stands_for_hope | The Metropolis Not!Vengers in... Location, location, location!

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house of am

The Metropolis Not!Vengers in... Location, location, location!

[continued from here]

Steve wakes up slowly, happy and warm and content enough he's not sure where he is at first. The clues he gets initially aren't helpful because they're such universal parts of his life, as far as his hindbrain is concerned, that they're just a part of 'how he should wake up'.

There's a warm body up against him, deep brown hair pressed up against his nose and mouth that smells like home, a ratty old mattress beneath him that's too firm for anyone but someone like him--

And a metal arm across his stomach. Huh. That shakes some things loose.

It doesn't halt the grin on his face, though. That's... probably never going away, or at least it won't be budging anytime soon (probably until Jim looks at him, disgusted, and tells him to 'stop lookin' like a loon'). Instead, he just reaches over to grab his phone from the the bedside table (amazing the things that survive a plain crash when they're kept in the right pocket) and peers at the time.

Huh. Nearly two. That's fair. But--

"Hey, sleepyhead. You get some good rest?"

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"Whipped cream and ice cream - I think we're set. Soon as the pasta's done, I'll stick the apple and blueberry into the oven to get warm." It sounded like a great way to celebrate their newly rearranged double-apartment.

"Jim always has known how to celebrate," Steve said with side eye at Lois. "Never passed a birthday without a full set of fireworks just for me."

And that was a smile at Jim, an old joke from when they were kids.

And Jim did laugh, reaching over to give Steve's arm a playful shove. "Never cost me a penny, either. Everybody celebrates this punk's birthday."

Diana frowned, confused, and Lois snerked as Clark smiled over at the girls. Steve was the one who explained, though.

"My birthday is July 4th, which is also considered a holiday in this country, dedicated to our declaration of independence from the country we were previously a colony of. And this lug," he wobbled Jim's flesh and blood shoulder good naturedly, "he tells me when I'm turning eight that he'd gone and saved up his pennies and paid the fireworks folks for one extra firework, just for me. Kept up the joke for years too."

And he'd been joking at the first, but his voice had gotten more and more fond as he'd kept talking.

"Somehow, it was always my favorite one."

He gave Steve a smile. "Had to find the good stuff where we could. Steve was sick a lot of the time, either with a cold or sometimes worse, but it seemed like he did a little better around his birthday. Wasn't too hot, wasn't too cold. So when the fourth rolled around, I'd give him that joke, buy us some stuff from the street vendors - little bit of a treat. Hotdogs, popcorn, ice cream. I think we had more fun then than on Christmas."

Christmas had been nice enough, but it was always cold. When it was cold, it was easier for Steve to get sick. To catch pneumonia, cough himself almost into a heart attack... He'd hugged Steve through it a lot of the time, holding a pillow against his chest while he coughed to keep his ribs from ending up bruised or broken. All his handkerchiefs had been stained - sometimes just with the gunk from his lungs but sometimes with blood. He'd slept for weeks sitting up with Steve leaning on him just so he could breathe through the night. All that could turn Christmas into something easy to gloss over. Summer was better.

Steve looked over at Jim, eyes soft. They were both thinking of the same thing at the mention of Christmas.

"Summers were always pretty good. There any good beaches or anything around here?"

"There's a few beaches on St. Martin's island. We could definitely take a day trip there." Clark tried to be helpful.

"That'd be fun," he nodded. "I was gonna suggest that sometime when we've all got vacation, we should head up to Coney Island. Rent a car, make it a road trip." He and Steve had mentioned it. And he still wanted to see Steve on the Cyclone without throwing up.

"I'm all for it," Clark agreed with a firm nod. Diana looked curious.

"I hope one day to be able to show you all the beaches of Themyscira. Now, such a thing is far from possible except perhaps for Lois. But someday."

"Another name for it is Paradise Island, isn't it?" Steve pointed out, "I'll admit, it was a beautiful place."

"Indeed."

"Steve could always draw it," Jim suggested, nodding toward him. "He's the artist and he's going to be going to school for it soon." And he was so proud of Steve for that. He was always the smart one. Always the one with prospects. Jim - Bucky, at the time - was just the tough.

