stephrogers | Now that the war's over

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howard (au_avenger)

Now that the war's over

Steph had taken to hanging out at Howard's workshop these days. Usually with her sketchbook or with whatever assignments her class had saddled her with that week. Really, she just liked idly sketching him in graphite, almost feeling like a schoolgirl with a crush again. But no. Howard was the brilliant mechanical engineer she knew during those days of trenches and jumping into the fray. They had spent countless nights and days huddled over this or that new invention that would keep her team safe.

But lately, she's noticed a pattern to her sketches and studies. He was looking worn. Talking of Maria or Tony, whenever she could get two words out of him, hurt him deeply. As did other things.

"There's a marathon of movies by Ginger Rogers on tonight. Wash up and we could catch Shall We Dance," she offered.

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Sleep, what is sleep?

Inventions, gizmos, dreams... he talked to her more than anyone else about his dream of a better future, one with war or need for it. He could tell Stephanie his secrets. His problem was he couldn't only show the good side of himself; she saw clearly the toll being alive and alone all this time had cost him. She saw how Maria and Tony's deaths were still open wounds to this day.

"...alright," he said with only minor hesitation, although he's tired and would rather sleep, but he could never turn down Stephanie all the opportunities she'd missed while she was under. "One wash up, coming right up."

She tucked away the oils she had been using that day. At first, she wasn't sure if he minded but she set up a little almost studio in a corner of his workshop, always with non-flammable materials such as her charcoals, her oils and pastels, graphites, but never her paints. She saved painting for her own apartment.

Steph went to the sink and washed her hands, thinking that this would be a wonderful break for Howard. Listening to story after story about his time over the years made this new present day more sensical. But the ghosts that haunt Howard's eyes...the weariness...the weight he carried...she could only hope she could figure out how to undo all that.

He wasn't used to sharing his workshop, by nature of it being his workshop, but he couldn't bring himself to say a thing against it. Something about her presence both comforted him and drove home his loneliness at the same time, usually in the same moments.

He immediately began scrubbing at his hands with Germ-X, hand sanitizers being something of an obsession for him. He disliked water on a number of levels after Afghanistan, the one thing he avoided talking about even when directly asked. Those were days better left behind him.

Fury had approached her that day. Steph had decided to put in a little gym time just to stay loose when the one eyed man approached her. The cube that had been HYDRA's secret weapon, that made them practically indestructible. Someone found it, someone stole it. Fury wanted her help to find it. She had suggested Howard since he worked more with the cube than she did. The man shook his head and insisted that it wasn't a solo project. She had pressed her mouth in a thin line and picked up a weightbag as easily as picking up a plate and walked off, telling him she'd think about it.

But now, though. She shook her head and rolled down her sleeves, making her way up to where the kitchen was to pop some popcorn. For now, she'll watch movies with Howard. When the sun really set over the horizon, she'll bring it up with him.

Howard's kitchen is a mess of things that are past their expiration date and things whose flavors are abnormal at best. The closest thing to normal popcorn she'll find is white cheddar popcorn and kettle corn, both of which Howard ignores in favor of grabbing a bottle of peppermint schnapps for himself. He doesn't try to justify the alcohol because he's too tired to, just shuts his eyes and lets the intensity of the flavor block out everything until he's emptied it in under thirty seconds of gulping.

She pulled the bottle away and pushed the bowl of popcorn toward him, daring him to try and grab it back.

"I'm not hungry, Steph." They're not having this fight again. He can't take it.

"Then get straight up juice or pop. Or water," came her sharp reply.

"My house, my rules," he retorted, eyes not leaving hers. "We've been through this. I need a break."

She didn't budge or back down. "Then have some pop and watch a movie with me."

"Just one drink won't kill me. Besides, it's seasonal." He didn't tell her he used to nurse stupid seasonal drinks all night long while suffering through kids' movies with Tony and Maria in the living room. He wasn't sure even he knew what the desire to have Stephanie, a movie and a light drink implied. Desperation? Loneliness? Insanity, maybe? Was he finally falling apart and trying to use Steph as a replacement for Maria?

"And is watching a movie with me so bad you need a drink to sit through it?" she asked. They had become better friends now than before and she worried about him, never pushing as to why there were shadows still.

"I associate drinking with happy things, Steph. Including watching movies with my w- friend," he swaps words extremely quickly, breaking eye contact in favor of grabbing a few things virtually at random from the cabinet.

She pulled him away from the cabinets and heels onto his wrists. Was that what that was? "I'm not your wife," she said, keeping her eyes on him. "So no drinking when watching movies."

"...I didn't say you were. I don't think of you that way. We're friends. Friends drink together. It's called social drinking, you can Google it," he said quietly, not meeting her eyes still. He swore he could feel his heartbeat in his head, he was suddenly so nervous and ill at ease with this. "I'm a grown man, I'm allowed to have a drink without an intervention being called, especially since I've been dry all week."

Steph still held her g ground. "Then keep that record clean. Stay dry, come watch the movie," she insisted. "And social drinking doesn't count if one of then can't get drunk."

"I just need something to take the edge off things," he promised firmly. "Just something to help me unwind."

"I won't let you," she replied firmly. Outside the suit, she had the tactical advantage. She knew there was help but also knew that he needed to say he wanted help first.

"It's my house, my liquor, and my money. This isn't your decision."

"But I'm your friend. And I'm worried about you." She remembered the past fight they had. She stole the bottles and had a shouting match.

"It'll be something light. You're overreacting." He rubs his eyes, yawning. "Just leave this alone, would you?"

"No, I won't," she insisted. "I'm not above carrying you over."

"Oh, that will kill the rumor you're in love with me, no doubt." He snickered, despite the seriousness of the situation, defiantly picking up a bottle of Southern Comfort and reaching for a glass. "Nobody on the internet would giggle about that one." He pours it, reaches for the apple juice and rolls his eyes, determined to at least mix something festive. It was snowing outside, after all.

She grabbed the soco out of his hand and held it away. "In love with you?" she sputtered. Steph set the bottle far away before picking him up and hauling him on her shoulder.

"Wait, are you? Because I really think the bridal position might be a little more appropriate. And, you know, less likely to pull my pants off considering these are my work sweatpants, not something with a belt," he pointed out, mind reeling.

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