something semi-familiar and making it seem like more than it really is.
After all, that is how the mind works, patching together often random pieces of information to make a whole picture. Whether that is the truth, or a flawed perception…
He finds little comfort in that knowledge, for obvious reasons. Distressed and constantly more aware of the fact that something is going on - that he might be in danger - he fights to collect his thoughts and wills the world around him to make more sense. He is conscious or swiftly getting there, after all, which means he can affect the outcome if he puts enough effort into it. That is the true ‘Steve Rogers Philosophy’, as Tony might say, and that is something they can agree on.
Steve has always been a doer.
The words grow a tiny bit clearer, into something more than just tonal sounds.
He thinks he makes out one word in particular: Captain.
Telling himself that someone is calling out to him, he uses that as a guideline to start pulling himself to full wakefulness. It’s harder than it should be, like climbing a steep, slippery slope. Tenacity is in his nature, though, and he is making headway, albeit painfully slowly. Sometimes it feels like he’s right back where he started, in the midst of the humming, blurred sounds - like being trapped underwater.
His tenacity is starting to pay off, however. He can feel a change, for the first time connecting with his physical form and not just his jumbled thoughts and feelings he struggles to be in control of.
As his consciousness slowly begins to connect with physical sensations, he instantly feels sick and disoriented. He hasn’t felt quite like that in a very long time, and for a tiny moment he wishes he could just sink back under where every sensation is minimal. However, he already knows what awaits him there, and it isn’t what he wants.
The dizziness intensifies, solidifying as nausea deep within his chest. It makes him just a little more aware of his body, but not in a way he would prefer. He soldiers through it, though, because what other options does he have?
“Captain Rogers?”
The words are much clearer now, the fog dissipating from his mind. A woman’s voice, but not someone he recognizes. Her tone suggests uncertainty, perhaps even a tiny hint of fear.
Slowly, Steve climbs to the surface; he grows aware of his own breaths, and the continued heaviness in his chest; the clamminess of his skin as if he has been running an intense fever or a radical case of night sweats; an unusual heaviness in his limbs, like rigid tension slowly melting into pliability as he slowly begins regaining control.
Simply being able to feel his body is a revelation. To actually move takes more concentration than it should, and he still experiences intense nausea and dizziness.
“Take your time, Captain,” the woman’s voice tells him. “You have been asleep a long time…”
His mind latches onto the words, and he feels sick for a very different reason. Still, he tells himself not to read too much into it, to over-think the simple message. Just because he thinks it might mean something doesn’t make it so. His fears can easily play tricks on him, especially when he is already feeling quite out of it.
Though, when he woke up at the S.H.I.E.L.D. base after the ice, he didn’t feel like this. It was rather like waking up from a long nap.
This knowledge does little to comfort him, and Steve focuses on regaining control of his body. One step at a time, no reason to worry about it prematurely. He doesn’t have all the facts, and until he does, he has to be patient.
When it’s hard to even twitch your finger, patience is hard to come by.
Steve’s used to not getting what he wants - at least not right away - but it’s never been from lack of trying. He decides this time will be no different, and keeps on trying to reclaim his body and get past the sickening sensation of dizziness.
He hasn’t been sick since the serum, and he wonders if getting ill now might actually feel that much worse. The serum was supposed to make him the perfect soldier, and those don’t exactly catch the seasonal flu. So, for him to feel this bad, it has to be pretty serious.
The closer he comes to regaining full consciousness, the more the nausea is pushed back. That is a relief, finally, and even though he doesn’t need motivation, every little thing helps - especially when he doesn’t know what waits on the other side. He likes being prepared, but he has a feeling this is one of those things he just has to take as they come.
As sensory input starts reaching his brain in a comprehensible fashion, he is able to deduce he’s lying down on a surface that is just soft enough to be comfortable - like a hard bed. Shifting his fingers, he feels the sheets, further confirming his theory on what he is lying on.
The hum is still there, but not as overwhelming anymore. He can definitely classify it as air conditioning, something in a more industrial setting than a home. There are no other sounds that he can make out, though, and he suspects the room he’s in isn’t all that large.
Then there’s the woman who has been talking to him: he can’t sense her, exactly, but there is a distinct feeling that he is being watched. The hum of the AC is too loud for him to hear her breathe, if she’s that close to him, and that prompts him to finally fight to open his eyes and take a look at his surroundings.
