Chapter Text
Steve was always a very focused person, back in the forties. He could pay attention to little details for hours; he was an artist, and he observed the smallest, most insignificant details, only to draw them out later. It was good, that way of thinking, of observing--slow and gentle and all-consuming.
Unfortunately, these days, he couldn't really think like that anymore. The world had changed around him, faster than he could even comprehend--it had been almost eighty years at this point, and there was so much to learn and see and observe that he figured even if he had eighty thousand hands he could never get it all down on paper.
To prevent him from having some kind of future-related freak out, S.H.I.E.L.D. had pretty much confined him to the base. That was okay with Steve; the sparse architectural design wasn't like anything he had ever drawn before, but it was plenty of new material, in a very boxy, angular sort of way.
So at least he had something to do, aside from sit in his room and listen to old Ella Fitzgerald records, (which Agent Coulson had helpfully supplied; Steve quite liked him. The man was a huge jazz buff, and even though it did perturb him slightly that it was now filed under "classical," he ignored that in favor of hours-long conversations with the S.H.I.E.L.D. agent and unduly-elected superhero nanny about the merits of Louis Armstrong.)
The thing was, the other Avengers were beginning to, well...assemble. Steve was never a very outgoing man in the first place--Bucky had been his only true friend he had known before the war, and that had been enough for him--but as he met these Avengers, he realized that the people had changed just as much as the world had.
Clint and Natasha had been the first two Avengers he had met. They were S.H.I.E.L.D. operatives, after all; they were in the building more often. Clint had offered to play cards with him, and Steve had happily accepted, memories of midnight games of War with the Commandos flooding his thoughts.
Card games with Clint and Natasha were a little...different, of course, but card games themselves didn't really change. Steve still lost more hands than he won, but he didn't begrudge Natasha and her glorious poker face for any of this. (Honestly, sometimes Steve wondered if all the science fiction novels were right, and she was part android in some way.)
He liked Clint; brash, loud, brave Clint, who loved the Avengers so fully and completely that Steve recognized almost immediately that this group had become Clint's life. He respected a man that dedicated to his cause, and he didn't hesitate to tell Clint so. Clint had just stared at him for a minute before laughing and shaking his head.
"Cap, you gotta know something; to be told you're a good man by Captain America is like having Santa show up to your house to personally inform you you're on the nice list for life. That...means a lot." He confessed, and there was no trace of his normal snappish wit in the last sentence--he meant what he said, and Steve just grinned, glad that he was working with someone like Clint. He was simple, and honest, and clever; to a degree, he reminded him of Bucky. They had the same swagger in their step.
Natasha was a bit harder to figure out. He had never been very good with women anyway, but she seemed to regard his politeness as a shock. This annoyed him; if a man wasn't pulling out a chair and opening doors for a lady, there was a problem. He would have to talk to Fury about how he trained the agents.
Still, he was always polite as he could be, even though she was one of the prettiest women he had ever met in his life, and it made it incredibly awkward to talk to her, sometimes--the only pretty woman he had ever talked to in his life, (aside from his mother, of course!), was Peggy, and...well...
Actually, it took her a bit longer than Clint, but she warmed up to him. Steve noticed her laughing more around him, and smiling when he cracked a joke. (He still didn't entirely understand modern humor, but Clint informed him that was "part of his charm" and that he should keep doing what he was doing. He was just going to listen to Clint on this one.)
Natasha was strange, but Steve liked her, and respected her as an ally and powerful soldier in her own right. She had overpowered Clint easily in one of their training sessions, and Steve hadn't even bothered volunteering to spar against her; he knew he would pull all his punches, and she would decimate him, completely and utterly.
But that was all right, because he figured she knew, from the teasing grins she would send his way when they trained, and how he instinctively reached out to help her whenever Clint got a shot in.
Natasha was genuinely an enigma, but Steve liked the parts of her that she dared to show him, letting her guard down for the legend that was Captain America, and that was enough for him. Her smile became more and more human the more time she spent around him and Clint and Coulson...and that was worth something.
The next Avenger to show up was Bruce. Steve liked him--he thought the doctor had a wicked sense of humor, and he was, of course, brilliant. He explained to Steve most of the modern happenings as best as he could, and for that, Steve was very grateful. Sure, he didn't know much about radiation, (or care, honestly), but Bruce also knew about swell things like cell phones and laptops and televisions that were bigger than him and in color!
