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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
3. Rough Time
Chapter summary: It take some doing, but Steve gets Howard to talk about what's going on with him.
“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
3. Rough Time
Chapter summary: It take some doing, but Steve gets Howard to talk about what's going on with him.
~~~
4. Before This Day Ends
They drove in silence for a while, or close to it except for the radio. Steve kept his eyes on the road, while Howard was staring sullenly out the window, drumming his fingers on the passenger side door. Steve was hoping if he gave Howard a little space the other man would start talking— but when he finally did, it wasn't in the interest of opening up.
"Turn off that protest shit already," he grumbled at the radio. "I get enough of that from the hippies camping out on my front walk."
"You know how I feel about that, Howard." They'd gotten into it more than once since the States had entered the conflict, though never more fiercely than Peggy had with him, who did not hesitate to make her disapproval known.
Howard kept his gaze firmly out the window. "I didn't declare the goddamn war, Steve."
"Yeah, but you're profiting from it."
Howard threw up his hands. "Is this why you're dragging me out? So we can do this again?"
Steve sighed. This wasn't supposed to be about giving him a hard time. "No. We'll put that aside for now." That had been going on for a while, and while it certainly had to be part of things, it didn't explain Jarvis's sudden turn.
Steve didn't want to screw up his approach on this. The truth was, in the other timeline Howard and Peggy had had a falling out around this period that was never really repaired. They still worked together at times after that, but their former closeness never recovered. It made a kind of sense to Steve when she told him. He'd wondered how she seemed to have no relationship with Tony, and Tony hadn't been aware of his father's involvement with SHIELD. When he'd asked why, Peggy couldn't point to any one thing. Clashing over Vietnam, Howard's increased drinking, his tendency to be difficult at the best of times— it all built up as the years went on. But it had been on Steve's mind more and more lately as the time had drawn near, especially since Howard seemed to be heading in the direction where bridges might get burned. And lately, the man just couldn't seem to quit trailing gasoline behind him.
When they arrived, at the same spot Steve had taken him on their first fishing excursion, he pulled the truck off the dirt road into the rough and parked. He unbuckled his belt— he was one of the few drivers he knew in this era who wouldn't permit passengers without them —and spared a glance to Howard. "Give me a hand with the gear, will you?"
Steve had to say this for the man; he might have been rich, he might have been famous, but he wasn't really a snob, even if he did prefer European beer. He shrugged out of his jacket, pulled off his tie, and rolled up his sleeves to get to work unloading the tackle boxes while Steve took charge of the poles. Together they carried their gear along the riverbank until he found a likely looking spot, where there were some dry, elevated rocks to sit on. Maybe then Howard wouldn't completely ruin his clothes. Of course by this point, Howard didn't seem to care, tromping glumly through the mud in his expensive Italian shoes.
They settled themselves with the rods across their laps, Steve digging into boxes for lures and tie lines. Howard looked around as he worked, apparently for the cooler, and was disappointed. "You forget the beer?"
Steve shook his head. "Figured this called for something a little stronger." And he pulled out the bottle of Johnnie Walker he'd picked up specially for the purpose.
He could hear Howard's relieved little breath. "And here I was betting you thought I drink too much."
Steve did, but for now, that too was beside the point. "That's a problem for another day."
Howard chuffed. "Seems like there's a lot of those. Guess that'll be one big day."
Steve busied himself with the gear, urging Howard to do the same. In no hurry, he carefully demonstrated how he tied and baited the hooks, slowly so that his friend could follow along. This part was no trouble at least; not a mechanical genius for nothing, Howard was good with his hands, and this time he seemed grateful for the distraction. He struggled a bit more with the casting motion, dithering slightly over the light-handed flick Steve modeled with his own rod. He overshot slightly, his lure disappearing into and tugged away by the quick moving water.
"Easy there," Steve said. "Let the weight of the line do the work."
"Sure. About time one of us catches something out here."
"It ain't fish I'm after, pal."
Howard regarded him sidelong. "Let me guess. You love me and respect me very much, but you will kill me dead before this day ends?"
Steve couldn't help but laugh. "Take it easy, Ernest. I just want to know what's going on with you." He paused a moment to adjust a lashing on the hook. "I know there's something."
Howard scowled. "Jarvis tell you that?"
"Nah. That man takes care of you. He keeps your secrets." Steve flipped open one of the tackle boxes. "Besides, he didn't have to. Anybody could see it— on either one of you."
"I don't need your judgment, Cap."
"You think that's what I want to do? Couldn't be because I care about what's wrong with you?"
Howard rolled his head wearily on his neck. "You really want to know?"
"Would I have dragged you out if I didn't?"
Howard cracked the seal on the Johnnie Walker and paced a few steps with it clutched in his hand. Steve watched, waiting for him.
He seemed to hesitate, as if on the edge of something. Steve frowned. "Howard. I love and respect you very much. But before this day is over…"
"Fine, Old Man. Fine." At last he took a quick belt, as if to brace himself, and looked out over the water. "Well. It seems Inspector Jarvis found some damning evidence. And he's been coming after the guilty party to confess his crimes."
Steve eyed him, trying his best not to jump to conclusions. "Crimes?"
The other man's eyes rolled. "The Hague ain't hauling me in, if that's what you're thinking."
Well, that was something at least. But Steve wasn't reassured yet. "Then… what did he find?"
"Something way worse than war crimes." Another belt of the whiskey went down. "At least, you'd think so, from the way he's carrying on about it."
Steve stared. Howard sighed. "Call it lipstick on the collar. You know what I mean?"