The nausea comes back with a vengeance, his vision filling with spots of light for a moment before his eyes adjust, albeit painfully. It feels like something finally pops into place in his brain, the rest of his body registering as it should - even though he feels pretty horrible.
This is not the kind of discomfort that follows physical injury; Steve is intimately familiar with that. What he is currently experiencing is like waking up after a too-long sleep, possibly preceded by grueling conditions and too little rest. After all, that’s about the only stuff that makes him crave that much rest.
As his eyes finally begin to cooperate, he can make out a bare room with metallic walls and too-bright lamps embedded in the ceiling. It’s as if whoever adjusted the lighting didn’t want him to remain under for any longer than is necessary.
There is indeed a woman in the room with him: she sits on a simple chair three feet from him, body rigid with nervousness. At first glance she doesn’t seem frightened, exactly, but she is definitely not within her comfort zone.
“Take it easy, Captain,” she says upon noticing his gaze, leaning forward just a bit. “You will most likely feel disorientation…”
So, she knows he’s not feeling his best. That doesn’t exactly fill Steve with confidence, and he struggles to move. The nausea rolls over him as he forces his body upright, the simple act of sitting up threatening to throw him back down with extreme vertigo. He felt something akin to this before the serum, especially if he had been ill and bedridden for days.
He looks down at himself to make sure that is not the case now, and finds his body strong and serum-enhanced beneath the simple white hospital pajamas he’s wearing - at least by outwards appearances. At the moment he doesn’t feel strong, but he’s certain he’ll have more information in a few minutes once the vertigo passes.
In the meantime, he keeps an eye on the woman, checking her for clues. She is wearing a simple steel gray uniform that doesn’t much differ from the color of the walls around them. There is a symbol embroidered at the chest of the jacket that he doesn’t recognize, although it looks a bit like a variant of the S.H.I.E.L.D. insignia. Her brown hair is tied in a bun behind her head, no frills or a strand out of place.
She offers him a tiny smile, possibly one of encouragement, and Steve slowly straightens himself further, dropping his gaze to examine the bed he has been lying in. It’s as simple as the rest of the room, a thin mattress and sheets a bit too coarse to be comfortable covering a simple metal frame. The bedding feels warm, suggesting he’s been lying there for some time.
“Are you feeling any better?” the woman asks. Steve detects no accent in her speech, nothing to place her. She sounds genuine enough, interested in his wellbeing, making herself appear a less of a threat than she perhaps is.
Steve has no reason to doubt her, just as he has no reason to trust her, and decides to take it slow, just in case. Instead of answering, he looks around some more, and slowly begins to shift his body sideways so that he’ll be able to place his feet on the floor. The woman watches him, not trying to stop his progress, and slowly Steve settles his bare feet onto the cool floor. It makes him shiver, but he doesn’t lift his feet, finding the sensation rather grounding.
“How do you feel?” the woman asks again. She is being patient, but Steve thinks there’s still a hint of nervousness in her. Well, he is a stranger, and woozy or not, he would be able to hurt her in case she’s a threat. Smartly, she is not implying anything like that.
Steve opens his mouth to reply, and finds his throat so scratchy barely any sound escapes. He clears his throat, swallows, and tries again: “Better,” he says, not revealing just how horrid he was feeling mere moments ago; his head is starting to clear, the vertigo loosening its hold.
“Good,” the woman says. “I can get you something to drink, if you’d like.”
Steve considers the offer, then slowly nods in agreement.
The woman nods back and stands up, walking to the nondescript door and opening it, slipping out and closing it after her. Steve can hear a lock click into place, and attempts to listen to her footsteps. The walls are thick enough to block any sounds, however, and he busies himself by standing up and slowly stretching, feeling more in control by the minute.
He walks about, further testing his body for injuries, inspecting the room as he goes. Steve thinks he can spot a few cameras, effectively covering the entire room that isn’t much larger than twenty by twenty-five feet. The ventilation is loud in his ears, and he can detect a breeze on the bare sections of his skin, although he can barely make out the holes near the ceiling. There are no windows, medical equipment or even a faucet. For all intents and purposes, the room looks like a prison cell with its simple bed, two uncomfortable looking chairs and a small table.
As he’s making another slow turn about the room, searching for clues and waking up his body, he hears the lock move and turns around to watch the same woman enter, this time with a tall glass of water. She doesn’t show her surprise at him being on his feet, but it’s possible she checked a security feed before entering.
