The Chase: Chapter 2

The Good Ol' Days

Steve wasn't sure how long it took for him to realize that he was no longer alone; he was too enthralled in his self-appointed task of tuning out the world, which with all of the practice he's put into it lately, wasn't really a difficult challenge to conquer. All he had to do was focus on the slow push and pulls of his breath, on the physical, rhythmic movement of his arms and hands, tendons pulling and maneuvering without any need of instruction on his part, executing their task without falter, as he cooked a meal that would even make Volstagg the Vast weep with joy, or punched out his frustrations into a sandbag's tough leather hide, and the world would melt away. The world had just become so chaotic now; every second of the day something new was trying to catch your attention: the newest iPhone, a fresh new sushi bar on 5th street, signs plastered on every flat surface, flamboyant and desperate to catch your eye.  Sometimes he needed to shut it all out and think! He would let his mind wander back to the good old days with Peggy and Bucky, when things were simpler, and his pencil, intertwined in his skillful fingers, would begin to glide across a new page in the well-worn leather-bound notepad he was so fond of, in no time at all covering every inch of the paper with sketches and doodles that he couldn't even remember making.

The only thing that could keep him anchored to the world of the living was his weekly visits to the tower, horrifyingly brazen as it was. The soldier genuinely enjoyed his Sunday visits, cooking breakfast for anyone who was willing to come and enjoy it, talking with the Doctor and Agent Barton, and gazing out at the extraordinary view of New York, watching the city rebuild itself, piece by piece, ever resilient. If he looked hard enough, he could just make out the old brownstone that he used to call home in Brooklyn. The Soldier often caught himself thinking, Gosh, if only those bullies from all those years ago could see me now... He even enjoyed those rare occasions when Tony would saunter out from the dark crevasses of his lab and ridicule the Living Legend's "sissy-ness" and cooking skills, right before the genius snagged himself a few helpings of Cap's famous home-made waffles and scurried back down to the bottom floors to do who-knows-what.

Although, in his defense, Tony had been coming out of the lab more and more each passing week, now that he finally had someone of mutual intellect to talk to, a new companion of sorts. Even if Steve didn't have the faintest idea of what the two talked about most of the time, of what the geniuses blatantly refer to as "English", he was glad that the billionaire had finally crawled his way out of the depressive pit he had sunk into after the New York incident.
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Tony had toiled away for weeks, running every program and computer system he had, trying to decipher the strange energy signature that radiated from the cube, the secrets of Asgardian magic.  Furiously scampering across the lab like a mad man, convinced that he could decode this "magic" of theirs, Tony remained unshaken to the fact that nothing he did made any difference; with the Tesseract gone, and Loki's scepter's magic gone with it, the perplexing energy signature simply remained a mystery to the world. The situation almost devolved to the point that Steve thought of calling in Fury, hoping that the super-spy could snap his friend out of his frenzied state.

But that was before Steve met Pepper. He had never seen a woman that could command a room the way she did, except for maybe Peggy, oblivious to the fact that anyone and everyone in that room could end her life with little more than a hand gesture; not that anyone there ever could bring themselves to do such a thing to the warm and perky redhead. She took care of the team whenever they needed anything, while always wearing that radiant smile of hers. The assistant seemed to have superhuman abilities of her own, the way she could maintain a billion-dollar company, manage Tony's manic depression and alcoholism, act as liaison between S.H.I.E.L.D. and the rest of the team, and do all of it while still wielding a perfectly sculpted bun and wearing four-inch heels. She even managed to impress Natasha, if even just a little, which was saying something.

Pepper had been able to calm Tony down to the point that he would actually put down his bottle of Yeager, which for the first few weeks had seemed to be all but microscopically attached to the inventor's hand. She coaxed an exhausted, grizzly version of the billionaire from the depths of his lab, hoping that the social interaction would help the man break away from his unhealthy obsession, at least for a while. And it did help, though most of the credit could be given to Bruce, whose soothing words had begun to slowly calm the frenzied inventor to the point where he could actually sit still and focus on one task.