He was one of the only people who wasn't a bit afraid to be around Bruce, he noticed; even Clint and Natasha seemed to keep their distance a little. When he asked Bruce why, the doctor just shrugged, moving one of his chess pieces across the board. (Steve was not a very good chess player, but Bruce was a fan, and he had needed a partner, so Steve had volunteered.)
"I turn into a seething mass of muscle and fury if I get angry." He said wryly, brushing a stray curl out of his face. "It means it's probably not a lot of fun to be around me if we're in a fight or playing gin rummy."
Steve just observed him carefully before he nodded and grasped Bruce's shoulder, giving him a quick smile.
"It's okay." He told him. "Everyone gets angry. When they do, they deserve their space, of course, but they deserve help, too. Don't worry. We're team mates, right? I'll make sure you're okay." He promised. Bruce raised an eyebrow and shook his head, but there was a smile on his face.
"All right, Captain." He agreed, pushing his queen forward. "I still don't think you understand what "hulking ragebeast" entails, but it's a little hard not to trust you." He shrugged. "Maybe it is good you like spending time around me. It's a little hard to get angry around Captain America." He mused. "Also, checkmate."
Steve groaned, but Bruce was laughing, and Steve realized that was the first time he had heard him laugh since they had met, so he didn't begrudge him the chess match too much.
...
The week dragged on after that; the next two days were an endless blur of training and de-briefing, but the week after, Coulson kept storming in and cursing up a storm. Clint or Natasha would put a comforting hand on his shoulder and guide him into his chair every time he came back from wherever he was going, and they would speak in hushed voices for a bit.
Steve never questioned it, because he didn't want to get involved if they didn't want him to be, but then, by the middle of the week, when he had already stormed in and out a good six times, Coulson finally cracked as they were listening to a modern jazz record he had wanted Steve to experience.
Suddenly, with no warning save a twitch of his jaw, Coulson threw his hands up and groaned in frustration. Steve blinked, surprised, as he began to rant, as if he had been waiting to vent for quite some time.
"I can't fucking stand him!" He raged, massaging his temples like he was trying to keep his head from exploding. "Sorry, Captain--I'm sure you don't approve of my language, but believe me, if you knew Tony Stark--"
"Who?" Steve asked, confused. Coulson snorted, clearly disgusted. He paused the music and sighed, sinking into his chair.
Coulson sighed and gestured vaguely about the room, sinking into his chair and continuing his explanation. Steve was confused, certainly, both by the outburst and the name, but Coulson was apparently up to explain.
"We've been recruiting other Avengers, of course, and actually, we're almost done explaining "Midgard" to Thor, he'll be showing up tomorrow--but there's a member you haven't met yet." Coulson grumbled. "That man happens to be Iron Man--also known as Tony Stark, also known as the one man I would gleefully lock in the Casket of Ancient Winters and keep him in there."
Steve blinked. Coulson was unflappable, normally; polite and reserved and determined to do his job properly. Steve respected the man, and even considered him a friend, rather than just a colleague. To see him this flustered wasn't just a shock--it was genuinely worrying. It meant that there was a real problem...one that he had to try to at least learn about and attempt to fix.
Still, before he learned anything else, or attempted to help in any way, there was...there was something he had to know. Coulson was talking about him like he was some sort of violent psychopath; if he was anything like the Red Skull, then...
"Is he a bad person?" Steve asked. Even while he considered this, the name Howard Stark was, of course, at the forefront of his mind, but Stark was a common name, he surmised--surely it wasn't the same man. If Coulson had met Howard, he would've liked him. His son couldn't be so different as to be evil!
"Yes." Coulson muttered. "He's not a criminal or anything, he's just--insufferable! Absolutely insufferable! Flirtatious, bossy, prissy, completely unable to focus on anything that doesn't interest him--he's an impossibility! I can't deal with him! And yet here I am, trying to do so." He sighed. "He hasn't been at the meetings because he's been building an armor designed specifically to neutralize the Hulk if he goes bonkers. Every time I go over there and check on progress, though, it is, without fail, him and that assistant of his arguing in his garage! I don't know how she stands him, honestly--I spent a week with him, and it was like trying to fit my head into a blender and puree it, I swear..."
Steve gathered he didn't like this man much. He wanted to ask if he was related to Howard, of course, but from the murderous look in Coulson's eyes, he figured he wasn't up to answering. He just turned the music back on and let Coulson relax, figuring he would ask Natasha, Clint, or Bruce about it tomorrow.