“His Part to Play” - 7. Wingmen
May. 12th, 2020 06:47 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
breakinglight11Forever Captain:
“His Part to Play”
By Phoebe Roberts
~~~
Summary: “Steve Rogers has retired to the 1940s to build a new life with Peggy. In leaving behind the mantle of Captain America, at last he’s got a measure of peace. Still, Steve will never stop feeling the responsibility to step up as a hero— except he's not sure how much power his actions have at this point in the timeline. Somehow he must reconcile his new life and identity with the responsibility and burden of being a hero out of time.”
Previous chapters:
1. Lost Time
2. Building
3. Reaching
4. Bonds
5. Ghost
6. Stag Night
Chapter summary: Steve hangs with his wingmen before his wedding.
“His Part to Play”
By Phoebe Roberts
~~~
Summary: “Steve Rogers has retired to the 1940s to build a new life with Peggy. In leaving behind the mantle of Captain America, at last he’s got a measure of peace. Still, Steve will never stop feeling the responsibility to step up as a hero— except he's not sure how much power his actions have at this point in the timeline. Somehow he must reconcile his new life and identity with the responsibility and burden of being a hero out of time.”
Previous chapters:
1. Lost Time
2. Building
3. Reaching
4. Bonds
5. Ghost
6. Stag Night
Chapter summary: Steve hangs with his wingmen before his wedding.
~~~
7. Wingmen
Howard had apparently been spying like a schoolboy from the next table over. When Steve sat down again, Howard jabbed him in the ribs with an elbow. “How’d it go, Grant? One last hurrah before it’s curtains?”
He rolled his eyes. “What do you think, Stark?”
Howard threw back his head. “Of course not. Who says you’re not still a boy scout?” He tossed back the rest of the cocktail he was sipping. “This is what I get for stepping out with two old married men. Or— almost, anyway.”
“You knew what you were getting when you dragged me out.” Steve clapped him on the shoulder. “But we’re here now, so why don’t you just sit back and enjoy the show?”
Luckily, the combined force of him and Jarvis seemed to make for a good enough influence to keep the man in line. Steve was actually enjoying himself, even when Howard would break off conversation to catcall the dancers and cigarette girls.
Steve watched him work his magic with a redhead in a costume that seemed distantly inspired by a naval uniform. “I thought this was supposed to be my party.”
Jarvis arranged his face into a particularly benign mask. “I’m afraid for Mr. Stark, this is how a party goes.”
“So much for the special occasion.”
“Tell me about it.” He raised his glass in ironic toast. “Your party is my job.”
“At least you get to drink on it.”
“And you get to say what you’re thinking,” he shot back, smirking over the rim of the glass. “Though I’ll admit the drinking helps with that. Still one of us ought to keep a clear head tonight, since it shan’t be Mr. Stark.”
“No problem there. As it happens, I can’t get drunk even if I try.”
“Because of… the procedure?” Steve could see Jarvis’s eyes light up with interest. He didn’t talk about it often, and Jarvis was too polite to pry, but Steve knew most people were fascinated by the vagaries of his being a super soldier. So he nodded, and Jarvis couldn’t help but snicker.
“That must have been interesting to discover.”
“You’re telling me. Right when I could’ve used it most.”
“During the war?”
“When my best friend died.” Or at least, when he thought he had.
Jarvis’s eyebrows leaped. “Sergeant Barnes. Peggy told me.” His surprise softened into sympathy. “That must have been very hard.”
Steve nodded, dropping his gaze. “Turned out it wasn’t so simple. And it got pretty rough before it got better. But he was my brother. I would have done anything to spare him what he went through.” His friend’s journey had been a long and strange one, more so even than Steve’s in its way. He took comfort in the knowledge that when they’d parted, Bucky was safe and more his own man than he’d been in years. But reaching it had been a brutal road.
Jarvis seemed to understand the weight of it. “I’m sorry. Forgive me, it must be painful to think of.”
