stands_for_hope | Superman, Firebrand, and the Metropolis Gang in... the World's Mightiest Duckling

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house of am

Superman, Firebrand, and the Metropolis Gang in... the World's Mightiest Duckling

[continued from here]

It took a few weeks, but soon enough, the apartment had become an entirely settled little commune between the five of them. Steve's things had arrived as Clint had promised, they'd been installed in the new apartment, and the group had made the changes they'd discussed for everyone's comfort with one addition: with Steve bunking with Jim, the room he'd initially intended to take had become a general office/library/art room for everyone to use when they felt like a bit of time alone. For as silly as the concept sounded, all of them had ended up using the room a time or two and it had definitely kept things peaceful despite the addition of two new people.

Considering that the apartment was home to four superheroes and a world-famous journalist, it was amazing how easily they all fell into a routine. Jim, Lois, and Clark would usually leave for work around the same time and Steve, always an early riser, had taken to making them something to munch for breakfast on the way after he returned from his morning run. Having also gotten a position at the community center (teaching kids art and art history), Steve would leave with Diana an hour or so after that. Everyone filtered back into the apartment at different times and whoever was feeling up to cooking would usually start dinner when they got in. If no one was feeling up cooking, one of the two 'old' men would treat takeout.

Today, however, Jim's site was currently closed for due to an issue with the plumbing contractors and some unfortunate flooding that had occurred overnight. That was why Clark texted Jim and invited him to come visit he and Lois at the Daily Planet offices and go out for lunch together.

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He laughed softly. "Yeah, that would be a dream. What really happened wasn't ever quite that ... sweet." When there were all those blankets, it was either freezing or Steve was sick or both, and when there was soup with those blankets, then Steve was definitely sick, and he was spooning the watery soup between Steve's slightly-blue lips.

"Nope," and his voice was soft, far away. A little bittersweet.

"I always wished we could... enjoy things more. That you didn't have to worry about me so much. Sometimes, I think I picked more fights than I needed to just because...well," his voice dropped a little "that was what I could control. Let you get mad at me for bein' an idiot 'cause I know you couldn't get mad at me when my lungs went out or I was half dead from a cold."

"Stevie, I liked worrying about you." Jim sighed, looking across and giving the smallest smile. "I liked feeling like somebody needed me. And that I wasn't going to end up alone again, 'cause you were there. I even always figured that after some girl figured out how great you were and you two got married, that I'd find a way to live down the street."

He nudged Jim under the table a little more firmly.

"Even if I was fit as a fiddle, you weren't gonna end up alone ever, far as I was concerned."

He took a few spoonfuls of soup, which was good, very good, but a little rich for him. The enhanced senses he had made super-rich food a little overwhelming, but he wasn't about to let it go to waste. Not how he'd grown up.

"I had a whole speech worked out too, you know. For when you found a dame and wanted to make an honest woman of her. A whole proposal, lookin' to rent a room from the two of you, how I'd help with the cleaning and the babysitting and all that, do my part, you know?"

Because he'd never really planned on having someone. Because the only person, to his mind, that he'd ever imagined putting up with him was Bucky.

He laughed softly, shaking his head. "I couldn't ever imagine getting married. Every girl walked out just as easy as she walked in - even if a few of 'em stayed a little longer than the rest. I never saw any of 'em as maybe permanent. You... were what was permanent. I don't think there was a day we spent completely apart until I went for training."

And damn it had been strange, waking up to the bugle and not seeing his five feet of best friend close by. Eating without Steve there. He'd caught himself still saving half of his food until he realised he couldn't take it home.

"Looks like we were right, in a way. You and me... we're permanent."

There wasn't a Steve Rogers without the man sitting across from him, not properly. If he was honest, and he tried to be if only to himself, then he'd admit that he hadn't felt properly alive since that day on the train.

It wasn't healthy, even he knew it wasn't exactly healthy, but that didn't make it any less true. And of all the illnesses he'd ever had, it was the one he was glad that the serum hadn't touched. He'd loved Peggy, and he'd never regret loving her, but she wasn't so firmly stitched into him as Bucky was. As Jim was.

His smile was bittersweet as he looked down at the plate (the mussels were gone, and he figured the dish would be swooped away soon) and then at Steve's soup. Something in his heart would always feel better knowing that Steve ate well. But he couldn't help remembering, and then saying quietly, "I'm sorry I was such a jerk when you told me. I was... There's no excuse; I was a jerk."

Steve breathed in for a moment, trying to figure out how he wanted to handle it. Then he shook it off, waving one hand as if to flick the whole of the trouble off the table.

Finally, he offered a warm little smile.

"Can't argue the results, though," he pointed out cheerfully. "And it only made sense for you to prove you were a jerk when I admitted I was actually a punk."

