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breakinglight11Forever Captain:
“The Hemingway Trip”
By Phoebe Roberts
~~~
Summary: “In the twenty years since Steve Rogers returned to the midcentury to build a life and family, he’s always been surprised at how close he became with Howard Stark. But it’s that very closeness that makes him the only person Howard can talk to when he’s wrestling with something big.
Nothing like a fishing trip to give the boys a chance to talk.”
Previous chapters:
1. Birds of Odd Feathers
Chapter summary: Steve recalls the first time he made Howard go fishing with him.
~~~
2. In the Drink
Steve replaced the receiver then, not sure what to think. He'd played along, but something in Howard's demeanor left him ill at ease. Especially since he knew how the man really felt about fishing.
Steve himself had grown quite a fondness for it since his midcentury return. He liked the quiet challenge of it, the business for the hands while thoughts or conversation flowed, and the chance for some leisurely hours spent outdoors. Sometimes he'd go by himself, if he wanted a little time alone with his thoughts. Sometimes he would pack up a picnic and take the kids with him, though it wasn't until they'd gotten a bit bigger that they had the patience to really learn it. On some occasions he'd invite along other families in the neighborhood and make a day of it; even those who didn't care one way or the other about fishing could enjoy the food, the company, the outdoors. But most often he'd round up his rods and tackle and a basket full of sandwiches, and use the time waiting on the fish as an excuse to talk with some good friends on a lazy afternoon.
He remembered the first time he'd got Howard and Edwin to join him, when they were all much younger men. It had taken a bit of convincing, as neither one was much of a great outdoorsman. But he sold them on promises of a serene afternoon in nature in the company of good friends, a gentlemanly pursuit, and a cooler's worth of any booze they fancied. That last was enough to get Howard to cave.
When they'd arrived in Howard's Bentley, Steve had to laugh. While Jarvis was sensibly outfitted in canvas and Wellingtons, apparently Howard had done a little shopping. He waddled out of the car in a bucket hat, a vest full of pockets, and rubber hip waders like a fisherman out of a cartoon.
"Wow, buddy. You look like Norman Rockwell painted you."
"On a Leyendecker budget," Jarvis added, and Steve cracked up while Howard pouted and pretended he got the reference.
"Hey, this was your idea, pal," he grumbled. "Don't make me turn this car around and leave your ass in the lake."
"It's a river. But I wouldn't miss out on company this good." Steve whacked Howard's shoulder. "Besides, it'd be a shame if you never get to use all your fancy new gear."
Howard grumbled. "At least we can drink."
Steve winked. "And you can call it a sport while you're doing it. When else can you do that?"
"The bowling alley," he shot back. "And I wouldn't have to worry about falling out of the boat and drowning."
"We aren't taking a boat," Steve told him. "So at worst, you'll end up face down in the shallows."
"Yeah, well, I still expect you to pull me out. Put that superhero experience to some use for once."
"Okay, but I warn you, I'm out of practice."
"I wouldn't worry," Jarvis chuckled. "When it comes to keeping Mr. Stark upright, I'm not."
Howard did indeed drink the whole time, but at least it helped curb the complaining. The mentions of Rockwell and Leyendecker got Steve and Edwin talking about popular art, about which Howard seemed to have minimal contribution. Neither of them proved to have much natural talent as anglers, despite Steve's best efforts to demonstrate. At least Jarvis was capable of the occasional stretch of quiet concentration, while shutting up had never been Howard's strong suit.
"I hate the beer you drink," Howard was grumbling, over what was probably his fifth. "Do you actually like this American junk?"
"If you want something fancier, you can buy it next time, rich man."
"Next time," he snorted. "Yeah, that'll happen. So when does this get interesting? When the fish actually show up?"
"You're scaring them away with all your noise."
"Oh, sorry, guess all the art talk doesn't count. Are the fish Leyenbacher fans too?"
"Leyendecker, sir."
"Whatever." Howard polished off the current bottle and tossed it onto the pile of them. "At this rate, I'd do better to just snatch them out of the water like a grizzly bear." With that he rose and splashed deeper into the river, with galumphing, bow-legged steps.
Jarvis eyed him. "Careful there."
But Howard pressed forward until he was hip deep, where the current picked up speed. "Aw, what are you worried about? Am I gonna get eaten by a fish? Ain't no fish in a dozen miles of here!" He spun and splashed, throwing his arms wide and swaying enough to reveal that the beer was starting to get to him. "You hear that, you scaly bastards? Come and get me! I can take ya—"
Then he threw himself off balance, and the current grabbed him and knocked him on his face.
"Ha!" Steve and Jarvis burst out laughing as Howard went down. His floppy hat was swept away as he splashed and struggled, squawking indignantly and churning up a small maelstrom in the current.
Steve shook his head at the show, snorting. "Oh, it's just a little water, you big baby."
But the thrashing continued. Steve frowned. "Howard, stop screwing around there."
"It's the damn waders," he choked out. "They're taking on water!"
Jarvis stood at sudden attention. "Are you all right, then, sir?"
