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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
2. In the Drink
Chapter summary: Steve recalls another fishing trip he took Howard on, when his friend was clearly going through a difficult 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
2. In the Drink
Chapter summary: Steve recalls another fishing trip he took Howard on, when his friend was clearly going through a difficult time.
~~~
3. Rough Time
The other important time Steve took Howard fishing, the circumstances were different. It was a number of years ago at this point, maybe in '61 or '62, when he thought Howard could use the trip.
He'd actually noticed the change in Jarvis's demeanor first. It became clear to Steve at a Fourth of July barbecue he'd thrown— actually his birthday, though these days he celebrated in November in keeping with his new identity —which the Jarvises attended. Ana was her usual self, slipping in among the other women with a Hungarian stuffed cabbage dish and her accustomed good cheer. But Edwin's behavior seem strikingly out of character. With hardly a word or a glance to anyone else, he made a beeline for where the kids were clustered playing, tossing a delightedly squealing Elizabeth over his shoulder and sweeping the rest along into a game of red rover. And there he'd stayed for the entirety of the party, not even sparing a moment to grab a bite when dinner was served.
It wasn't that strange, Edwin loved kids and often spent these gatherings as the one to entertain them. But there was something in his bearing— an unaccustomed tension, a refusal to meet Steve's eyes —that made Steve suspect something was up.
He waited until the party had started to die down before he attempted to say anything. By that point the sun was setting, and the guests were nearing the time for goodbyes. The children had since ceased their games and were starting to fade; some of the littler ones had given into sleepiness already and curled up right there on the ground. Jarvis himself was seated cross-legged on a picnic blanket with Jamie snoring away quietly in his lap. Steve decided to take advantage of his being temporarily pinned down to make his approach.
He fixed a plate of what remained of the barbecue and carried it over. "You missed most of dinner. Didn't want you going hungry."
Jarvis's eyes went wide a moment as Steve sat down on the blanket, placing the plate beside him. Then at once he sighed, scrubbing a hand across his forehead.
"Forgive me," he muttered. "I'm only good for being around children today. I've not got it in me to behave in front of grown people."
It was such a strange thing to say that Steve was momentarily taken aback. "Is… everything okay with you?"
Jarvis's eyes narrowed. "It's nothing to do with me. But no, it's very much not okay."
Steve stared. "I don't understand. Can you tell me what's going on?"
The Englishman shook his head sharply, lips pressed into a frustrated line. "No. I can't. It's not mine to tell, I'm afraid."
He glanced down at the sleeping child in his lap. "Looks like this one's knackered. I'll see that he gets to bed, shall I?" Carefully he gathered the boy into his arms and stood, heading back in the direction of the house. Steve followed suit with the plate, trying to figure out what to say.
"Thanks," he said at last, then sighed. "Hope whatever it is, it turns out."
Jarvis paused, then turned back with an expression of closely contained fury. "You'll have to ask Howard."
Hearing this, Steve was not entirely surprised. Howard wasn't doing great around this time. Vietnam had taken a toll on Howard's relationships, given his status as a weapons contractor, and many of his SHIELD contacts' staunch resistance to the war. Truth be told, he was wearing even at his connection with Peggy, which had weathered quite a lot over the years. Beyond even their ideological differences, she'd found him increasingly difficult to work with of late— irritable, unfocused, and with little of his usual sharpness and polish. While he'd been known to occasionally show up hungover over the course of their long partnership, in the last few months he'd come into a meeting actually drunk. Steve had heard how excessive alcohol consumption had gotten among a certain professional class in the '60s, but it took a lot indeed to get a man of Howard's habits sloppy. Peggy had read him the riot act for it, so he was not likely to try her again. But it was clear to Steve that not all was well with Howard, and if Jarvis too had finally had it, something serious had to be up.
He attempted to call Howard several times over the next few weeks, but he proved to be a tough man to get a hold of. After Steve had received the third polite brush off from Miss Kendrick, Howard's business secretary at the time, finally Jarvis had to be the one to call him back.
"Hey. Is he ducking me?"
"I believe so. I've been after him, but… he's impossible these days. My apologies."
Steve sighed. "Nothing for it, then. What's his schedule like for the next few days?"
Jarvis growled. "As much as I can get him to hold to it… but there are a few places we can reasonably count on him to be." He paused a moment, and Steve could hear the flipping of a page. "Tomorrow is Wednesday, isn't it?"
The next day had Steve idling in his truck, packed full of fishing gear, outside of an upscale bar called the Berliner, watching executives and the women they bought martini suppers for weave their way in and out. He waited there quite some time, pondering whether he ought to go in and a take a look. But sooner or later, Howard did at last emerge, looking as he usually did these days— in an expensive, narrow-lapeled suit that was just a little disheveled, his tie was already pulled loose and his collar button popped.
At the sight of him, Steve climbed out of the car and moved around it to lean on the hood. He crossed his arms, waiting for Howard to notice.
When he laid eyes on Steve, he stopped short, threw his head back, and snarled. "Aw, Jesus."
"Hey, pal. It's been a minute."
"You know, when most folks don't get their calls returned, they learn how to take a hint."
"I'm not that perceptive, I guess. So, how you been?"
"Look, man, I'm not in the mood." He rubbed the back of his hand over his brow. "Can we do this some other time?"
"Nope." Steve beckoned him. "Come on. We're going fishing."
Howard groaned. "Ugh. Hell, no."
"Hell, yes. Get in the truck."
"I'm not dressed to sit in the mud!"
"Good. Then your damn pants won't try to kill you." Steve walked to the passenger side, held open the door, and waited.
"Come on, pal. What if I got someplace to be?"
"Then you shouldn't have wasted the time in a bar."
Howard growled out a sigh and ground his teeth.
Steve's expression didn't change. "We can wrestle for it if you want. But trust me, Stark, you won't win."
The man stood there for moments longer, glaring daggers, perhaps weighing his chances. But he at least had the good sense to know the odds weren't with him. With a final gusty, put-upon sigh, Howard pitched his briefcase into the back seat, climbed in, and slammed the door behind him.
~~~
3. Rough Time
The other important time Steve took Howard fishing, the circumstances were different. It was a number of years ago at this point, maybe in '61 or '62, when he thought Howard could use the trip.
He'd actually noticed the change in Jarvis's demeanor first. It became clear to Steve at a Fourth of July barbecue he'd thrown— actually his birthday, though these days he celebrated in November in keeping with his new identity —which the Jarvises attended. Ana was her usual self, slipping in among the other women with a Hungarian stuffed cabbage dish and her accustomed good cheer. But Edwin's behavior seem strikingly out of character. With hardly a word or a glance to anyone else, he made a beeline for where the kids were clustered playing, tossing a delightedly squealing Elizabeth over his shoulder and sweeping the rest along into a game of red rover. And there he'd stayed for the entirety of the party, not even sparing a moment to grab a bite when dinner was served.
It wasn't that strange, Edwin loved kids and often spent these gatherings as the one to entertain them. But there was something in his bearing— an unaccustomed tension, a refusal to meet Steve's eyes —that made Steve suspect something was up.
He waited until the party had started to die down before he attempted to say anything. By that point the sun was setting, and the guests were nearing the time for goodbyes. The children had since ceased their games and were starting to fade; some of the littler ones had given into sleepiness already and curled up right there on the ground. Jarvis himself was seated cross-legged on a picnic blanket with Jamie snoring away quietly in his lap. Steve decided to take advantage of his being temporarily pinned down to make his approach.
He fixed a plate of what remained of the barbecue and carried it over. "You missed most of dinner. Didn't want you going hungry."
Jarvis's eyes went wide a moment as Steve sat down on the blanket, placing the plate beside him. Then at once he sighed, scrubbing a hand across his forehead.
"Forgive me," he muttered. "I'm only good for being around children today. I've not got it in me to behave in front of grown people."
It was such a strange thing to say that Steve was momentarily taken aback. "Is… everything okay with you?"
