stands_for_hope | At Home with Clark and Jim

Entry tags:

house of am

At Home with Clark and Jim

[continued from here]

They'd fallen into a routine pretty easily.

Clark had managed to write up something about the church bust without incriminating either of them, which meant that his Perry had been pleased enough with his work for the day and had only yelled at him for five minutes about his failure to show up in the office the whole day. Lois had ribbed him a little, which had been remarked upon as she usually gave the new guy hell if he did anything remotely out of the line, and then she'd ribbed him a lot. He hadn't minded too terribly much since he had visited her afterwards at her apartment and she'd done plenty of kissing to make it better.

With a second person in the apartment, he'd started to fix it up a little, bringing home new linens, keeping the fridge stocked more regularly, and he'd even managed to find a new couch for them through a very kindly older woman and Craigslist.

True to his word, he'd gotten some rudimentary identification for Jim and he walked through the door with a spring in his step, closing the door behind him and plopping it down on the kitchen table with a smile.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Mild is just as good as hot," Clark said with another scoop of mixed mango-vanilla ice cream.

"If it tells you anything, you can find sweets and even ice creams with 'curry' as one of the flavors. It's more a sort of taste than anything else."

"A flavour to itself." He wasn't sure what it was. But he hadn't been sure of tacos. He was familiar with spaghetti, but when it came down to it, he was a meat-and-potatoes person, it seemed. Still, the only thing that could hurt if tried was just a little burn on his tongue, he thought.

"You'll get a chance to try it tomorrow. The rest of the dish is pretty basic. Just some vegetables over rice."

That got a nod. "That sounds... safe. Vegetables and rice." In fact, he liked the idea. Though he thought he would like a little meat on the side, maybe, but that was his fondness for protein sneaking through.

Clark doesn't make much of an issue of it most of the time, but after some traveling and some learning, he's become something of a vegetarian. Something of one, a vegetarian in the Buddhist model: he'll accept any food given to him, enjoy it as he should, but he won't make food that has meat in it. He prefers not to kill any creature for his meals. He hasn't mentioned, mostly because it's something of an odd concept and Jim has enough on his proverbial plate and, of course, it doesn't really conflict. But Jim might notice it eventually once they're sharing the cooking more.

"It's a common dish where it came from. I know some others too. I... traveled a bit before ending up here."

With a bit of wryness to his smile, Jim answered, "I'd gathered. But with your abilities, you probably made it... quick." A fast trip from one place to another, it'd make a trip to see the world quick and easy. He didn't doubt he'd traveled the world, too, but he didn't want to think too closely about those memories just in case they would take it as a hint to come back.

"I was trying to find my parents," he admitted, "or... something. Make sense of who and what I was. Find a place."

He couldn't help chuckling a little.

"It kind of found me, I guess."

Jim's voice was quiet when he spoke again. "I think I know what that's like."

Out of everything he'd expected that day at the bus stop, this wasn't it. He felt comfortable around Clark, had even been accepted by Clark's mother. When he went out to pick things up and it was time to go back, he actually thought of the apartment as home.

Clark smiled at that before standing up, bowl in hand. He heard what Jim was saying, but he didn't want to say anything. The appreciation was clear enough.

"I've gotta get some research done for my column, but feel free to have your way with the rest of them. Just remember to put them back in the freezer."

He walked over to his desk and plopped down into his chair.

"I'll be up early so drag me over if you need anything to get ready for the job search."

"I have a newspaper to read," Jim reminded, a hint of a smile on his face. What he did do was go ahead and put away the ice creams, though, for the sake of keeping them good for later consumption. He had a scoop of strawberry to eat his way through, and that was what he did while Clark worked.

Some parts of the news were more interesting than others. Metropolis was being reconstructed, and New York was still being put together. Reports of the destruction of SHIELD and the exposure of Hydra were still prevalent, and he read them with a conscious detachment. No matter that they found out Hydra through SHIELD. There were still more locations throughout the world. Even if he couldn't remember them, he was still sure of that.

But then came the more interesting stories, including Clark's. The kind about people. About normal life. Things he definitely didn't remember but needed to know about more urgently than the state of politics following the exposure.

He didn't realise that he was milking out the ice cream, eating it slowly for the sake of enjoyment, as he went. But at last, he was at the classified section, looking carefully through the help wanted ads.

Clark doesn't mean to make the first noise in what seems like ages in the apartment, but the laptop has a little hinge at the back and a clasp at the front and it clicked as he shut it for the night.

"I'm gonna head to bed. Lots to do tomorrow. Don't forget to check the kitchen before you head out, though."