Clark was the one to bring up the obvious point, but it was clear that Steve appreciated it as it came out.

"You could always look into architectural courses, or engineering," he said, leaning back in his chair. "Even if you don't want to actually go to a school. I pulled off most of my degree through correspondence courses."

"You always had angles down," Jim agreed. "It wouldn't be a bad idea. For now, let's see if you need more cooking lessons, though."

Clark wasn't sure if Jim had intentionally misunderstood, but he made sure to look directly at him as he spoke.

"I meant for you. Considering the field you're in, and, well, it's not as if Metropolis couldn't take more engineers and architects after all that happened."

He blinked - yeah, he'd missed that entirely. And the thought left him stunned. "Me?" he asked, then shook his head. "No. Hell no, I'm terrible at that kind of thing." Jim waved it off good-naturedly, then nodded toward Steve. "Steve's the smart one. I just know how to fix things. ...And apparently speak a lot of languages, but I didn't learn that in any kind of... uh. Good way. Nah, I'm not... I never even finished school the first time."

"I bet you'd be fine taking a GED," Lois pointed out, "And New Troy Community College has a lot of courses in all kinds of stuff."

Steve gave him a soft, crooked smile.

"We're doin' good, Jim. No reason not to if you're interested."

"The VA already tested me through the GED," he admitted, "so I got that, I just... I'm already workin' fine without it. So what's the need for it, y'know? It's not like you need to be a genius to put up a wall."

"Not pushing," Clark was sure to say, "but you should know the option is there if you're interested. You don't need a degree to put up a wall, but you could help design the buildings you work on someday."

Steve shrugged as he glanced at the oven.

"I don't know what I'm going to do with my schooling. I just want to go to learn more. Make better art."

"I don't think my mind goes that way - I don't really look at buildings and think I wanna design one. I just..." He shrugged slowly. "I can look at buildings that are there and say what they need to be better, but that's it."

"Just a thought," Clark admitted with a shrug.

"Tony's asked me more than once what I'm doing as a journalist, considering."

"This is just... what I do, I guess." Jim looked up at Clark with a shrug. "I'm not a school person, I guess. I'm just... a hands-on kind of person."

"And I'd go nuts in a lab," Clark admitted.

Steve and Diana both looked at Clark, who blushed.

"The, uh, super abilities aren't just physical. I can read and process information... rather well. But I've never had the creative spark when it came to that kind of thing. Writing works better for me. Not that I'm the finest reporter in this room even."

Lois grinned. "There he goes with the super smarts."

Steve nodded thoughtfully.

"The serum helped my memory some to," he said thoughtfully, "but I'm pretty sure I'm not too much brighter. Always been good at angles, after all."

"I just had stuff zapped into my head," Jim shrugged. "I don't even remember all of it 'til I need to use it."

Steve looked like he wanted to say something but decided on the better part of valor as he turned to the stove as it started to buzz.

"If you wanna get the salad out, Jim?"

And Steve grabbed for the oven mitts.

"Sure." He turned to the fridge and got out the vegetables he'd chopped up for salad, only now starting to mix it up so nothing would get soggy. And with his left hand, he got the sausage out of the toaster oven. That, anyway, was convenient - no need for an oven mitt with one hand that didn't feel anything. All he had to do now was to slice up the sausage and it'd be ready.

And maybe figure out why the thought of going to school put him off so much.

"Diana?" Steve asked with a nod to the cabinet where they kept the plates. She got the message and pulled out the right number, stacking them next to Steve as he pulled out a serving spoon.

Lois looked over at Clark with a little smile.

"I love all of you with your cooking and your serving up delicious food. It's like... Fifth on the list of reasons I'd never want to live anywhere else."

Clark rolled his eyes at her playfully before turning to Steve.

"Don't worry about the dishes. Those are my job."

"Well, Steve..." Almost absently, Jim sliced the sausage into coins. "It looks like we've spoiled our niece. Was that what we were goin' for?"

The sausage was chicken sausage with some Italian seasonings - even a little tomato to make it slightly red in places, and little pockets of molten mozzarella cheese. He arranged them on a plate and then put them and the bowl of salad onto the table, along with a pair of tongs. "What kind of dressing does everyone want, speaking of?"

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