Steve saw the distressed way Jarvis was watching him, so he reached out and grasped the man’s arm in reassurance. “Don’t worry about it. I think about him a lot, with everything I owe him.”
He always thought of Bucky, his dearest friend from their childhood bond up to their last meeting, when Bucky had given him the courage to even contemplate the life he’d wanted for himself. And lately Steve had wondered about the Bucky of this timeline, where he’d been at this point in 1947. Bucky’s memories had been too blurred and scattered to give a full account of his whereabouts since HYDRA had taken him from the custody of the Soviets that found him. They weren’t even sure when exactly he’d been rescued from the mountainside where he fell. He could have spent ages frozen in ice the same as Steve had. And heaven only knew what he’d had to endure between then and when their reunion in the twentieth century had begun pulling him back to himself. And yet again, he had no way of knowing how much or little their paths ahead would change.
It was at that point that Howard returned, elbow shockingly unoccupied, by the girl he’d just been chatting up nor any other. His walk was steadier than Steve would have expected, but now his tie was gone entirely and his slicked-back hair starting to come askew. It was more than enough to rescue the mood.
“Wasn’t expecting to see you back,” Steve remarked. “Did you strike out or something?”
Howard scoffed. “Hey, does Joltin’ Joe strike out? It’s your night, pal, I’m not going to abandon you.” His eyebrows raised and lowered. “Besides, who’s to say things won’t keep?”
“Make sure you’ve gotten her name right this time, sir,” Jarvis murmured into his glass.
Steve laughed. “When kids collect baseball cards, at least they remember which one is which.”
Howard spread his hands, grinning. “Some men pin butterflies to cards. I prefer to catch them and set them free.”
Steve shook his head, but Howard was undeterred. He took a slug as one of the girls passed him yet another drink. “Of course you’d wag your finger at me. Except for Carter, you have let that lightning in a bottle go to complete waste.”
Steve barked a laugh. “What does that mean?”
“Jesus Christ. Like I gotta explain? If I was driving what you’re riding around in, I’d have put it to better use than just running into burning buildings saving pussycats.”
Steve glanced to Jarvis, who knew which picture Peggy kept of him— the one from his days in basic training, before the serum —and they exchanged a grin. “You’re just begging for her to pop you one, aren’t you? Besides, it doesn’t look like you have any trouble. It isn’t enough to just tell them your net worth?”
Jarvis laughed mirthlessly. “I believe, my friend, you are referring to the nuclear option.”
“What?”
“Devastatingly effective, but… in the end, nobody wins.” He leaned in and lowered his voice. “I have had to eject quite a few disappointed assignations drawn in on that pretense.”
Steve snorted in amusement. “So that’s your plan, Stark? Just keep going through them until you’re a little old man, and you die in the arms of a twenty-year-old?”
“Sounds like a plan to me.”
Steve chuckled, marveling. He didn’t know much about Maria, but she must be a hell of a woman, if she would get Stark to settle down, and put up with him for the rest of their lives.
It was around two when they’d all had enough— Steve of the evening, and Howard of the sauce. Stark was not eager to go, even when he nearly tripped over a cigarette girl, but it was clear he’d need a little help getting back out the door. Jarvis went to sent for the valet to bring the car around while Steve took physical charge of Howard.
“Hey, watch it, I was getting somewhere!”
“Yeah, yeah. And now it’s time to be getting home.” With one easy toss, he had Howard over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry.
Jarvis returned amid the giggles from other patrons, surveying the state of affairs. “Do you need a hand, then?”
“I think I’ve got it. See, Howard?” he asked of the semi-conscious man draped over him. “I haven’t let my talents go to total waste.”
Jarvis looked it over, impressed. “Hm. A very efficient strategy. Where were you the last dozen times I could have used it?”
“I take it you’ve got to be his wingman often, then.”
Jarvis stumbled momentarily over the idiom, but like most folks who’d lived through World War II, he figured it out from context and was amused. “That’s one way to put it. But I must say, it was a great deal more fun than usual with you here.”
