stands_for_hope | The Metropolis Dork Squad, Captain America, and the Falcon in... Angst, Death, and Taxes

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The Metropolis Dork Squad, Captain America, and the Falcon in... Angst, Death, and Taxes

[continued from here]

The day had arrived. The trap had been set.

They'd gone to Lois's apartment the day before and made their intentions clear, hoping that with a short period of time, the HYDRA forces wouldn't be able to pull together anything that was too hard to handle.

Jim's paycheck had come in, so he'd treated a rather delicious dinner for the three of them, which had been followed up with some surveillance work, a couple of flights over the various buildings to scout for good positions (both to look for snipers and to drop Lois), and a watching of The Incredibles since there weren't any good games on.

Lois hadn't quite gotten Jim into a french braid with flowers, but she had managed to twist up a few smaller braids and tuck the remainder into a pony tail to keep the worst of it out of his face. If Lois was happy about it as much for it's utility as to give Jim a firm, physical reminder of the people who cared about him... well, she wasn't about to say it out loud.

Clark was with them until roughly half an hour before and informed them just before he left that Captain America was on the ground, apparently sketching one of the ruined and as yet unrepaired buildings on a bench nearby with large 'easel case' while the Falcon was half a mile away on a rooftop. Thankfully, while a good portion of the surrounding area had been destroyed during the attack on Metropolis, this neighborhood was semi-functional (if largely empty during the weekend) so he wasn't entirely out of place.

That just left Lois, her HYDRA pin tucked in place at her collar, and Jim in the empty office room, doing their best to psych themselves into believing this would work.

...and Clark going to investigate the singular figure hiding out on one of the higher rooftops nearby.

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Jim brought up the rear, looking around himself. His mind was automatically cataloging locations, exits, entrances, making note of where he would have a superior position - he'd gotten used to that being how his mind worked a long time before. It was a familiar pattern.

It kept him from sprinting back to the taxi, even as it drove away.

Lois waited back with him.

"I am fully loaded with embarrassing stories about him. I'll turn him red and you can make a quick getaway if necessary."

But, she didn't say out loud, I think you should give it a shot first.

He nodded. "Thank you." But he was going to try. It was the least he could do. He just had to stay calm. He could only remember one other door that had left him as on edge as the one they were facing.

Satisfied that he was coming, Lois headed for the door and followed Clark in.

When Jim got there, he'd see Steve sitting in a corner with a sketchbook, obviously trying to doodle his nerves away. Sam was at the small desk the place had provided, cleaning and maintaining his equipment. Clark was standing beside the room's window, fiddling with his tablet to pull up the map he'd worked on and Lois was sitting at the room's table, smiling thoughtfully over at Steve in a way that was starting to make his ears turn pink.

After taking a deep breath, Jim stepped inside and looked around at everyone, eyes lingering on Sam's equipment (decent guns, interesting wings, he might have to ask about those eventually) before settling on Steve. They weren't in a building full of enemies now. He didn't have something convenient to decide they needed to do instead of talk. There was a door right behind him, but he was trapped in a completely different way.

He didn't quite notice the tremble in his right hand. All he noticed was that the only real place left for him to sit was on one of the beds - so he did, right as Hawkeye stepped out of the bathroom.

"I thought I heard people walk in." Clint reached over to the sink, washing his hands and drying them off before turning to face everybody. "So. Introductions all around?" He put a hand against his chest. "Clint Barton, codename Hawkeye. I'm guessing we all know who Steve is. Sam Wilson over there, with the guns and the wings - also known as the Falcon."

Steve looked up as soon as... Jim sat on the bed, the tip of the pencil between his fingers dropping to the paper as his focus on the drawing was reduced to zero. He swallowed, obviously as uncomfortable as Jim was, and slowly closed the sketchbook to let it lean against his chair.

Lois grinned from her seat, her eyes focused squarely on Steve and Jim.

"Lois Lane, and if you haven't heard of me, I'm going to have to assume you live under a rock. Hey, Uncle Steve."

Steve, for his part, ran a hand through his hair and sat up a little straighter before glancing at Jim as if to say 'oh dear God, what fresh hell is this?' in the most polite sort of way.

Clark shuffled his feet a bit before offering the room a small smile.

"I'm just going to go by Kal, full name Kal-El. I'm... assuming you all know about the events in Metropolis."

Sam nodded. "And if we hadn't, we got a fresh new demonstration earlier. You seriously from another planet, man? Or are you one of those Asgardians, like Thor is?"

'Kal' shook his head.

"If you saw the broadcast, then you'd know my planet was called Krypton. I say my planet but... suffice to say, I grew up right here on Earth. Earth is my home."

"Fair enough."

With Lois and Clark - Kal - introduced, he knew it was his turn, and this was going to be just as hard, he decided, as going through the door.

He took a breath and looked at the bedspread instead of at anyone. "I used to be James Buchanan Barnes, but for about seventy years, I was the Winter Soldier. Now I'm not really sure who I am, so I started calling myself Jim Rogers, so just call me Jim."

"I think we can do that," Clint nodded. "I saw some of your work in there, by the way. You're good. We'll have to try stuff out on a shooting range sometime."

He dropped onto the other bed in the room, very aware that the tension was as thick as cement. He was going to have to get creative to defuse this.

It felt like an age unto itself before Steve spoke, mostly because everyone was waiting for Steve to speak. He looked over at Jim, lips curving into a sad, anxious smile, and let his head incline towards the other man.

"You look... good."

His eyes flickered over to Lois and then to Kal.

"You look... happy."

Other than me.

Another breath in before he couldn't quite hold it in and it was an obvious physical effort for him not to tackle the other man in a hug.

"Shit, I've missed you."

Lois pulled out her phone and Clark looked away, giving as much privacy as they could in the crowded room. Sam, for his part, leaned over and gave Steve's leg a soft pat.

Jim, meanwhile, stood, opened the door, and took a step outside. He'd made a choice, and he wanted more privacy than the room offered for it. Words and images didn't stop rolling through his thoughts. He vividly remembered 'end of the line', but now he remembered where it had come from, remembered a small, sickly Steve Rogers depending on him, though never saying it, to stay alive when the worst of his illnesses struck. He remembered choosing dates only in twos sometimes, to make sure Steve wasn't left alone on a day off. He remembered icy winters where the only heat they could afford was two people under a blanket.

So he chose, and he spoke carefully-chosen words. "Come on out here and get it over with, you punk."

For a second, he'd been worried. The legendary Winter Soldier had been headed for the door with an expression Clint couldn't put a name to. And then he spoke and he could hear Brooklyn in the words - and, well. He looked somewhere that was not the door.

There wasn't a choked sob or a show to it. Steve just stood up and walked after Jim like it was second nature. When Jim spoke, he tried to restrain himself at first, keep it to a hand on his shoulder. But a second later, he was holding the other man in a tight hug and the only word he could get out was

"Jesus Christ..."

Because whatever name he wanted to use and whoever he was at the end of the day, it was still his best friend standing there, the one who'd been there through everything, who'd kept him alive in all the ways that counted, and the only thing he could be, in spite of it all, was thankful.

Lois could swear she heard Captain America mutter something about Jim being a jerk, but she was too busy typing on her phone and resolutely keeping her reporter's nose out of it.

Clark, for his part, turned his tablet towards the rest of the room.

"If we want to order from any of these places, I can go pick it up."

Because they didn't need an audience after all.

His arms were tight around Steve and he was relieved. This, at least, was easy. This, somehow, was contact he knew. The fact was that he could somehow lose some of the tension that had become second nature to him. Why, he wasn't sure. Except, maybe, that no matter what he'd gone through, Steve was still Steve, and he'd trusted Steve for a very, very long time.

"Take it a little easy," he muttered, for all he wasn't loosening his arms, either. "Didn't exactly get through all that without some hits."

"Hey, Sam, you said you wanted steak. Tell you what, I'll treat - I've not been using much of my paycheck lately," Clint said, looking over at Kal's tablet. Reading from this distance was easy enough that he did it second nature. "Looks like there are a few places on there that might have it."

Whatever was happening outside could happen outside. Seemed to him the two guys needed the time to meet each other all over again.