Steve looked down into the running water as his throat went tight.
~~~
Next chapter: 5. Nobody's Hero
4. Before This Day Ends
They drove in silence for a while, or close to it except for the radio. Steve kept his eyes on the road, while Howard was staring sullenly out the window, drumming his fingers on the passenger side door. Steve was hoping if he gave Howard a little space the other man would start talking— but when he finally did, it wasn't in the interest of opening up.
"Turn off that protest shit already," he grumbled at the radio. "I get enough of that from the hippies camping out on my front walk."
"You know how I feel about that, Howard." They'd gotten into it more than once since the States had entered the conflict, though never more fiercely than Peggy had with him, who did not hesitate to make her disapproval known.
Howard kept his gaze firmly out the window. "I didn't declare the goddamn war, Steve."
"Yeah, but you're profiting from it."
Howard threw up his hands. "Is this why you're dragging me out? So we can do this again?"
Steve sighed. This wasn't supposed to be about giving him a hard time. "No. We'll put that aside for now." That had been going on for a while, and while it certainly had to be part of things, it didn't explain Jarvis's sudden turn.
Steve didn't want to screw up his approach on this. The truth was, in the other timeline Howard and Peggy had had a falling out around this period that was never really repaired. They still worked together at times after that, but their former closeness never recovered. It made a kind of sense to Steve when she told him. He'd wondered how she seemed to have no relationship with Tony, and Tony hadn't been aware of his father's involvement with SHIELD. When he'd asked why, Peggy couldn't point to any one thing. Clashing over Vietnam, Howard's increased drinking, his tendency to be difficult at the best of times— it all built up as the years went on. But it had been on Steve's mind more and more lately as the time had drawn near, especially since Howard seemed to be heading in the direction where bridges might get burned. And lately, the man just couldn't seem to quit trailing gasoline behind him.
When they arrived, at the same spot Steve had taken him on their first fishing excursion, he pulled the truck off the dirt road into the rough and parked. He unbuckled his belt— he was one of the few drivers he knew in this era who wouldn't permit passengers without them —and spared a glance to Howard. "Give me a hand with the gear, will you?"
Steve had to say this for the man; he might have been rich, he might have been famous, but he wasn't really a snob, even if he did prefer European beer. He shrugged out of his jacket, pulled off his tie, and rolled up his sleeves to get to work unloading the tackle boxes while Steve took charge of the poles. Together they carried their gear along the riverbank until he found a likely looking spot, where there were some dry, elevated rocks to sit on. Maybe then Howard wouldn't completely ruin his clothes. Of course by this point, Howard didn't seem to care, tromping glumly through the mud in his expensive Italian shoes.
They settled themselves with the rods across their laps, Steve digging into boxes for lures and tie lines. Howard looked around as he worked, apparently for the cooler, and was disappointed. "You forget the beer?"
Steve shook his head. "Figured this called for something a little stronger." And he pulled out the bottle of Johnnie Walker he'd picked up specially for the purpose.
He could hear Howard's relieved little breath. "And here I was betting you thought I drink too much."
Steve did, but for now, that too was beside the point. "That's a problem for another day."
Howard chuffed. "Seems like there's a lot of those. Guess that'll be one big day."
Steve busied himself with the gear, urging Howard to do the same. In no hurry, he carefully demonstrated how he tied and baited the hooks, slowly so that his friend could follow along. This part was no trouble at least; not a mechanical genius for nothing, Howard was good with his hands, and this time he seemed grateful for the distraction. He struggled a bit more with the casting motion, dithering slightly over the light-handed flick Steve modeled with his own rod. He overshot slightly, his lure disappearing into and tugged away by the quick moving water.
"Easy there," Steve said. "Let the weight of the line do the work."
"Sure. About time one of us catches something out here."
"It ain't fish I'm after, pal."
Howard regarded him sidelong. "Let me guess. You love me and respect me very much, but you will kill me dead before this day ends?"
Steve couldn't help but laugh. "Take it easy, Ernest. I just want to know what's going on with you." He paused a moment to adjust a lashing on the hook. "I know there's something."
Howard scowled. "Jarvis tell you that?"
"Nah. That man takes care of you. He keeps your secrets." Steve flipped open one of the tackle boxes. "Besides, he didn't have to. Anybody could see it— on either one of you."
"I don't need your judgment, Cap."
"You think that's what I want to do? Couldn't be because I care about what's wrong with you?"
Howard rolled his head wearily on his neck. "You really want to know?"
"Would I have dragged you out if I didn't?"
Howard cracked the seal on the Johnnie Walker and paced a few steps with it clutched in his hand. Steve watched, waiting for him.
He seemed to hesitate, as if on the edge of something. Steve frowned. "Howard. I love and respect you very much. But before this day is over…"
"Fine, Old Man. Fine." At last he took a quick belt, as if to brace himself, and looked out over the water. "Well. It seems Inspector Jarvis found some damning evidence. And he's been coming after the guilty party to confess his crimes."
Steve eyed him, trying his best not to jump to conclusions. "Crimes?"
The other man's eyes rolled. "The Hague ain't hauling me in, if that's what you're thinking."
Well, that was something at least. But Steve wasn't reassured yet. "Then… what did he find?"
"Something way worse than war crimes." Another belt of the whiskey went down. "At least, you'd think so, from the way he's carrying on about it."
Steve stared. Howard sighed. "Call it lipstick on the collar. You know what I mean?"
Steve looked down into the running water as his throat went tight.
~~~
Next chapter: 5. Nobody's Hero
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