Steve poured Howard into the back seat, and when he exited the passenger side upon Jarvis arriving at his door, he paused a moment to lean back in through the window.
“Thanks for a hell of a night,” he said to Jarvis. “And make sure he’s upright on Sunday.”
It was a simple affair, the way they wanted it. The church would still be decorated with Easter flowers. There would just be the six of them in attendance, which amused Angie— “Does that mean Howard Stark’s my date?” There would be no honeymoon anytime soon, Peggy was not even taking much time away from work. The fanciest part of it all would be their old-fashioned wedding breakfast after the ceremony, generously hosted by Howard at the Hotel Astor. Peggy had gone with Angie to the Jarvises’ to dress, who would then bring her to the church in a town car. Steve and Howard would meet them there.
“Looking sharp, soldier,” Howard had said, straightening Steve’s tie for him just before they climbed into the cab. “Once more into the breach?”
Neither of them had wanted to make too much of a fuss. They wanted to be married, and how they got there was less important. Still, as Steve waited beside the priest, and Peggy appeared in the aisle in her simple white suit and draped with her gossamer veil— handmade for her by Ana Jarvis, framing her face in a column of light —his breath caught in his throat and tears sprang to corners of his eyes. With just the barest tremble in his voice, Steve swore to love and honor and protect her, for the rest of his life, marveling that they had come to this place, against all possible odds. And when he’d slid that ring onto Peggy’s finger, he kissed her until the world fell away. Distantly he was aware of Angie’s cheer and Howard’s wolf-whistle, but they did not break apart until Peggy tossed her bouquet of lilies right at Stark. For a moment Steve was so overcome he thought he might cry, but the man’s look of horror at catching it made him burst into laughter instead.
All that remained was the signing of the certificate. Steve had been avoiding anything that required any paperwork— much easier to manage in these days —but Howard was glad to supply him with everything from a birth certificate to service records to a membership in the Little Orphan Annie fan club.
It wasn’t as if he wasn’t grateful. Still, he looked over some of the history Howard had chosen for him unconvinced. “Born in Nebraska? Really?”
“As if anybody wouldn’t believe you weren’t some cornfed farm boy. Didn’t you see the back country and whatnot on that USO tour?”
“Cows don’t buy war bonds, Howard. I grew up in Brooklyn, I never even saw a farm until I got to Europe.”
Stark shrugged, not in the least concerned. “In New York, nobody else has either. They won’t know the difference.”
The only stumble came when it was time to fill out the marriage license. With his new identity, he was momentarily at a loss what to write. But then inspiration struck, a way to obscure his real name, and to honor the career that Peggy was building.
Grant Carter.
~~~
Next chapter: 8. Mr. Carter
7. Wingmen
Howard had apparently been spying like a schoolboy from the next table over. When Steve sat down again, Howard jabbed him in the ribs with an elbow. “How’d it go, Grant? One last hurrah before it’s curtains?”
He rolled his eyes. “What do you think, Stark?”
Howard threw back his head. “Of course not. Who says you’re not still a boy scout?” He tossed back the rest of the cocktail he was sipping. “This is what I get for stepping out with two old married men. Or— almost, anyway.”
“You knew what you were getting when you dragged me out.” Steve clapped him on the shoulder. “But we’re here now, so why don’t you just sit back and enjoy the show?”
Luckily, the combined force of him and Jarvis seemed to make for a good enough influence to keep the man in line. Steve was actually enjoying himself, even when Howard would break off conversation to catcall the dancers and cigarette girls.
Steve watched him work his magic with a redhead in a costume that seemed distantly inspired by a naval uniform. “I thought this was supposed to be my party.”
Jarvis arranged his face into a particularly benign mask. “I’m afraid for Mr. Stark, this is how a party goes.”
“So much for the special occasion.”
“Tell me about it.” He raised his glass in ironic toast. “Your party is my job.”
“At least you get to drink on it.”
