Chapter Text
Prologue
“I know this looks bad, Chester, but I really think you need to consider…” Steve starts again.
“Don’t tell me what I need to do, Steve,” snarls Phillips. “This is what you need to do to salvage this contract. And this client. And…” he glares at Steve, “…your job at this firm.”
Steve pushes his glasses back up onto his nose and wishes for the half-dozenth time today that he’d had time to put in his contacts. He tries to sit up even straighter as he faces the managing partner of SSR Law in said partner’s huge office.
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Erskine and Peggy looking sympathetically at him from their positions standing on the side of Phillips’ desk, but he can’t look at them or he’ll get distracted. And probably too emotional.
“But Chester, this isn’t just about this contract, or about AIM,” Steve protests. “How can we help them negotiate this contract with Stark Industries and the Defense Department, when there’s ample evidence that the company is not only using forced, unpaid labor in Africa and the Middle East, but also kidnapping homeless people off the streets of New York and Chicago, and making deals with juvenile detention centers in Alabama and Florida to ‘buy’ teenagers and use them for test subjects? This behavior doesn’t just constitute major felonies under US law, it’s explicitly forbidden under Articles 4 and 9 of the UN Human Rights Convention…”
At the mention of the UN, however, Phillips’ frown deepens and his face goes several shades redder. If he were a cartoon character, smoke would be coming out of his ears right now, reflects Steve to himself, maybe a little hysterically.
It doesn’t mean he’s wrong, though.
Phillips cuts him off again. “AIM has never been convicted of any felonies in its treatment of employees,” he says.
“Not for lack of trying,” mutters Erskine, just loud enough for everyone to hear. Now Steve’s throat constricts a little. He knows Abraham’s family history, knows what his grandparents went through at Ravensbruck and Dachau. This has to be hard for him.
This doesn’t convince Phillips. “Not relevant,” he snaps, turning his glare on Erskine for a few seconds before switching back to Steve. “Our client has not been convicted of these crimes, and we are not here to judge them. They’ve hired us as their outside counsel to manage their government and corporate contracts, and this is what they pay us — very handsomely, I might add — to do.”
He raises his eyebrows. “Our job is to manage AIM’s contracts,” he repeats. “Not to alter those contracts or our own ongoing MOU and agreement with them, to reflect some sort of naive, idealistic views of ‘freedom’ and ‘justice.’”
Phillips doesn’t raise his hands in air quotes, but he doesn’t have to.
Now that Erskine’s comment has switched on his emotions, Steve can feel his temper rising. He fights hard to keep it in check, but it takes extra effort, especially when Phillips has confirmed what Steve has suspected for the last year — that the head of his firm doesn’t really care about the law, he cares about covering his clients’ asses.
And money.
Steve clears his throat. “With all due respect, Chester,” he says. “The changes I made to the contract weren’t about naive idealism — they were to bring it into compliance with recent adjustments to the US commercial code. And,” he adds, staring pointedly at his boss, “the draft alterations I made to our MOU were to protect SSR, provide some indemnification in case AIM comes under legal fire…”
“Do you think I can’t construct a decent MOU??” Now Phillips is practically yelling, and his face is so red Steve’s worried he might have a stroke.
“Of course you can.” Steve tries to make his voice sound soothing, but it comes out harsher and more strident than he wanted. “There have just been some changes in the New York and federal codes that could put us in a more tenuous position, and I wanted to make sure we accounted for that.”
There’s an almost-inaudible sigh off to his right, and he just sees Peggy’s chest rise and fall.
At least she isn’t rolling her eyes.
“I get that,” replies Phillips testily. “What I don’t get is why you felt the need to send the drafts to Stark before sharing them with either your client partner…” he nods at Erskine, “or your coach.” Another nod at Peggy.
“I didn’t send the drafts,” Steve protests, trying not to sound defensive, and failing. “Tony came over to the office late last night. I was just finishing up the changes, and he wanted to see them. He was…very persuasive.”
Peggy sighs again. “In fact, he bullied you,” she comments, the crisp vowels of her accent carrying throughout the office. “He bullied you, and you didn’t call me. Or Abraham.”
“He didn’t give me a chance to call you.” Steve is now aware that he sounds like he’s thirteen instead of 29, a recalcitrant teenager. “I tried to text you, but by then it was too late.”
“It was too late, because by then he’d seen your additions to the contracts and blown a gasket about their implications to him and his company,” Phillips barks out. “And now he’s questioning the entire AIM-Stark Industries partnership.” He picks up a folder. “And this contract. Killian and Brandt are freaking out. It could cost us tens of millions of dollars.”
Yep, there it is. The money. That’s really what Phillips cares about. Steve’s temper spikes.
“And if AIM is found liable in Nairobi and Dubai and Tallahassee and we’re implicated, it could cost us a hell of lot more than that,” he snaps. Stands up from his chair.