“I’m glad you are feeling good enough to move around,” she says, giving him a tiny smile, and offers him the glass. As his fingers touch it, he feels hard plastic instead of actual glass, but the water gently sloshing inside appears innocent enough. He smells it, just in case, then takes a cautious sip, trying to detect any unknown elements. For now he finds none, and drinks another sip before setting the cup down on the tiny table that barely reaches past his thighs in height.
“Where am I?” Steve finally asks. “Who are you?”
“What is the last thing you remember?” the woman asks in turn.
Steve frowns and refuses to answer. When he thinks of it, he isn’t sure; his memories seem muddled and unclear, and it’s hard to pinpoint which piece exactly is the last one. He’s not about to tell the woman that, though.
She seems to realize he’s not going to volunteer any information - not until he’s received some in return. Even then, Steve’s willingness to talk will depend on what he’s going to hear, and how he feels about it.
“Would you like to sit down?” the woman asks, gesturing towards the chairs and the table.
“I’ll stand,” Steve replies. He doubts he could have a formal chat, dressed as he is, and his body isn’t feeling quite normal yet.
The woman chooses to sit on the other side of the table, either shielding herself or leaving the chair closest to Steve available to him should he choose to sit in it. “My name is Claire Hamilton. I work for G.S.N. - Global Safety Network - and this is one of our safest locations in the Greater New York area.” She shifts and hesitates. “This area used to be called Manhattan.”
“Used to?” Steve frowns.
“It is the year 2068,” Claire informs him hesitantly. “We believe you have been… asleep… for quite some time.”
Steve stares at her, making her unease grow. “I’ve heard this speech before,” he finally says.
“After you were found in the ice,” Claire immediately jumps at the chance to explain. “Our records show that, and perhaps that is why you survived… For the longest time we weren’t sure if you would awaken, but your body showed next to no deterioration, so our scientists were hopeful. Of course, they were concerned for your state of mind, once you awakened, and whether you would be coherent.”
Steve looks at her, this stranger telling him he’s lost another unbearably large number of years. The mere thought makes him feel sick, but he refuses to just believe it at face value. Last time, it took running out into the streets of New York to actually sledgehammer the truth into his head, and this time will be no different.
“I realize you have questions - but so do we,” Claire tells him. “We have so little uncorrupted information left from your time, and getting to talk to an actual person is of uttermost importance to our cause.”
“Which is?”
“To save the world,” Claire tells him with confidence.
“From what?”
“A.I.M.”
That sounds vaguely familiar.
“Advanced Idea Mechanics,” Claire clarifies. “They were just a technology company back in the day, but they had dangerous ideas. And then they got their hands on Iron Man technology.”
There were a lot of words in that sentence that Steve didn’t like, especially when put together. “How did they manage that?” he asks.
“Espionage, larceny - and possibly murder.”
“Tony would never just hand over his technology,” Steve murmurs, not liking where this conversation is going.
“Tony Stark,” Claire jumps at the name, as if Steve’s just given her the answer to a question that’s been eluding her. “You knew him, didn’t you? The creator of Iron Man technology?”
“Yes,” is all Steve says.
“Then perhaps you would be willing to help us. This technology in the wrong hands has brought the world to its knees, unmatched by anything we’ve been able to compile. A raiding party secured some blueprints a few months ago - at a great cost of life to the men and women who braved the A.I.M. facility they were housed in. However, the blueprints are incomplete, but with your knowledge of Iron Man -”
“Stop,” Steve raises a hand, stopping her over-excited babbling.
Claire leans back and attempts to compose herself. “I apologize, Captain. A chance like this hasn’t presented itself in my lifetime - not since A.I.M. set its plans in motion, in fact. Discovering your body is a breakthrough many of us have been praying for, and having you awake and conscious…”
She truly seems elated to be talking to him, but it’s a lot to take in.
“I think I need a moment to think,” Steve muses.
“Of course,” she nods and stands up. “I will bring you print outs of the blueprints, just in case you feel like taking a look. Oh, and food,” she adds belatedly. “You must be starving.”
Steve hadn’t truly felt any hunger until food is mentioned. Now, it feels like he hasn’t eaten in days - or perhaps years, if that is the case. “Food would be nice,” he admits.
Claire nods again and heads to the door. It opens for her, and she slips through. Just like before, it shuts behind her and the lock clicks.