Sometimes Steve resented his super-soldier abilities, the way that he was able to capture every fine detail in his surroundings in only a glance. The way that Tony looked, his dark brown locks dripping with sweat and grease and in desperate need of a cut, his usually manicured facial hair hidden amongst weeks of stubble, the way his hands gestured and twitched (the later more likely a side effect from all of the alcohol the man ingests), like he was still tinkering away at another of his inventions, or flicking away at his strange holograms, and the dark smudges harboring under his eyes, like he hadn't slept for days, had greatly disturbed the soldier.

So, after a couple of hours of Tony scarfing down food that wasn't as greasy as his hair, a 20 minute shower in one of the many expansive bathrooms in STARK Tower, and a change of clothes, the man began to look more like the snarky, narcissistic, S.O.B. that Steve had grown to know, and even consider a friend. Steve wasn't sure what the red-head had done behind the closed lab doors that had caused such a drastic change in Tony, but there was a deep nagging feeling inside his gut that told him he didn't want to know. The soldier had decided to stay for a couple of days, to keep an eye on Tony and to enjoy unlimited access to Tony's massive kitchen, and after a while, things began to feel more normal.
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About 4 days after Tony came out of the lab, Pepper was called away to a big business affair in Beijing, which left the boys to their own devices. Steve was more than weary about Pepper leaving so soon after what had happened, but it was out of his hands, and the CEO had assured him that she thought he could handle it. He wasn't as confident though, and quite frankly, the blonde would rather be fighting a squadron of Chitauri than trying to keep Tony Stark under control. Steve's fears were confirmed the next morning, when he woke up to discover that the genius had locked himself in the confines of his lab again. Ever since then the soldier's days had been filled with silent concern, worn leather punching bags, bright smiles, and lots of cooking.

And he probably would've continued to worry had it not been for the raised hairs on the back of the soldier's neck and the feeling that he was being watched. He blinked a few times as he was snapped out of his own head and glanced up to see Bruce's tentative stare. The doctor quickly dropped his gaze, timid as always, and made his way around the bar until he found a stool next to Clint, who was busy trying to simultaneously swallow down two chocolate-chip pancakes and a sausage link. Steve hadn't even realized that the two heroes had been there with him.

Bruce looked at Clint with his signature warm smile and chuckled, "Don't you think you should slow down bird-brain? You're going to choke!"

The archer, with half a sausage link protruding from his mouth, only gave a bewildered expression in response. He swallowed with great effort, and after a glass of OJ to wash it all down retorted, "Please, you really think that the great Hawkeye would fall at the hands of the-Boy-Scout's breakfast?!" Quickly shifting his focus to Steve he opined, "Which is fantastic by the way."

Steve beamed, always looking for something to smile at, and thanked the fellow blonde before turning to Bruce. "So how'd you sleep last night?"

The physicist nervously adjusted the perfectly ironed collar of his button-down shirt before replying, "Fine. I was thinking of going down to the lab to-"

BOOM!!!

The scientist had been cut off by a massive, bone-rattling explosion coming from down below. The entire room began to shake and buckle, walls moaning from the strain of keeping themselves upright and trying not to crush the occupants inside. Dishes rattled off the countertop, smashing into the floor. Team members flew across the room, unable to steady themselves against the marble countertops. Amongst the chaos Steve's super-sense were able to faintly make out the sickening thunk of a head colliding with a solid surface. Whose head, he didn't know just yet.

The whole ordeal only lasted a few seconds, and after it subsided Steve was able to rise from the awkward position he had landed in. The soldier mentally shook himself and collected his bearings. Once he knew that everything was still functional, and the ringing in his ears died down, he began scanning the room for his fellow teammates, all the while trying to calm the nagging voice in his mind demanding, Stark, what have you done now?