Chapter 38
"Doo-do. Do-do-doo-do!" Bernice sang, flapping her dish rag at the open window as she tried to coax the last of the smoke-filled air out of her apartment. In the background, the big-band oldies station she'd tapped into via the internet blared 'Take the 'A' Train,' the brassy sounds of Duke Ellington filling the apartment as she cleared the aftermath of her little egg mishap. Most of her egg mishap. She stared up at the ceiling, pieces of dried yellow egg-yolk visible against the white paint. She was going to have to scrounge up a ladder to get that down.
"Would you like me to get that for you?" Steve leaned against the doorway to her bedroom, a little worse for wear, but glorious in all of his hunkiness wearing nothing but plaid boxer shorts and a bruise that ran from his ankle almost all the way up to his knee.
"Steve!" Bernice said. "You're supposed to be in bed!"
"I've been asleep for three days," Steve said, giving her a grin. "Could you tell me where the little boy's room is?"
Duh! The first thing any person wanted to do after rolling out of bed in the morning was take a wee. She realized she was staring at the tent in his boxer shorts instead of his face and blushed. "It's … um … right there."
Steve hobbled towards the door she'd pointed at, pausing to catch his balance next to the easel with the masterpiece she'd painted of him posed on the still rings in his gym. Thank goodness she'd had the sense to throw a tarp over it! Now that would be embarrassing if he saw she'd been lusting after that gorgeous body of his after all! Not that it was the only thing she liked about him. Not by a long shot! She'd meant what she'd said when she'd realized it was the sensitive, artistic side of him she'd fallen in love with. That didn't mean she couldn't appreciate the gift wrapping that package came in!
"That's a lovely nightgown," Steve said, color rising to his cheeks as he tried his best to look at her face instead of the outline of her nipples just barely visible through the silk. "Where did you get it?"
"Victoria's Secret."
"Victoria has a secret?" Steve asked.
"No. It's a store. Victoria's Secret."
"If Victoria has a secret, why would she want to alert everyone to that fact?" Steve asked, his forehead furrowed in confusion.
Bernice burst out laughing. The strains of Duke Ellington grew louder as the brass instruments rose to a crescendo, a perfect backdrop to his cluelessness. She glided over to give him a hug, amazed at how hard and taut his waist felt as she stood on tiptoe to plant a kiss on his surprised lips.
"Get in there, you!" Bernice ordered. "Before I show you exactly what Victoria's secret is!"
She wedged her shoulder under his armpit, stabilizing him enough to finish walking across the living room without needing to hop. Steve lingered at the bathroom door, pausing to taste her lips.
"Do you mind if I take a shower?" Steve asked. "It's … uh … I think maybe I'm a little ripe?" One hand came up to rub the three days of razor stubble he was sporting. Not a terrible amount. With his fair complexion it looked more like peach fuzz than the beginnings of a beard. But she had never seen him with so much as a missed whisker on his chin so she could tell it bothered him.
"Pink razor is mine," Bernice said. "Just be careful you don't fall over and bang your head in that old-fashioned tub. You're too big for me to pick up. It's a good thing I got you as far as my bed before you passed out or you'd have spent the last three days sleeping in my hallway."
Steve's expression grew serious. "I didn't mean to … um … sorry. I didn't mean to … um … burden you this way."
"You came home to me," Bernice said, taking his face between her hands and searching his eyes. She gave him a kiss, more tender and less teasing. "You can show up on my doorstep any time you want and I'll still love you. No matter how banged up you get."
Steve nodded, whatever emotion she could see running through his eyes not finding words to express it, so he chose to remain silent. She was learning to interpret those silent looks and the body language which accompanied them instead of waiting for him to find words for emotions he was often unable to verbalize. Especially if he was nervous. If pressed, the words that did come to mind often came out differently than he meant to say them. Nor would she put words in his mouth, having discovered that when he finally did express what he felt, usually by his actions instead of his words, the end result was so much more gratifying. He disappeared inside the bathroom, the soft click of the door handle a letdown.
Bernice glanced down at her pretty nightgown. So much for seduction! Until Steve was good and ready to be seduced, he would not allow himself to be tempted. But judging by his passionate confession three nights ago, Steve had a whole ocean full of emotions locked up, waiting to see the light of day, and it wouldn't be long before he decided one way or the other whether he was going to let her crawl so deep into his heart he'd never be able to let her go.
Sigh. Nothing like a whole heap of unresolved sexual tension. She'd better see about getting them both something to eat besides the eggs plastered all over her ceiling!
Bernice glanced at the clock. It was almost noon! Jacquie was only working half a day today so she could catch a train to visit her family for Thanksgiving. The last thing Bernice wanted to explain to her smut-minded friend the reason they were both still in their pajamas because of some exploding eggs! Somehow, she didn't think Steve was quite ready to experience Jacquie's depraved sense of humor. At least the smoke had started to clear out, her apartment frigid from the cold November air.
"Doo-do!" Bernice danced around her kitchen to strains of 'In the Mood' as she set the table for two. This time, she was going feed him something foolproof. Wheaties. And a glass of milk. If she couldn't put those on the table to feed him, she might as well trade in her paintbrushes for a nun's habit!
The door buzzer rang. Bernice groaned. Speak of the devil! As usual, Jacquie was too lazy to dig out her key. Bernice danced across the living room, still humming along to the radio, and hit the buzzer, dancing right back to put the finishing touches onto an artfully arranged napkin folded to resemble a swan. Hey … she had to have some talents. The door swung open. She looked up to tell Jacquie she didn't want to hear it when she froze.
"Mike."
Bernice stared down at the table set for two, and then her slinky negligee. She grabbed her bathrobe and yanked it on, rushing towards the doorway to herd him the hell out of here before Steve came out from his shower.
"M-m-mike," Bernice stammered, dismayed when he didn't step back out the door he'd just walked in without knocking first. "W-what are you doing here?"
"Bernice," Mike said. "I had to talk to you. I'm really worried about you."
"Concerned … about … me?" Bernice asked.
Mike grabbed her by the shoulders, his expression intense.
"I've been doing some digging into that guy who's been chasing after you," Mike said. "You're not going to like what I have to say."
Some part of her consciousness registered the sound of running water stop. She needed to get Mike the hell out of here before he jumped to the wrong … um … anyways … the not quite right … yet … conclusion. She didn't want anything to do with him anymore, but she didn't want to hurt him by rubbing his face in her new relationship, either.
"Oh?" Bernice said, stepping towards the door. She opened it and stood next to it, hoping he would take the hint.
"The people I work for keep track of people who don't belong in this country," Mike said. "You know. Wetbacks and stuff."
"Wetbacks?" Bernice repeated. Mike had always had an annoying tendency to blab racial slurs like 'spic' and 'nigger,' prejudices she had chosen to ignore back when she had still been living with him. But the slurs grated on her now like a bow saw on a cello string.
"Zionists," Mike said, grabbing her shoulder and shaking her. "The senior partners keep track of anyone with suspicious ties. They have … resources."
"Resources?" Bernice repeated, deciding to take a less subtle approach and holding one arm out to gesture out towards the hall. She prayed Steve would shave and do whatever other beauty routine superheroes did every morning to remain drop-dead gorgeous and didn't come out until she'd gotten rid of Mike.
"You don't understand!" Mike exclaimed. He grabbed both of her arms, pressing them to her sides so hard it hurt. "That guy who's been chasing after you? Until last year, he didn't even exist!"
"You've been checking up on my friend?" Bernice asked, her jaw dropping.
"Yes!" Mike said, shaking her. "He's using a recycled name and social security number from some guy who's been dead for seventy years! And that gym he owns? It's some sort of front! I haven't figured out what yet, but there are gang rappers going in and out of there all times of the day. It has to be a training area for terrorists!"
"I don't think so," Bernice said, her tone offended. She tried to pull free of his grasp and was unable to break his hold. "Mike, I think you should go now."
"According to his bank records," Mike said, ignoring her request. "All of a sudden two million dollars just appeared in his account out of nowhere. And then he plunked down a cool million and a half for that old gym. The place has been for sale for fifteen years. No buyers. It's in a lousy neighborhood and it was overpriced. But according to the realtor, he just walked in off the street with a duffel bag full of cash and bought it on the spot. He didn't even try to negotiate the price down."
"That sounds like Steve," Bernice laughed.
"Listen," Mike said, his eyes tormented. "If you're in trouble, you can tell me. The people I work for. They can help you. They can help you get into the witness protection program or something."
"Mike," Bernice asked. "What are you talking about?"
"Don't you get it?" Mike exclaimed. "He's a terrorist. A private detective saw him rent a boat the night terrorists attacked Governor's Island three nights ago. And then … get this … they found the boat anchored off the island the next day!"
Bernice burst out laughing. "Mike … you've got it all wrong."
"You stupid woman!" Mike shouted, shaking her so hard it brought tears to her eyes. "You're going to get yourself killed!"
"Is there a problem, Bernice?"
Bernice looked up to see Steve standing in the door to the bathroom, his chest glistening with drops of water, nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist. It had to hurt like a bastard, but Steve strode across the living room with barely a limp to stand at her back, one arm wrapping around her collarbone to pull her back against his torso in a universal male gesture of 'my woman.'
Mike stood there gaping, his eyes darting from her slinky lingerie, to the table set for two, to Steve standing bare-chested in her living room wearing nothing but a towel. He leaped to all the right wrong conclusions.
"I think perhaps you should leave," Steve growled. It was not the sensitive, artistic man who stood at her back now, but the super-soldier. The one who'd taken down an alien armada. The alpha male. Steve might wish he still had the freedom of that small, thin man. But he'd been a soldier for many years now. A soldier who'd defeated more horror than anyone could imagine. Mike recognized the deadly weapon they had turned him into when they'd trained him to shoot Nazi's and put him into that machine, instinctively stepping back towards the door. Bernice followed Steve's lead and leaned back into the protective shelter of his arms, one hand reaching up to touch his forearm in a universal female gesture of 'my man.'
"You're in over your head, Bernice," Mike said, anger clouding the dark features she had once thought were handsome. "You'll see."
Mike stormed out of the apartment, the door to the street slamming so hard she was afraid the glass would break. She closed her eyes and breathed a sigh of relief, sinking back into the comfort of Steve's arms.
"What was that all about?" Steve asked.
"Testosterone poisoning," Bernice sighed. "Ancient Chinese proverb. You go out with new guy, old guy shows up at your door and wants you back. Or something like that."
Steve nuzzled her ear, his arm tightening across her collarbone as he pulled her in tighter for a hug.
"Old guy can't have you," Steve growled in her ear and then nibbled down her neck. He paused when his lips got to the tiny indentation where her collarbone met her neck and gave it a nip, marking his territory in a most un-gentlemanly show of territorialism. "I don't share."
Possession. It was nice to know Steve's tendency to be a gentleman only went so far. In fact, this side of him was downright exciting! She turned, only her slinky nightgown and the tiny towel wrapped around his waist standing between them. His pupils were so large his eyes were nearly black, the blue iris appearing only a thin frame around the deep emotions that swirled within. Only the thin veneer of a gentleman kept his baser impulses in control. A control she knew she could break with just a single touch.
The doorbell rang again. Steve froze. It rang a second time.
"I'll take care of this!" he growled. Steve had never showed a propensity to have a temper, but by the way his hand clenched in a fist, Bernice had no doubt 'take care of' would not be limited to words if Mike didn't take a hint and leave her alone.
"No … Steve," Bernice said, placing a hand over his chest. "It's alright! He thinks … he did some digging into your background and thought you were a terrorist when things didn't add up. Let me get rid of him before he does something stupid. Like call the police and blow your cover."
A low growl emanated from his throat as she peered into the tiny door camera.
"Are you going to let me in or what?" Jacquie snapped, her red and black hair all mussed from the wind. "It's freezing out here!"
"It's Jacquie," Bernice said, giving Steve a look of relief. "It's just Jacquie. She's due home early from work today. Because of Thanksgiving."
One handsome blonde eyebrow rose on that gorgeous brow as he did the math and realized just how many days he'd been asleep.
"Tomorrow," Steve said. A look of what Bernice could only deem apprehension crossed his face. "I'm supposed to meet your family tomorrow." He glanced over at a calendar she had plastered on her wall. "Shoot! I was supposed to go back to the Triskelion and debrief two days ago."