"All I could think about is... what if somebody had found out back then, y'know? What if somebody..." He bit his tongue for a few long moments, something twisting in his chest, tightening at his throat before he swallowed and made it go away. "I couldn't live with it if somebody'd hurt you that way back then. I guess part of me wanted to show you it was dangerous."

He glanced down at his soup, stirring in a few oyster crackers.

"The scariest part of it was the idea of telling you. I just remember... I remember I didn't want to admit it because if I admitted it, I'd have to tell you. Because I tell you everything. And I was terrified that you'd-- I dunno. My brain couldn't even go that far because it all came down to you kicking me out and I just couldn't think past that."

But Jim shook his head. "I wouldn't'a kicked you out. I don't know much else of what I would'a done back then, but I know I wouldn't have kicked you out." He smiled faintly, glancing up. "You were too much of me for me to do that."

He looked at Jim's hand on the table for a moment before reaching over and putting his own over it.

"When I told you... I got angry then, can't lie about that. You know me angry more than anyone. But when I started thinking again, I figured out... you've never done a thing in your life that wasn't to take care of me somehow. Then I thought about it a bit more, about how we grew up..."

He shook his head.

"I wasn't upset about five minutes after we yelled at each other. So... no apologies necessary, but if you need to hear it, it's forgiven."

"I'm just glad you... you know that I'm not..." He turned his hand under Steve's, palm meeting palm. "You know."

He'd risk it for now, when there was nobody looking through the window who could see, and when everybody else was paying attention to their own table.

He raised an eyebrow and gently pulled his hand away.

"I know you better than that. And pipsqueek best friend or not, you swung more than a few punches in defense of some of our neighbors... and you never seemed too keen on the kind of guys whose faces you were caving in."

His hand curled, missing Steve's, but letting him go. He tucked his hands into his lap instead.

"It's... It's just stronger comin' from somebody else sometimes. A white guy's gonna listen to another white guy more often than they'd listen to a black guy, as stupid as that is. So guys like that... they'd listen to a guy they thought was like them. Between that and... that being safer..." Shaking his head, Jim sighed. "It sounds terrible. Probably said everything wrong."

He watched Jim's hand and moved his foot to rub up against Jim's; he'd pulled away so as not to make him uncomfortable, not to draw back from him, after all.

"I'm the last person gonna give you trouble for everything coming out all wrong. I learned my feet were flat by gettin' both of em stuck in my mouth at the same time, remember?"

"Wonder if I could pick up your arches with a foot rub?" That, he hoped, couldn't go wrong as a statement. After everything he'd said so far, who knew.

"That's not an offer I'm about to refuse. Maybe offer in kind back, but not refuse."

"Mm, you said you were going to rub my back. So you rub my back, I rub your feet, we'll count it even."

"Sounds... indulgent. I could get to like that."

He refocused on the soup, finishing it off quickly enough. Almost instantly, the server swept it and the mussel plate away and slipped in their salads before disappearing again.

When the plates were exchanged, he started a, "Thank y--", but their server had disappeared before the second word could be finished. Jim raised his eyebrows. "Efficient."

But now they had salads - and he was starting to wonder. He hadn't read the menu very closely, but now, between appetisers and salads, would he even have room for his main course? He knew Steve would, but that wasn't the question. He didn't really want to go anywhere with a doggie bag. Especially when the idea of a doggie bag seemed like anathema to him.

Someday, he'd get used to having all the food he could eat.

"I do have to admit something," he eventually said between forkfuls of salad. "I didn't stumble over this place myself. Lois pointed me here, so I'll have to thank her."

"Very efficient," he agreed before turning to the salad. He'd worried about getting too much food, but now he was thinking it'd probably be about right.

"I'll have to ask her for suggestions for next month then," and he started in on the salad happily enough.

"And just so you know, sometime I'm getting a suit for Clark and dresses for the girls - 'cause there's a dance hall here in town where they dance like we used to. So I'm gonna have to teach you to dance before we go, but I think we can do that." He looked forward to doing that. He wasn't sure he could teach him to do the Lindy moves, but he loved the idea of being at a real dance hall with Steve there to dance with.

His head tilted to one side as he considered the idea of Clark, Lois, and Diana dressed up proper and he couldn't say it was a bad picture. But most importantly, a dance hall. He'd get to see Jim dance. Bucky'd always loved dancing and while it'd never really worked out for him on the dating front, it'd been a kick and a half to watch his friend at it.

"If anyone could teach me, it'd be you."

"We've got a nice rooftop we can practice on," Jim grinned. "Just need to take somethin' up there to play music. Think you could swing now?" He wasn't sure he could swing with Steve, but he'd try. He'd learn.

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