But his rubber pants were rapidly growing heavier as they filled up with the water. "Shit, it's like wearing a bucket!" He flapped and struggled as it became harder and harder to keep himself upright.
Steve and Edwin tensed, pushing farther into the river. "Sir, take off the waders!" Jarvis called, but it was too late. They were already so full they were pulling Howard beneath the surface, and the water was moving too fast to keep his head up.
Steve and Jarvis crashed into the deeper water, pushing through the current to reach Howard. Dodging his flailing limbs, they moved in close to grab hold of him. Steve struggled to get up under his arms and raise up his head, while Jarvis went for the buckles on the waders' suspenders. Finally Howard's thrashing was enough to dislodge them, and the rubber pants pulled away with a gurgle from the weight of the rushing water. Whatever trousers he'd been wearing underneath, they were gone now, his bare legs bright white against the river bottom. Draping the man between them, Steve and Jarvis dragged Howard, soaked and in his boxer shorts, back onto the bank.
"So much for Leyendecker," Jarvis sputtered. "Can't remember any near-drownings in his garden parties."
"Just as well," Steve answered. "I prefer Rockwell anyway. His people have a bit more life to them."
They propped Howard up in a sitting position, patting his cheeks to bring him back to himself. "Hey, pal, you in there? You okay? Scared us for a minute there."
It took a few tense moments, but eventually Howard's eyes rolled. He pitched forward in a coughing fit before peering back up at them, his Brylcreemed hair now plastered down on his forehead.
"'Course I am," he rasped. "I didn't survive the whole goddamn war just to be taken out by a pair of big rubber pants!"
Relieved laughter overtook them, as Jarvis dug out the nip of brandy he kept on him for emergencies— Howard-related and otherwise. Howard tossed the whole thing back in one big slug, as Steve dropped down on the bank beside him.
"Well. We pulled you out like we promised. Still think fishing's dull?"
Howard gulped loudly, smacking his lips and glaring. "Like hell." He pointed at Steve around his grip on the brandy flask. "Next time, we're going bowling."
They did go bowling, and to dinner, and ballgames; they even got Howard to come to the occasional neighborhood cookout. There were even other fishing trips, or some other battleground activity that one dragged the other through, because despite their differences, they mattered to one another, and that connection was worth it to them to maintain. Still, if Howard was suggesting one such outing of his own volition, that he wanted to be just the two of them, Steve was sure it wasn't just for a casual hangout.
Steve's eyes fell back on the wall calendar and paused. He did a little math, counting carefully backwards. And suddenly, he knew.
~~~
Next chapter: 3. Rough Time
“The Hemingway Trip”
By Phoebe Roberts
~~~
Summary: “In the twenty years since Steve Rogers returned to the midcentury to build a life and family, he’s always been surprised at how close he became with Howard Stark. But it’s that very closeness that makes him the only person Howard can talk to when he’s wrestling with something big.
Nothing like a fishing trip to give the boys a chance to talk.”
Previous chapters:
1. Birds of Odd Feathers
Chapter summary: Steve recalls the first time he made Howard go fishing with him.
~~~
2. In the Drink
Steve replaced the receiver then, not sure what to think. He'd played along, but something in Howard's demeanor left him ill at ease. Especially since he knew how the man really felt about fishing.
Steve himself had grown quite a fondness for it since his midcentury return. He liked the quiet challenge of it, the business for the hands while thoughts or conversation flowed, and the chance for some leisurely hours spent outdoors. Sometimes he'd go by himself, if he wanted a little time alone with his thoughts. Sometimes he would pack up a picnic and take the kids with him, though it wasn't until they'd gotten a bit bigger that they had the patience to really learn it. On some occasions he'd invite along other families in the neighborhood and make a day of it; even those who didn't care one way or the other about fishing could enjoy the food, the company, the outdoors. But most often he'd round up his rods and tackle and a basket full of sandwiches, and use the time waiting on the fish as an excuse to talk with some good friends on a lazy afternoon.
He remembered the first time he'd got Howard and Edwin to join him, when they were all much younger men. It had taken a bit of convincing, as neither one was much of a great outdoorsman. But he sold them on promises of a serene afternoon in nature in the company of good friends, a gentlemanly pursuit, and a cooler's worth of any booze they fancied. That last was enough to get Howard to cave.
When they'd arrived in Howard's Bentley, Steve had to laugh. While Jarvis was sensibly outfitted in canvas and Wellingtons, apparently Howard had done a little shopping. He waddled out of the car in a bucket hat, a vest full of pockets, and rubber hip waders like a fisherman out of a cartoon.
"Wow, buddy. You look like Norman Rockwell painted you."
"On a Leyendecker budget," Jarvis added, and Steve cracked up while Howard pouted and pretended he got the reference.
"Hey, this was your idea, pal," he grumbled. "Don't make me turn this car around and leave your ass in the lake."
"It's a river. But I wouldn't miss out on company this good." Steve whacked Howard's shoulder. "Besides, it'd be a shame if you never get to use all your fancy new gear."
Howard grumbled. "At least we can drink."
Steve winked. "And you can call it a sport while you're doing it. When else can you do that?"
"The bowling alley," he shot back. "And I wouldn't have to worry about falling out of the boat and drowning."
"We aren't taking a boat," Steve told him. "So at worst, you'll end up face down in the shallows."
"Yeah, well, I still expect you to pull me out. Put that superhero experience to some use for once."
"Okay, but I warn you, I'm out of practice."
"I wouldn't worry," Jarvis chuckled. "When it comes to keeping Mr. Stark upright, I'm not."
Howard did indeed drink the whole time, but at least it helped curb the complaining. The mentions of Rockwell and Leyendecker got Steve and Edwin talking about popular art, about which Howard seemed to have minimal contribution. Neither of them proved to have much natural talent as anglers, despite Steve's best efforts to demonstrate. At least Jarvis was capable of the occasional stretch of quiet concentration, while shutting up had never been Howard's strong suit.
"I hate the beer you drink," Howard was grumbling, over what was probably his fifth. "Do you actually like this American junk?"
"If you want something fancier, you can buy it next time, rich man."
"Next time," he snorted. "Yeah, that'll happen. So when does this get interesting? When the fish actually show up?"
"You're scaring them away with all your noise."
"Oh, sorry, guess all the art talk doesn't count. Are the fish Leyenbacher fans too?"
"Leyendecker, sir."
"Whatever." Howard polished off the current bottle and tossed it onto the pile of them. "At this rate, I'd do better to just snatch them out of the water like a grizzly bear." With that he rose and splashed deeper into the river, with galumphing, bow-legged steps.
Jarvis eyed him. "Careful there."
But Howard pressed forward until he was hip deep, where the current picked up speed. "Aw, what are you worried about? Am I gonna get eaten by a fish? Ain't no fish in a dozen miles of here!" He spun and splashed, throwing his arms wide and swaying enough to reveal that the beer was starting to get to him. "You hear that, you scaly bastards? Come and get me! I can take ya—"
Then he threw himself off balance, and the current grabbed him and knocked him on his face.
"Ha!" Steve and Jarvis burst out laughing as Howard went down. His floppy hat was swept away as he splashed and struggled, squawking indignantly and churning up a small maelstrom in the current.
Steve shook his head at the show, snorting. "Oh, it's just a little water, you big baby."
But the thrashing continued. Steve frowned. "Howard, stop screwing around there."
"It's the damn waders," he choked out. "They're taking on water!"
Jarvis stood at sudden attention. "Are you all right, then, sir?"
But his rubber pants were rapidly growing heavier as they filled up with the water. "Shit, it's like wearing a bucket!" He flapped and struggled as it became harder and harder to keep himself upright.
Steve and Edwin tensed, pushing farther into the river. "Sir, take off the waders!" Jarvis called, but it was too late. They were already so full they were pulling Howard beneath the surface, and the water was moving too fast to keep his head up.
Steve and Jarvis crashed into the deeper water, pushing through the current to reach Howard. Dodging his flailing limbs, they moved in close to grab hold of him. Steve struggled to get up under his arms and raise up his head, while Jarvis went for the buckles on the waders' suspenders. Finally Howard's thrashing was enough to dislodge them, and the rubber pants pulled away with a gurgle from the weight of the rushing water. Whatever trousers he'd been wearing underneath, they were gone now, his bare legs bright white against the river bottom. Draping the man between them, Steve and Jarvis dragged Howard, soaked and in his boxer shorts, back onto the bank.
"So much for Leyendecker," Jarvis sputtered. "Can't remember any near-drownings in his garden parties."
"Just as well," Steve answered. "I prefer Rockwell anyway. His people have a bit more life to them."
They propped Howard up in a sitting position, patting his cheeks to bring him back to himself. "Hey, pal, you in there? You okay? Scared us for a minute there."
It took a few tense moments, but eventually Howard's eyes rolled. He pitched forward in a coughing fit before peering back up at them, his Brylcreemed hair now plastered down on his forehead.
"'Course I am," he rasped. "I didn't survive the whole goddamn war just to be taken out by a pair of big rubber pants!"
Relieved laughter overtook them, as Jarvis dug out the nip of brandy he kept on him for emergencies— Howard-related and otherwise. Howard tossed the whole thing back in one big slug, as Steve dropped down on the bank beside him.
"Well. We pulled you out like we promised. Still think fishing's dull?"
Howard gulped loudly, smacking his lips and glaring. "Like hell." He pointed at Steve around his grip on the brandy flask. "Next time, we're going bowling."
They did go bowling, and to dinner, and ballgames; they even got Howard to come to the occasional neighborhood cookout. There were even other fishing trips, or some other battleground activity that one dragged the other through, because despite their differences, they mattered to one another, and that connection was worth it to them to maintain. Still, if Howard was suggesting one such outing of his own volition, that he wanted to be just the two of them, Steve was sure it wasn't just for a casual hangout.
Steve's eyes fell back on the wall calendar and paused. He did a little math, counting carefully backwards. And suddenly, he knew.
~~~
Next chapter: 3. Rough Time
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