“And you get to say what you’re thinking,” he shot back, smirking over the rim of the glass. “Though I’ll admit the drinking helps with that. Still one of us ought to keep a clear head tonight, since it shan’t be Mr. Stark.”
“No problem there. As it happens, I can’t get drunk even if I try.”
“Because of… the procedure?” Steve could see Jarvis’s eyes light up with interest. He didn’t talk about it often, and Jarvis was too polite to pry, but Steve knew most people were fascinated by the vagaries of his being a super soldier. So he nodded, and Jarvis couldn’t help but snicker.
“That must have been interesting to discover.”
“You’re telling me. Right when I could’ve used it most.”
“During the war?”
“When my best friend died.” Or at least, when he thought he had.
Jarvis’s eyebrows leaped. “Sergeant Barnes. Peggy told me.” His surprise softened into sympathy. “That must have been very hard.”
Steve nodded, dropping his gaze. “Turned out it wasn’t so simple. And it got pretty rough before it got better. But he was my brother. I would have done anything to spare him what he went through.” His friend’s journey had been a long and strange one, more so even than Steve’s in its way. He took comfort in the knowledge that when they’d parted, Bucky was safe and more his own man than he’d been in years. But reaching it had been a brutal road.
Jarvis seemed to understand the weight of it. “I’m sorry. Forgive me, it must be painful to think of.”
Steve saw the distressed way Jarvis was watching him, so he reached out and grasped the man’s arm in reassurance. “Don’t worry about it. I think about him a lot, with everything I owe him.”
He always thought of Bucky, his dearest friend from their childhood bond up to their last meeting, when Bucky had given him the courage to even contemplate the life he’d wanted for himself. And lately Steve had wondered about the Bucky of this timeline, where he’d been at this point in 1947. Bucky’s memories had been too blurred and scattered to give a full account of his whereabouts since HYDRA had taken him from the custody of the Soviets that found him. They weren’t even sure when exactly he’d been rescued from the mountainside where he fell. He could have spent ages frozen in ice the same as Steve had. And heaven only knew what he’d had to endure between then and when their reunion in the twentieth century had begun pulling him back to himself. And yet again, he had no way of knowing how much or little their paths ahead would change.
It was at that point that Howard returned, elbow shockingly unoccupied, by the girl he’d just been chatting up nor any other. His walk was steadier than Steve would have expected, but now his tie was gone entirely and his slicked-back hair starting to come askew. It was more than enough to rescue the mood.
“Wasn’t expecting to see you back,” Steve remarked. “Did you strike out or something?”
Howard scoffed. “Hey, does Joltin’ Joe strike out? It’s your night, pal, I’m not going to abandon you.” His eyebrows raised and lowered. “Besides, who’s to say things won’t keep?”
“Make sure you’ve gotten her name right this time, sir,” Jarvis murmured into his glass.
Steve laughed. “When kids collect baseball cards, at least they remember which one is which.”
Howard spread his hands, grinning. “Some men pin butterflies to cards. I prefer to catch them and set them free.”
Steve shook his head, but Howard was undeterred. He took a slug as one of the girls passed him yet another drink. “Of course you’d wag your finger at me. Except for Carter, you have let that lightning in a bottle go to complete waste.”
Steve barked a laugh. “What does that mean?”
“Jesus Christ. Like I gotta explain? If I was driving what you’re riding around in, I’d have put it to better use than just running into burning buildings saving pussycats.”
Steve glanced to Jarvis, who knew which picture Peggy kept of him— the one from his days in basic training, before the serum —and they exchanged a grin. “You’re just begging for her to pop you one, aren’t you? Besides, it doesn’t look like you have any trouble. It isn’t enough to just tell them your net worth?”
Jarvis laughed mirthlessly. “I believe, my friend, you are referring to the nuclear option.”
“What?”
“Devastatingly effective, but… in the end, nobody wins.” He leaned in and lowered his voice. “I have had to eject quite a few disappointed assignations drawn in on that pretense.”
Steve snorted in amusement. “So that’s your plan, Stark? Just keep going through them until you’re a little old man, and you die in the arms of a twenty-year-old?”