Phillips clenches his fists before pointing at the door. “Get out, Rogers,” he growls. “Just…go to your desk and let the grownups decide what to do. We’ll deal with you later.” He looks down at Steve and deliberately turns away from him.
The grownups makes Steve even angrier. His passion for justice and fairness has evoked similar comments in the past — in undergrad, at Columbia Law, and here at SSR — and this kind of cynicism always makes his blood boil.
And Phillips looking down at him is another slight. Steve isn’t usually sensitive about being short and skinny, but it tends to make people underestimate him, infantilize him. He’s always felt he had to fight twice as hard to be respected and taken seriously. Phillips has never treated him this way before, and it’s twice as enraging as a result.
“Yes, sir,” Steve says icily, snapping off a sloppy salute. “Guess this naive, idealistic child will fuck off and wait for his punishment.” He doesn’t wait for a response, but turns and strides to the door, opening and closing it firmly, but just short of a slam.
The door opens again behind him as he stalks down the hall, pointedly ignoring the stares of Phillips’ assistant and nearby paralegals, and then…
“Steve.” Erskine’s quiet voice catches up to him before the man himself does. Steve doesn’t stop, but slows down and turns to acknowledge the older man.
“Abraham.”
“I’m sorry about all this,” Erskine says. “I know we discussed those changes last week, and I’ll bring that up with Chester.”
Steve exhales a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Thanks, Abraham,” he replies. “Not sure if it’ll help, but thanks anyway.”
Erskine squeezes his shoulder and turns back toward Phillips’ office.
It doesn’t help. Or at least, that’s Steve’s initial thought when Peggy finds him an hour later at his desk and ushers him into her office.
“So here’s the story,” she says briskly and without preamble. “Erskine is going to work with you to revise the contract to AIM’s and Stark’s satisfaction, and you are going to write a formal letter of apology to Tony, and accompany Chester to prostrate yourself in front of Killian and Brandt and beg their forgiveness.”
Raising his eyebrows, Steve looks at his coach.
“Beg their forgiveness?” he says sharply. “Peggy, what the hell? I’m not looking for forgiveness. Killian and Brandt have kidnapped and tortured and killed people, and I’m the one who’s supposed to be sorry?”
Peggy shakes her head, her dark eyes sympathetic. “I know, Steve,” she says. “But you heard Phillips back there, we can’t afford to lose them as a client right now.”
Steve cocks his head and looks at his coach. In the two years he’s been working at SSR, he’s always admired Peggy — her intelligence, her spirit, her toughness, her strength, her integrity, her willingness to go the extra mile for her colleagues and her clients.
And besides, she’s beautiful. She’s only a few years older than he is, the youngest person ever to make partner at the firm. If they didn’t work together, Steve would absolutely ask her out. Not that she’d say yes, because he’s a skinny runt on the shorter side and she deserves — and dates — New York’s hottest bachelors.
But now…he examines her with new eyes as he surveys her from across the desk. Wonders if it was integrity he saw in her after all, or just focused, calculated ambition. And Phillips and Erskine don’t seem to be any better. Just who the hell is he working with? Working for ?
This is not why he went to law school, goddamnit.
Righteous anger flares up in his chest. “Yeah, I can’t do it, Pegs,” he spits out, standing up abruptly. His glasses slip back down his nose — damnit — and he pushes them back. “I got into law to promote freedom and justice, to fight bullies, not kowtow to them.”
Steve steps back toward the door. “Guess I picked the wrong firm,” he says bitterly. He’s acutely aware that he sounds like a spoiled brat and a naive simpleton, but he can’t help it.
Peggy has stood up too. “Steve, wait,” she says, coming toward him. “Come on Steve, it’s not that big a deal, just pretend to be sorry, smooth it over. We’ll transfer you to a different client once the AIM contract is signed.”
Pursing his lips, Steve shakes his head. “I can’t do it, Peggy,” he repeats. As he opens the door, he says, “You’ll get my resignation letter before the end of the day.”
“You can’t just walk out, Steve!” Peggy sounds exasperated now. “You don’t just have permission to…”
“Oh, don’t I?” rejoins Steve drily, glaring at her. “I’m quitting. I’m not looking for forgiveness from those AIM criminals, and I’m way past asking for permission from you to leave.”
The righteous anger carries him through the rest of the day, through handing in his immediate notice, arguing with Erskine and Peggy about the terms of his employment and references, negotiating with HR about getting paid his accrued PTO, and, finally, striding out of the building at 5 pm on the dot.
Then all that fury dissipates rather suddenly. Walking down Park Avenue toward the subway, Steve feels himself deflate from the inside, like he’s wilting in the late-July heat. He slouches in his seat on the F train and sees all the texts buzz through on his phone — from Peggy, from Erskine, from his friend and fellow associate Darcy, from his best friend and roommate Sam, from Tony Stark of all people.
Abruptly he turns off his phone, panicky, an icy hand caressing his heart.
What the hell am I gonna do now??