She hasn’t offered to give him a room with actual amenities, or clothes, nor has she given him actual proof of what she has said.
Steve takes a look around, measuring the room once again with his eyes. Perhaps there is a toilet hidden somewhere and he just can’t tell, if it is indeed the future. The Tower was futuristic enough on occasion…
He feels out of his element, but he tells himself not to jump to conclusions. Claire - if that is truly her name - has been convincing enough in her act, but it could be nothing more than that. After all, S.H.I.E.L.D. tried to trick him when he first woke up, but their attempt had so many flaws he’s begun to wonder whether those were on purpose, to give him a hint of something being wrong.
This time, there are no hints - at least none he can see right away. It puts him on edge for various reasons, and one of the largest ones is the fear that he has indeed missed several decades by some means he does not yet know.
He has no recollection of how he ended up here. Last time, he could remember the crash, but now it’s all a jumbled mess he can make no sense off.
Perhaps it will come to him eventually, after a period of real sleep. What he feels now is not from natural rest.
However, he isn’t certain he wants to lower his guard just yet.
Claire returns after approximately fifteen minutes, balancing a tray of food in her hands and a stack of papers under one arm. Steve waits as long as he can, but eventually steps over to her and takes the tray before she can drop it. The smile Claire offers to him in thanks seems genuine, but Steve still tells himself to not buy it at face value.
He sets the tray down on the table, and Claire does the same with the papers, smoothing the cover that has become slightly crumpled. “There is a meeting I must attend, so I’ll leave you to it for a while,” she says.
Steve wonders if the meeting is about him, and what kind of information she’s managed to divulge. Perhaps there is no meeting whatsoever, and they’ll just monitor him and wait for a reaction.
He nods his head in confirmation, and with one last seemingly nervous brush of fingers against the paper stack, she turns and exits once more, the door opening to let her out and locking behind her.
Steve waits for a moment and takes yet another look around the room. His eyes finally rest on the food, which seems processed. A bit like army rations… He examines it, a bottle of water and some kind of juice with added vitamins, according to the label. There are also a few protein bars and what is possibly imitating a sandwich, wrapped in an air-tight plastic bag.
His eyes move on to the papers, but he resists the urge while opening the bottle of water and sniffing it. There are no unfamiliar odors, and he takes a careful sip, waiting for unwanted effects to take hold. As far as he can tell, it is just water, but he doesn’t drink it all at once even though he is starting to feel a bit thirsty.
Curiosity is beginning to win the struggle inside him, and he finally looks at the papers, which contain imagery and some kind of scientific calculations. Not a single page he looks at seems complete, more like a piece in a puzzle - or pieces from various puzzles - and he tries to arrange them in groups to make sense of it. He can see images that are obviously related to Tony’s suits, some clearer than others. There are many that are probably related to the inner workings of the armor, but he can’t tell whether it’s weaponry or a coolant system.
There are over a hundred pages of data, and he ends up with eight stacks after sorting through them. He can’t tell if any of them contain a complete set, or if it’s just partials and fractions - plus there are pages he can make no sense of whatsoever, sitting in a stack of their own.
Images are easier for him to handle, obviously, and some seem familiar, even. For all he knows, they could be from suits he’s seen Tony wear, but he really can’t tell. Surely Tony’s been recycling ideas and designs, because most of the suits look pretty much the same to an outsider.
If they expect Steve to be able to piece any of this together…
He halts, hand resting on top of a page that features a familiar face plate. All he’s done is divide the pages into groups, which practically anyone could do based on the information found on said pages, but if this is some kind of a trap, he doesn’t want to help these people with whatever goal they have in mind.
Even this much could be playing into the hands of his captors…
However, if these people are genuinely under attack from A.I.M. and their stolen Iron Man technology, Steve should do his best to help them.
He has to come up with some way to either confirm Claire’s claims, or expose her lies.
Looking at the room he’s been confined in, he tries to find some clue to solve his problem. He’s tempted to try and break out; if Claire is telling the truth, there will be no real harm in it, he’s certain. If this is some ploy to get information on one of his teammates, however, an escape attempt will no doubt create an instant backlash.
Steve starts with the door, seeing as that is the single point of entry he’s seen so far. It doesn’t budge in the slightest as he experimentally pushes at it, and there is no control panel on the inside that he can see; the door must be controlled from the outside, and that means someone is watching.