“Sounds like a plan to me.”
Steve chuckled, marveling. He didn’t know much about Maria, but she must be a hell of a woman, if she would get Stark to settle down, and put up with him for the rest of their lives.
It was around two when they’d all had enough— Steve of the evening, and Howard of the sauce. Stark was not eager to go, even when he nearly tripped over a cigarette girl, but it was clear he’d need a little help getting back out the door. Jarvis went to sent for the valet to bring the car around while Steve took physical charge of Howard.
“Hey, watch it, I was getting somewhere!”
“Yeah, yeah. And now it’s time to be getting home.” With one easy toss, he had Howard over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry.
Jarvis returned amid the giggles from other patrons, surveying the state of affairs. “Do you need a hand, then?”
“I think I’ve got it. See, Howard?” he asked of the semi-conscious man draped over him. “I haven’t let my talents go to total waste.”
Jarvis looked it over, impressed. “Hm. A very efficient strategy. Where were you the last dozen times I could have used it?”
“I take it you’ve got to be his wingman often, then.”
Jarvis stumbled momentarily over the idiom, but like most folks who’d lived through World War II, he figured it out from context and was amused. “That’s one way to put it. But I must say, it was a great deal more fun than usual with you here.”
Steve poured Howard into the back seat, and when he exited the passenger side upon Jarvis arriving at his door, he paused a moment to lean back in through the window.
“Thanks for a hell of a night,” he said to Jarvis. “And make sure he’s upright on Sunday.”
It was a simple affair, the way they wanted it. The church would still be decorated with Easter flowers. There would just be the six of them in attendance, which amused Angie— “Does that mean Howard Stark’s my date?” There would be no honeymoon anytime soon, Peggy was not even taking much time away from work. The fanciest part of it all would be their old-fashioned wedding breakfast after the ceremony, generously hosted by Howard at the Hotel Astor. Peggy had gone with Angie to the Jarvises’ to dress, who would then bring her to the church in a town car. Steve and Howard would meet them there.
“Looking sharp, soldier,” Howard had said, straightening Steve’s tie for him just before they climbed into the cab. “Once more into the breach?”
Neither of them had wanted to make too much of a fuss. They wanted to be married, and how they got there was less important. Still, as Steve waited beside the priest, and Peggy appeared in the aisle in her simple white suit and draped with her gossamer veil— handmade for her by Ana Jarvis, framing her face in a column of light —his breath caught in his throat and tears sprang to corners of his eyes. With just the barest tremble in his voice, Steve swore to love and honor and protect her, for the rest of his life, marveling that they had come to this place, against all possible odds. And when he’d slid that ring onto Peggy’s finger, he kissed her until the world fell away. Distantly he was aware of Angie’s cheer and Howard’s wolf-whistle, but they did not break apart until Peggy tossed her bouquet of lilies right at Stark. For a moment Steve was so overcome he thought he might cry, but the man’s look of horror at catching it made him burst into laughter instead.
All that remained was the signing of the certificate. Steve had been avoiding anything that required any paperwork— much easier to manage in these days —but Howard was glad to supply him with everything from a birth certificate to service records to a membership in the Little Orphan Annie fan club.
It wasn’t as if he wasn’t grateful. Still, he looked over some of the history Howard had chosen for him unconvinced. “Born in Nebraska? Really?”
“As if anybody wouldn’t believe you weren’t some cornfed farm boy. Didn’t you see the back country and whatnot on that USO tour?”
“Cows don’t buy war bonds, Howard. I grew up in Brooklyn, I never even saw a farm until I got to Europe.”
Stark shrugged, not in the least concerned. “In New York, nobody else has either. They won’t know the difference.”
The only stumble came when it was time to fill out the marriage license. With his new identity, he was momentarily at a loss what to write. But then inspiration struck, a way to obscure his real name, and to honor the career that Peggy was building.
Grant Carter.
~~~
Next chapter: 8. Mr. Carter
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}