"They all do," Clark said with a little smile, "and good steaks. I might not eat it myself, but I learned early how to tell if someone knows their way around a piece of cow."

Sam blinked.

"...are you tellin' me Superman's a vegetarian?"

Clark's smile was slightly tired but in a fond way.

"That would be the long and short of it."

Lois chuckled from her seat.

"Trust me, he knows his food either way, though."

Outside, Steve was loosening his hold just a little, doing his best not to brush where he was realizing there were bandages on Jim's arms and probably more he couldn't see.

"I guess... part of me wasn't sure I'd ever really see you again. And then we got that report, I heard your voice..." Steve scratched at his ear in a nervous gesture that'd originated before the second world war. "It's a wonder Sam didn't shoot me to keep me from climbing the walls. Not that-- jeez, you don't wanna hear this stuff."

He got his breath in his chest and looked Jim in the eyes finally, all the warmth and welcome that could fit in his eyes reflected there.

"I'm just... I'm glad. I'm glad you seem to be, well... figuring yourself out. Finding friends. I know," he glanced back at the door, ran a hand through his hair, "I know without Sam, Nat... hell, Clint too, I wouldn't be here. I'm guessing the big guy and our 'niece' have been keepin' you in line as well?"

It was hard to say if it was comfort or familiarity, but the Brooklyn had found it's way back into Captain America's speech as well.

Edited 2014-06-04 13:38 (UTC)

He shook his head just slightly. "They kind of keep me from wandering off. Kal... insisted on being friends with me after we busted some thieves at a mission. I figured I'd go to his place, shower, shave, and go, but next thing I knew, I was moving in. N'other words, about like us."

Except for once, he wasn't the one with the girlfriend. He wasn't the one with the unwavering confidence. He was the one who kept his ties a little loose even now so that if he needed to slip them, he could.

"He reminds me of you sometimes. When I remember things."

"That guy?" Because Steve can't see how they're similar at all. Kal's... well, Kal's got a girlfriend, for one thing. And a certain kind of easy way with people that he wishes he could have out of the heat of battle. It's not an insult at all that he doesn't see it, but then again, Steve's never thought too much of himself.

"Either way, I owe him one."

Steve's scrubbing the back of his neck the way he used to when he was trying to figure out how to talk to a girl and it's lunacy itself that he's doing it trying to talk to B--Jim but that doesn't make it any less true.

"So you're... you're going by Jim now. Jim Rodgers, I think I heard?"

And there's the ghost of the boy from Brooklyn peeking out, behind the guy who's trying not to be touched that Jim was using his last name is the little scrawny punk of an asshole who thinks it's a little bit hilarious.

"Yeah." Another easy question to answer. "I needed a name close enough to the truth but still not... traceable. And honestly..." He looked over, knowing that Steve either wasn't going to like this part or he was going to laugh - and at the moment, he wasn't sure which of those would happen. "When I came up with it, I didn't really remember any other names to borrow. Just yours and mine. So it was either Steve Barnes or Jim Rogers."

But then, digging in his pocket, he pulled out the door key for the apartment he and Clark shared. "Here, fidgety, do something useful," he said, pulling up the left sleeve of his T-shirt, then down the sleeve he wore underneath, showing a silver shoulder, and a red star. "Scratch that off for me."

There's nothing wrong with the story, nothing that he doesn't like there. The idea that he was the only person Jim remembered...

That fits. Steve's never lost his memory, never lost himself, but he thinks that if it ever happened, there'd only be one name he'd never lose and it wasn't his own.

He stares at the key for a moment, then at the star. Careful, thoughtful, he takes the key and then his fingers touch to the star with a soft frown. He looks at the key, looks at the star, and his expression shifts to a smile.

"It's paint," he says with some authority.

"I can take that off without scratching up the metal. I just need some rubbing alcohol and it ought to come right off."

Jim shook his head, though. "The arm doesn't scratch up. Got shot about three times today, can't tell it, but however you want to do it. I don't want this star on me."

And Steve was the artist. Even though he intended to put that symbol Clark gave him where the star was, Steve was the one who could do it.

"Figure you've probably got enough paint to kill a herd of horses by now, am I right?" With money and health, he couldn't see a reason why Steve wouldn't.

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