He tries to pry some of the wall paneling loose, to see if there is wiring he can manipulate instead of using brute force. His fingers ache as he pulls and yanks, then scans the room for a tool he can use to assist his bare hands. He ends up choosing one of the chairs, tearing apart one of its legs and using that to attack the wall.
By the time one of the panels is getting slightly twisted and he can just barely hook his fingers beneath one of its corners, he’s sweating and there are a few wounds on his hands. He wipes the blood onto his clothes to minimize the slickness, but he eventually steps back and frowns at the wall, waiting for the wounds to close and stop bleeding. The place has been built to resist the escape attempts of an enhanced individual, that’s for sure.
He’s still biding his time, frowning at the door, when it suddenly opens. Claire’s expression is one of uncertainty, as if she knows what he’s been up to.
“Captain, your hands,” she starts, then shakes her head. “I apologize, I didn’t realize just how distressing the circumstances would be, considering your history.”
Steve waits. She still seems genuine enough in her actions. If there is a chance she isn’t lying… He can feel unease twist in his stomach. Not again.
“I will give you a tour of the facilities, of course,” Claire promises. “However, we want to make sure you’re in good enough health before doing so.”
“If you want me to trust you, you’ll have to give me more than that,” he says honestly. The door is still open, Claire hovering in the doorway. He could easily rush her and push out. She seems to realize that as well, tensing slightly.
“I know this is confusing -”
An alarm begins blaring, cutting her off. She looks startled by it, and color drains even further from her face.
If she plans on saying something, it is drowned by an immediate explosion which rocks the foundations of the facility and makes the lights flicker both inside and out of Steve’s room.
“No,” Claire whispers, looking up and down the hallway. A range of emotions crosses her features, the last one desperation as she looks at Steve. “Please, Captain, you need to help us -”
The wall explodes behind her, throwing her to the floor. Dust fills the air and Steve’s lungs, forcing him to cover his face and blink his eyes rapidly to keep them as clear as possible. There is a hole in the wall now, and something is stepping through it - something heavy and mechanical. It is upright and humanoid in shape, and the glowing chest piece gives it away.
Iron Man.
Claire is whimpering on the floor, possibly injured. Steve looks down at her, and then at the advancing suit of armor. It seems familiar, but not that familiar. It could be a new design - or something this A.I.M. organization cooked up from stolen blueprints.
Tension burns in his muscles. He doesn’t have his shield or uniform, leaving him quite open and exposed for an attack. Whether his body is fit to fight after whatever he’s been through is also questionable; he’ll give it a shot, but taking on Iron Man is no light feat. There are some weak spots he’ll go for, and as he thinks that, his hand is already reaching for the leg he broke off the chair.
The armor’s eyes track the movement, and when he picks up the leg, fingers curling around the metal length, the armor takes a step forward.
Steve raises his arm, and his weapon, adopting a defensive stance.
“Woah, Cap,” says the occupant of the armor, raising his arms. It sounds like Tony… Steve doesn’t relax his stance, fearing this will be a trick - and that’s when the faceplate pops open, revealing a familiar face. “It’s me,” Tony says.
“No,” moans Claire.
Tony glances down at her, then at Steve and the room behind him. A frown creases his brow. “We’ll have a talk about this soon, but first I’ve got to crack some heads and recover stolen data.”
Steve feels like smiling. A truth within a lie is always better than a lie based on complete deception… “Wait,” he calls out as Tony moves to turn. “Who are they?” He wants to know - needs to put a face and name to this lie, aside from Claire’s smudged features that now stare up at him with resentment, knowing the game is over.
“A.I.M.,” Tony replies with a tiny motion of his shoulders that is probably a shrug. “Some offshoot of the original, anyway.” He looks down at Claire again. “Whatever she told you was a lie,” he adds, as if guessing some kind of deception was taking place prior to his arrival.
Steve nods.
Tony gives him one in return, then snaps the faceplate shut and walks down the hall. Gunfire and repulsor shots follow, but Steve remains where he is, pondering whether he feels relief or anger at almost being tricked into believing a lie - again. Because he knows he was considering trusting Claire and her message, the heartfelt hope in her every expression.
He looks down at her and finds a sneer has replaced that hope as she fights to get to her feet. “A little longer, and we would have had you,” she huffs angrily.
“To do what? Spill all I know about Iron Man?” Steve hears the anger in his voice, fueled by the shame at being so gullible. “You would have been sorely disappointed,” he informs her. “Stark’s janitorial staff knows more about his work than I do.”
She gets to her knees and sways a bit. Her hair is no longer neat, dusty and coming out of its bindings. There’s no more room for the act, no reason to keep it up. “It was worth a shot,” she says. “You were the weakest link.”
He takes a step forward and punches her in the face, faster than he can register he’s doing it. She slumps down, unconscious, more blood on her face than there was a moment ago.
Steve wonders whether the new wave of shame he feels is for hitting an unarmed woman, or the fact that she was perhaps right.
He looks down the hallway, listening to the semi-silence; the battle is clearly over, and aside from the distant crackle of fire and occasional rumble of collapsing structures, there are no sounds. Waiting has never been something Steve excels at, despite what people think, but he doesn’t go off wandering, tossing aside the chair leg he’s been holding onto and waiting for Tony to come back.
When Tony returns, his armor doesn’t look much worse save for a layer of dust attempting to cling to it.
“There are some prints in there,” Steve tells him, nodding towards the room behind him, and Tony steps past him and fires a quick blast, sending a new wave of rubble and smoke billowing out of there. As he steps away, he notices Claire on the floor - whether that is even her real name. Most likely not.
“She give you any trouble?” he asks lightly.
“None that I couldn’t handle,” Steve replies dryly.
“Let’s get out of here,” Tony says, already moving forward through the hole in the wall, and Steve follows a bit shakily.
“How did you find me?” Steve asks as they move across a larger space that looks almost like a hangar of some kind, then step out into deepening dusk. Fresh air pummels his lungs, forcing Steve to stop for a moment and take stock of his body, which is still feeling weakened.
“I wasn’t looking for you,” Tony replies. “When I breached the compound, J.A.R.V.I.S. informed me that you were on the premises.” He takes a good look at Steve, the faceplate popping open again. “We weren’t sure if you were off on your own or…”
“Missing,” Steve completes the sentence. “How long was I AWOL?”
“A couple days.” Tony shifts, which could almost be missed within the suit. “We should have checked, what with all of your gear still at the Tower…” It seems he’s feeling some guilt right about now. “How did they catch you?”
“No idea,” Steve admits before he can think about it, but that fact should make him a little nervous. “I’m sure it will come back to me eventually.”
Tony is studying him, his silence meaning he’s actively processing information in his head. If his faceplate was down, he could be having an entire conversation with his AI or someone else on the comms, but for now it’s just the two of them. “What were they trying to do?” he asks. “You don’t seem too badly injured.”
Steve debates whether to tell him, but a sudden wave of weakness passes through him and he almost falls down. Tony moves forward, a bit awkward in the suit, placing an arm under Steve’s, steadying him. “They had me under, I think. I woke up a few hours ago, and haven’t really recovered,” he confesses. “It’s nothing serious, as far as I can tell,” he adds.
Tony is notorious for overlooking his injuries when it suits him, and Steve is confident he won’t press the matter.
He doesn’t.
“What did they want?” he asks instead.
“Information,” Steve tells him. It will come up eventually. “They spun a whole tale about how A.I.M. stole your technology and took over the world or something. That this was the future and I was their only hope to defeat them, with my knowledge of your work in the past.”
Tony opens his mouth, then closes it before he can say a word. He’s silent for almost a minute before he speaks, which is an eternity for Tony Stark. It makes Steve dread whatever he chooses to put to words.
“I take it she was succeeding in convincing you,” Tony says, and then waits. Steve’s surprised he’s able to contain himself from saying more.
With a sigh, Steve takes a step away, dislodging Tony’s arms and instead moving to sit on an upturned car that’s clearly been on the receiving end of Tony’s attack. The car creaks and shifts as Steve sits down, more heavily than he intended, but remains stable after that. “She deserves an A for effort,” he admits. “I didn’t want to believe it, but…” He looks at Tony, wondering whether he wants to hash this out with him.
It’s like a dam inside him, and right now there’s too much pressure behind it, and something has to give. Tony is his teammate, and while they don’t always agree, he trusts him.
“I already went through it once, waking up from the ice. S.H.I.E.L.D. tried to trick me into thinking no time had passed, but… I don’t think they ever meant for it to work,” he says. Tony remains silent, listening for once. “Just the idea that I could have lost another chunk of time was hard to swallow.” He hopes it sounds like he didn’t believe her act for a minute.
“But you knew it could happen - because it had,” Tony uncovers the truth of it.
Steve nods, afraid he’ll say something he regrets.
Tony sighs, his left boot shifting on the ground, clumsily kicking a rock. “Well, you can count on me to come and give you a knock on the head whenever it happens again,” he jokes - or maybe it isn’t a joke, but he’s clearly trying to make light of the matter.
Maybe it’s not even that, but simply Tony’s way of promising to come after him if this should happen in the future, and to find a way to break the illusion.
The idea that someone else could think to use this ploy, perhaps with an even more elaborate plan than this one, is a painful one. Steve knows he’ll be even less trusting should it happen again, having learned from this experience, but the fact remains that one of these days, it might be real.
Living with that kind of fear isn’t something normal people experience, Steve knows.
He wonders how they would handle it if they did, because he’s having a hard time dealing with it.
“I think I need a drink,” Tony muses, unconsciously answering Steve’s question. It makes Steve chuckle, then sigh, his body feeling heavy again, like he’s being dragged back under.
“Maybe you should improve the security measures around your work first,” Steve dares to suggest, to keep his mind active.
Tony huffs. “They got lucky. That leak has been plugged and sealed for good.” He shifts and his gaze breaks away from Steve for a moment. “J.A.R.V.I.S., send the Quinjet and get the med bay ready.”
Steve can’t hear the AI reply, but he knows it will be an affirmative. “I’m fine,” he says.
“You can barely stand, and you look like you’re going to fall asleep in the middle of this conversation,” Tony argues. “Whatever they put in you, we need to make sure it isn’t dangerous.”
He’s right, of course. There aren’t a whole lot of things that can put him under with such success, and have a lasting effect like what he’s experiencing.
As they wait for the Quinjet to arrive, Steve battles the weariness and also tries to stay away from unpleasant thoughts, of which there are many, fighting to occupy his mind. “Can you not tell the others about this?” he finally asks Tony, who is looking a bit bored already.
“I’ll have to tell them something,” Tony counters.
“Not the part about them trying to trick me,” Steve zeroes in on the most uncomfortable aspect of this whole ordeal.
This will be something Tony can hold over him in the future, but that can’t be helped. Steve has enough problems as it is, adjusting to living in this world, and he doesn’t need his team worrying about when he’s going to be taken by their enemies and tricked into believing he’s been transported into the future.
“Your secret is safe with me - and J,” Tony finally promises. “But it isn’t healthy to bottle up all this inside, you know,” he adds. “Or so I’ve been told,” he finishes with a joke. Frankly, Tony doesn’t appear to bottle up a lot of things - or so it seems. Steve is beginning to think that perhaps there are things he doesn’t broadcast, and the things he does put out in the open are simply there to hide his true struggles.
“I’ve got it under control, mostly,” Steve promises. It isn’t a complete lie.
Tony doesn’t challenge it.
The Quinjet arrives some minutes later, controlled by J.A.R.V.I.S. it seems. Steve is relieved to find there’s no one else on board, and he tries to relax on the flight back, even though that threatens to send his weary body over the edge. Falling asleep isn’t what he wants to do right now.
When they begin approaching New York City, Tony shifts in the pilot’s seat. He hasn’t done a lot of hands-on piloting during the flight, but clearly he prefers sitting there to standing around in his suit. It’s easier to read his body language outside the armor, and Steve is instantly on his guard, not knowing exactly what is coming next.
Tony doesn’t seem to know either, taking a while to just look at him while J.A.R.V.I.S. begins to slow down for the final approach on Manhattan. Steve can see the city lights from the window when Tony finally chooses to speak up: “If you want to talk about it, you know where to find me,” he blurts out. Clearly it takes them both by surprise, and Tony glances away. “Or, you can talk to J.A.R.V.I.S. He’s very discrete.”
“Indeed,” the AI agrees over the speakers.
Steve struggles to find an appropriate answer. “Thanks,” is what he comes up with.
He doesn’t promise to make use of that offer, because he knows he won’t. They already had a talk back at the A.I.M. compound, and as far as Steve is concerned, that’s enough for now.
It’s not that he doesn’t trust Tony, or want to occasionally share the thoughts that plague him.
That simply isn’t how Steve Rogers deals with his problems.
The End