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

"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.

He blushes a little, because having an embarrassment of riches in any direction is just that, something of an embarrassment, but it's true all the same.

"I've got some alcohol in the room for handling scrap ups. I can get it off of you in a few minutes."

It's clear, though, that he's pleased as punch that Jim is trusting him to get rid of it.

"You want something in it's place?" Since he'd asked about paints.

"Yeah," he answered, tapping the pin on his pocket. "This. Kal's S-thing means 'hope.' This one means... being able to choose your own destiny. It feels important to me now." Because now, he had the choice. He could pick what and who he was. And while he was still figuring that out, he at least had a start.

Steve stared at the design for a moment, recognizing it as alien, something different, and nodded just as quickly, because he can do that. In fact, he's thinking of ways to translate it even as he pulls back, holding the key out to his-- to Jim.

"That fits. You, I mean. Now especially, I guess."

He glanced at the door, where the others were making orders for dinner, and considers the elephant in the hallway. They were both dancing around it, but Steve'd never been one to run from a fight and he wasn't about to start now.

"Is this... I mean. You've got a place here, that's easy enough to see. I don't want to mess with that." And he didn't, he genuinely didn't. "But, I guess what I'm asking is--"

He breathed in.

"Is there room for me to get to know Jim Rodgers? Do you want me-- do you want me anywhere in this new-- the new you?"

Or am I just a part of your past you want to forget?

He took the key, dropped it back into his pocket, and then he felt himself smile. Genuinely, but faintly - amused just slightly at the terror that seemed to be condensed about Steve. It was surprising - at least a little - that it was so important to Steve. "Long as you realise that it ain't gonna be instant. Long as you don't push. My memories aren't... They don't feel real all the time. So remember that, and yeah. There's room."

Steve has to think about the words, because words have never been his strong suit in the small, closed spaces between two people. He could talk to troops, rally a force, inspire people in a way that was just vague enough to let them feel it down to their gut, but this? This was never his forte.

"You're not the only one who's different," he says, hoping it doesn't come off the wrong way. He'd always had his own walls, his own barriers, and while Bucky Barnes had snuck in too long ago to have to worry about them, they'd had time to build up after he'd fallen outside of them. And whether he said it out loud or not, there'd always been one part he'd never let Bucky into, if only because there was at least one thing that Steve Rogers had always been afraid of.

"But what I said stands. You and me. Til the end of the line. That doesn't change just because it's gonna take some work now."

After a few moments, Jim started to nod. It made sense. Both of them had had experiences without each other. And that meant, to Jim at least, one clear thing. "So we start over," he said, and extended his right hand. "Jim Rogers. Ex-Army. Construction worker and... hero on the side, I guess."

Starting over, but with some memories attached. It wasn't a blank slate, but he didn't want a blank slate. He wanted his history and his present to work together, and this, he thought, could make it happen.

He took the hand, gave it a good shake.

"Steve Rogers. Ex-Army. Ex-SHIELD. Captain America. Currently with the Avengers, whatever that turns out to be."

He tilted his head towards the door.

"You wanna be the first one in to show them we didn't explode or something? Cause I'm thinking we're gonna miss out on dinner otherwise."

"Kal already knows, but the rest of 'em don't," he agreed. "So yeah, sure. Let's go."

And with that, he pushed open the door, a thousand times more calm than he had been before. No more trembling. No more thoughts about bolting for the door the first chance he got. Everything was going to be fine - and he was damned lucky for it. "What kind of food are we looking at?" he asked as he dropped onto the bed again.

Clark's smiling more than a little when they get in but he takes the time out to roll his eyes at Lois, who's looking back as if to say 'yes, she knows if he was smiling everything was okay but she wanted to see it for herself' before she leans over and waves at the both of them.

"You're the only ones who haven't picked something. Clint's treating."

Sam looks over at Steve and there's some nonverbal communication going on there, but Sam seems satisfied by the time it's over and a little more of the tension that was still there in his shoulders (though, like Jim it's been significantly reduced) slips away.

Clark passes the tablet to Steve and scrolls down to where the entrees are.

"Lois has the note pad and she's going to make the call. Just pass it to Jim when you pick something."

Steve looks over to 'Kal' before nodding and starting to look through.

Edited 2014-06-05 06:07 (UTC)

"So," he says as he scrolls, "which one of the girls is your grandmother, Miss Lane?"

"Lois," she says flatly, "and my grandmother was Margot, Uncle Steve. Which, speaking of... you have someone to talk to after you've picked your food."

He looks up, curious. Lois, slightly incredulous that he hasn't figured it out, wiggles her phone.

"She wants to talk to you, dummy."

Which has him telling her to just get him whatever Sam's having and passing the tablet to Jim almost too quickly.

In sudden possession of a tablet, Jim found himself slightly smirking at Steve's eagerness. That, he remembered. "Apparently I scandalised her," he offered before starting to look through the menu for himself. "You find anything good for yourself, Kal?" he asked. Steak didn't sound bad, but he wanted to see the options. He wasn't really committed to anything specific yet, but as was usual, he wanted to be sure Clark would be fed well.

"Oh, I'll be getting a tray of ziti with eggplant," Clark assures him, because he'd been the one to pick the place. This particular restaurant was owned by a couple, one Italian and one American, which made it one of the few places you could get a fantastic baked pasta as well as a good piece of steak.

Steve was over near Lois now, sitting on one of the other chairs as she dialed a number on her phone, passing it over after a few moments of quiet conversation. Then Steve was smiling into the phone and chatting with someone who apparently was almost as good as Bucky Barnes had been at making him laugh. He put his hand over the phone to look back at Jim.

"She's asking for you next, by the way."

The thought of talking on the phone still made him uncertain if it was someone he didn't know, but he nodded anyway and pointed out his choice to Lois. "This, with a baked potato and the works."

What would he say to this woman, he thought after he'd given his order, when he'd changed so much from the flirtatious young man she'd known? And when had he started thinking of himself as old?

That was everyone. Clint headed over to where Lois was sitting, digging his wallet out of his pocket to give her one of the cards that actually had money on them. He never put all his little green money-eggs in one basket. "Here," he said. "That's the one that actually says Clint Barton on it, right?"

She took a look at the card to make sure for herself, nodded, and then made a 'gimme' gesture at Clark for his phone since hers was occupied. He walked it over and it earned him a tug down for a kiss to the cheek before she dialed the number and walked off towards the bathroom with the notepad to make the order.

"If anyone was wondering," Clark said after a moment, "the HYDRA agents have been booked and processed, the mole who'd been in the police department was booked along with them, and the street cleaning crews are already working on the wreckage from the giant robots. No casualties; not even anyone hurt."

Sam and Steve both look mildly relieved and Lois gives a thumbs up before turning back around to finish going over the order with the waiter on the other side.

"How do you--" Sam starts, but then Clark's tapping his ear.

"Damn."

"He's good," Jim agreed from where he sat, watching Steve talk, and Lois and Jim just... interact. He was proud of all of them, he found, and the fact that they'd managed to do it all without harming anyone but those of them who had been there to fight? It was definitely a plus. He was fine with being collateral damage as long as no one else was.

Steve leans back after a minute and pulls the phone away from his ear. He's a little pink, though if that's from laughing or embarrassment is anyone's guess; his damn pale Irish complexion was going to haunt him to his grave.

"She said it'd be quick."

He nodded and took the phone, bringing it to his ear to say, "Hey, Margot."

Thank God Lois had said her name. He thought he remembered which one she was, but he knew better than to depend on his memory.

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