Jarvis's eyes narrowed. "It's nothing to do with me. But no, it's very much not okay."
Steve stared. "I don't understand. Can you tell me what's going on?"
The Englishman shook his head sharply, lips pressed into a frustrated line. "No. I can't. It's not mine to tell, I'm afraid."
He glanced down at the sleeping child in his lap. "Looks like this one's knackered. I'll see that he gets to bed, shall I?" Carefully he gathered the boy into his arms and stood, heading back in the direction of the house. Steve followed suit with the plate, trying to figure out what to say.
"Thanks," he said at last, then sighed. "Hope whatever it is, it turns out."
Jarvis paused, then turned back with an expression of closely contained fury. "You'll have to ask Howard."
Hearing this, Steve was not entirely surprised. Howard wasn't doing great around this time. Vietnam had taken a toll on Howard's relationships, given his status as a weapons contractor, and many of his SHIELD contacts' staunch resistance to the war. Truth be told, he was wearing even at his connection with Peggy, which had weathered quite a lot over the years. Beyond even their ideological differences, she'd found him increasingly difficult to work with of late— irritable, unfocused, and with little of his usual sharpness and polish. While he'd been known to occasionally show up hungover over the course of their long partnership, in the last few months he'd come into a meeting actually drunk. Steve had heard how excessive alcohol consumption had gotten among a certain professional class in the '60s, but it took a lot indeed to get a man of Howard's habits sloppy. Peggy had read him the riot act for it, so he was not likely to try her again. But it was clear to Steve that not all was well with Howard, and if Jarvis too had finally had it, something serious had to be up.
He attempted to call Howard several times over the next few weeks, but he proved to be a tough man to get a hold of. After Steve had received the third polite brush off from Miss Kendrick, Howard's business secretary at the time, finally Jarvis had to be the one to call him back.
"Hey. Is he ducking me?"
"I believe so. I've been after him, but… he's impossible these days. My apologies."
Steve sighed. "Nothing for it, then. What's his schedule like for the next few days?"
Jarvis growled. "As much as I can get him to hold to it… but there are a few places we can reasonably count on him to be." He paused a moment, and Steve could hear the flipping of a page. "Tomorrow is Wednesday, isn't it?"
The next day had Steve idling in his truck, packed full of fishing gear, outside of an upscale bar called the Berliner, watching executives and the women they bought martini suppers for weave their way in and out. He waited there quite some time, pondering whether he ought to go in and a take a look. But sooner or later, Howard did at last emerge, looking as he usually did these days— in an expensive, narrow-lapeled suit that was just a little disheveled, his tie was already pulled loose and his collar button popped.
At the sight of him, Steve climbed out of the car and moved around it to lean on the hood. He crossed his arms, waiting for Howard to notice.
When he laid eyes on Steve, he stopped short, threw his head back, and snarled. "Aw, Jesus."
"Hey, pal. It's been a minute."
"You know, when most folks don't get their calls returned, they learn how to take a hint."
"I'm not that perceptive, I guess. So, how you been?"
"Look, man, I'm not in the mood." He rubbed the back of his hand over his brow. "Can we do this some other time?"
"Nope." Steve beckoned him. "Come on. We're going fishing."
Howard groaned. "Ugh. Hell, no."
"Hell, yes. Get in the truck."
"I'm not dressed to sit in the mud!"
"Good. Then your damn pants won't try to kill you." Steve walked to the passenger side, held open the door, and waited.
"Come on, pal. What if I got someplace to be?"
"Then you shouldn't have wasted the time in a bar."
Howard growled out a sigh and ground his teeth.
Steve's expression didn't change. "We can wrestle for it if you want. But trust me, Stark, you won't win."
The man stood there for moments longer, glaring daggers, perhaps weighing his chances. But he at least had the good sense to know the odds weren't with him. With a final gusty, put-upon sigh, Howard pitched his briefcase into the back seat, climbed in, and slammed the door behind him.
~~~
Next chapter: 4. Before This Day Ends
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