Bernice nodded, her heart sinking as she remembered the promise she had made to Nick Fury in exchange for bringing Doctor Banner here to make sure Steve was alright. She had promised to send him on his way the moment he woke up and not let him linger as Fury bemusedly commented Steve might wish to do. Whatever had happened inside that ship, S.H.I.E.L.D. was clamoring to find out what Steve knew. Only Fury's insistence Steve would fare better in her hands than recovering in a military hospital, where the powers-that-be would want to awaken him every time he stirred to drill him for information, was keeping the government from showing up at her apartment with an ambulance and carrying him out of here. She turned back towards the buzzer, Jacquie fuming at the delay in ringing her in, and hit the button. Jacquie bounded up the stairs.
"It's about time!" Jacquie groused. She took one look at Steve, giving him a blatantly appraising look as she looked from his face, down his chest, and further still down to his tiny towel. She flashed Bernice a shit-eating grin. "Never mind! I'll be out of your hair in a just few minutes. Let you two lovebirds get back to whatever you were doing when I so rudely interrupted you."
She scurried into her own bedroom, laughing as she grabbed the suitcase she had packed earlier, threw a few toiletries in a handbag, and burst out of her room, disappointed when she saw Steve had disappeared into Bernice's bedroom and come out fully clothed in the outfit Nick Fury had left here for him to change into once he woke up. Damn! Talk about your bad timing!
"Have a nice Thanksgiving," Jacquie said, giving her a wink. "And bye, Steve! It's nice to finally meet you. If you break Bernice's heart, I'll cut your balls off and feed them to you!"
With a wolfish grin made all the more predatory by her red and black striped hair, Jacquie disappeared out the door as quickly as she had come, leaving only awkwardness in her wake.
"She's … uh … protective?" Steve said, back to his usual gentlemanly self. He stepped towards the breakfast she had so carefully laid out for him. "Wheaties? How did you know I liked them?"
Bernice gave him a smile she did not feel. Sammy Davis Jr. came on the golden oldies station, singing 'What Kind of Fool Am I.' A song that only could have come into existence after Steve's generation.
"It's the only cereal I could find that's almost as old as you are," Bernice said with more sharpness than she meant to convey. "Would you like me to make you some more toast?"
"Only if we eat it together," Steve said, giving her his most deliberate, clueless grin. God. He was beautiful when he smiled. How could any woman stay pissed off at that beautiful smile?
Over soggy Wheaties, tepid milk, and beautifully folded napkins, Bernice told him about the patterns she had noticed in the way the alien gliders moved and her theories about what those patterns might mean. Steve had trouble grasping the concept of a video game, but once she started comparing the movement of the Leviathan to a war horse, he sat on the edge of his seat, peppering her with questions. For some reason, she had hesitated to tell either Doctor Nyi or Nick Fury what she had witnessed when she'd called in sick, a small, cautious voice warning her to talk to Steve before she revealed that information. Steve urged her to wait until he finished his debriefing and had a chance to question his alien friend. As an employee of Stark Industries, Tony Stark would demand first dibs on whatever knowledge was inside her head, but Nick Fury might do an end-run around her boss by taking her into protective custody. Bernice got the distinct impression Steve wasn't sure who to trust.
With a perfect, gentlemanly kiss goodbye that only hinted of the emotion he had shown her when he'd shown up on her doorstep three nights ago, Steve promised to pick her up at 11:00 tomorrow morning to drive her to have dinner with her family and headed into his other life to finish up the debriefing he'd abandoned to be with her. Bernice shut the door behind him and pressed her forehead against the door.
Damn!
She sat down at the kitchen table and stared at the sketches she had made as she'd told Steve about the pattern made by the ships. Something hit her on the head. A spider? Squealing like a little girl, she frantically shook her hair until whatever had hit her fell upon the table. Laughing hysterically, she stared at what had startled her so.
Dried burnt egg!
X
Note: In Marvel canon, Bernie Rosenthal's former boyfriend Mike Farrel joined a group of white supremacists. The theme of two comic books was anti-Semitism, which has little to do with my plot. Instead, I have expanded Mike's personality to be a racist in general.