Because there will be authentic New York bagels and cream cheese waiting for him to send him off properly.

...you can take the boy off the farm, but you can't take the farm out of the boy. Work should always start with a good breakfast.

"I will. ...Goodnight, Clark." He still had ads to look through, and he'd pencil-circled a few. With any luck, he'd find himself employment, so long as he could find the bravery to be on the phone.

Before long, with the classified ad section folded backward on the table for convenience, he went to bed, himself. He'd need to be rested for the next day's travel. Probably some long walking, time spent on the bus. Just like old times.

The next morning, he'd find Clark already on the way to work and a fine selection of perfect, NYC bagels with only slightly-softened cream cheese sitting on the table.

Unexpected. And savored. He ate, each bite taking him to good places in his memories - places he couldn't have even thought of before - and it gave him a good mindset for when he headed out to check on job after job, going to the addresses before he had to face the phone. The phone put him much more on edge than meeting face to face, for reasons he couldn't put a name to.

With just a few easily-believed lies about papers getting destroyed, he had a construction job by two in the afternoon, ready to start the next day. When he got back to the apartment, he had a temporary badge with his name on it, and the intention to have some ice cream in celebration.

When he gets in, there's two tickets sitting on the table for the Mammoths vs Cyclones game, as well as a small treasure trove of Cyclones gear: there's a hat, a rumpled jersey, two penants, and a foam finger. There's also a note.

Home in a couple of hours; checking out a scoop. Lombard had this sitting around in his office. He practically begged me to take it. Set up the rice maker?

And in the kitchen, there is a small box with a japanese elephant logo that apparently contains a ricemaker with a bag of rice sitting beside it.

It looked like both of them had been busy. He read the note while looking everything over, pulling the hat on almost automatically. The foam finger had him skeptical, but the pennants, the jersey - the jersey, he knew he'd probably wear. The pennants would go on his wall, much like the Monarchs pennants had gone on Clark's.

And then, the rice maker.

He picked up the box, looking it over before opening it and starting the read-over of the instructions. He didn't even realise he was reading them in Japanese until he had already started the rice cooking.

Clark came in, as promised, a couple of hours later, just as the rice sang it's little tune to announce that it was done.

"I always forget to turn it on before I start cooking," he admitted as he closed the door behind him, taking in the room and Jim.

"How'd it go today?"

He looked up as the door opened, some of that old wariness striking him again before he reminded himself that he was expecting Clark to arrive. After a breath, he could answer. "I have a job. And I speak Japanese."

At the moment, he wasn't sure which one was more momentous. He was glad he had a job. He was confused at the unexpected knowledge.

Clark smiled at the first part and then frowned a little, considering the second.

"Is this more comfortable for you?" he asked, switching to the language in question. He started going over what Japanese recipes he knew; he hadn't been in the country long, but he'd spent a decent amount of time in some of the Japanese immigrant communities in Brazil during his trip around the globe.

Then he nearly kicked himself.

"Congratulations!"

"Thank you," he answered, but fell back into English. "I'm... I think I know a lot of languages. I know... English, Japanese... Russian." The Russian just made sense, with the red star on his arm, though it had a few scratches through it now. He didn't want to wear that star forever, even if he needed the arm. But then, he mirrored Clark's smile. "I start work tomorrow, though. Construction."

"Use whichever one you feel comfortable with," he said with a shrug, "I can understand just about any of them."

Then he headed straight into the kitchen to start pulling things out for dinner.

"That calls for a celebration."

"Tell me how I can help."

He stood, adjusting his hat out of reflex. He could definitely, he thought, cheer for the Brooklyn Cyclones, and knowing that he had a game to go to just felt nice. And tomorrow, he had a job to go to. Everything looked to be going well for once, and that meant he didn't need to start thinking about how that usually meant it would stop.

Clark shook his head.

"It's high time I did some of the cooking. And it's only fair," he offered before pulling out some of the vegetables. The cutting board was retrieved from the back of the counter and a couple of the knives pulled out from the block Jim had managed to get them.

They were chopped and put into distinct little piles within a couple of seconds.

"Besides, you did the rice. Which, I'll be honest, I forget to put on more times than I don't."

"That's how I learned I know Japanese," he said, coming to sit at the kitchen table. "The English instructions were awkward. The Japanese instructions were better."

Bucky was fast and knew he was fast, but Clark was faster. He didn't resent it but respected it, watching with a degree of curiosity.

Soon enough, he was adding ingredients to the pot along with some sauces and a few spices.

"Huh. Well, I've got books from all over in the bookshelf over there if you're curious which other languages you know."

He put the top on to let it all cook together.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject