Chapter Text
Steve was finishing up his last commission, a sign for a local nursery, adding his signature discreetly to the bottom of the graphic.
As far as commissions, it was a simple piece. A bunch of typography with a figured silhouette in the background. Simplistic. He liked it. It was for some flower shop called Ashman’s Flowers.
‘Could be worse,’ he thought. ‘At least people are actually going to see this.’ Glancing over the piece one last time, he heard his phone chime with an email notification. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled his phone out.
He had a new email from [email protected]. Steve didn’t recognize the sender, but it could be a new commision, so he quickly read the email.
Dear Mr. Rogers,
We much appreciate your submission for the set design of Little Shop of Horrors. After some careful thought, we are pleased to offer you the contract! As you may already know, Little Shop is a play about alien plants who want to dominate the world. Due to the nature of the play, we will have only a small number of sets, but they will be very detailed. If there are no disagreements from yourself, I would love to meet tomorrow around noon so we can get started working. The play premieres in three months. I finished casting the production last week, and our Seymour and Audrey have already begun rehearsals. The rest of the cast is scheduled to join us tomorrow, which is why I would love for you to be present. The cast is expected to arrive around 2 pm, but if you could come at noon to meet me, Seymour and Audrey (1 and 2!), and our other tech crew, that would simply be swell. A simple reply to this letter with a yes I will be there is all that is required. The address for Pepper Potts Playhouse is included at the bottom. I look forward to meeting you, Steve! I’ve heard great things about your skills from Mr. Wilson.
Best Regards,
Pepper Potts.
“Huh? This can’t be right.” Steve wiped his glasses thinking maybe the smudges made him misread. He reread the email, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. It still contained the same words.
“Hey, Sam.”
Leaning back in his chair, Steve looked at the man in the kitchen. Sam was leaning over the stove, wafting his hands in steam. You could practically see his nostrils flaring at Sam mumbled to himself. “It is not right, it's not right yet.”
“Sam. Pay attention to me. Sam. Sam. Hey Sam.”
Sam continued to ignore him. Grinding some sea salt into the mixture.
“Sam. Stop ignoring me. Sam. Sam. Sssaaamm.”
Two dark eyes glanced in Steve's direction before quickly going back to looking at the spice rack over the stove.
“Sam Wilson. You better pay attention to me. I need to know what you have gotten me into now. Sam. Sam!”
“Man, if you don’t stop whining I am never going to get this soup right. And if I don’t get this soup right," Sam whined, sorting through spices, "I am not going to get promoted. And if I don’t get this promotion, I am going to be stuck on the cold apps station for all of eternity. Do you want that Steve? Is that something you want for me?”
“Stop being so dramatic. Your soup smells amazing.” Rising from his seat, Steve made the short walk to the kitchen, smiling with the progress Sam had made. Steve had been renting the same townhouse for the past five years, having only lived alone for a year after his mother's death. Losing his mom had been hard on Steve, so when his friend Sam had told him he was being discharged from the Army due to some sort of flying accident, Steve had offered him a place to stay.
Steve would never say it out loud, but he owed as much to Sam as Sam thought he owed to Steve. His health issues kept his life pretty chill, and when Steve's mom had died Steve almost lost himself in the process. When Sam moved in, they quickly fell into a routine. Sam even developed a pill chart that they hung on the fridge, which kept them both accountable for taking all of their meds. Sam helped Steve with his many health issues and the loss of his mother, in turn, Steve helped Sam through his nightmares and panic attacks. It wasn't a perfect situation, but it worked for them.
Sam had spent his first year, post-discharge, mostly watching Food Network and Netflix while Steve went to classes. Worried about his friend's sudden obsession with Alton Brown, Steve had suggested Sam start attending the VA since Steve was in class all the time. At first, Sam laughed at the idea, but Steve came home one day towards the end of his freshman year to a post-it note stuck to the TV. All it said was, ‘Alton ruined lobster for me. Trying the VA.-Sam.’
At the VA, Sam had met Riley, and their duo quickly became a trio.
Towards the middle of Steve’s junior year in college, Steve had walked into the house, abruptly dropping all his supplies when he heard sobbing from the kitchen. What he found was Sam, glaring at a video on Youtube, sitting in what appeared to be some sort of flour induced explosion, sobbing into his apron. Shortly after, Sam had enrolled in culinary school. The flour explosions haven’t stopped, but they happen considerably less now.
Currently, Sam’s new thing was soup.
Steve grabbed the marker off the post-it board. Checking off half of his side of the daily pill checklist, taking notice that Sam had taken all his meds but that Riley’s slot was missing a check for breakfast.
“Hey, when Riley gets home, make sure he takes his Lexapro.” Steve reached for a spoon, aiming to test the soup before a sharp smack knocked it out of his hands.
“It’s not ready, Steven!” Sam glanced at the spice rack, quickly grabbing a bottle of mint and throwing some leaves in the pot. “And put a check by Riley’s Lexapro for me. He took it, he was just running late for work and forgot to check it.”
“Jesus, Sam! You didn’t have to smack me!” Steve, glaring, placed the check by Riley’s name. “If I can’t taste your soup, can you at least explain to me why a Ms. Pepper Potts is emailing me saying that she can’t wait to get started on set designs. And why she mentioned that Mr. Wilson was right to suggest me for this project?” Steve leaned over to take another whiff of the soup, he should have been embarrassed at the moan that escaped his lips. Should have been. He wasn’t embarrassed at all. He wanted some of that soup. Handing his phone over to Sam with the email pulled up, Steve started looking for another spoon. Silently opening the silverware drawer to not attract attention, keeping his eyes on Sam at all time.
Sam glanced over the email, looking like he already knew what it was going to say. Steve had just managed to grab another spoon when Sam’s glare made him freeze mid-attempt at a taste.
“Spoon. Down. Now! Also, congratulations on your recent commission for Pepper Potts Playhouse.” The smile on Sams' face, prominently displaying the gap in his teeth, looked a little too pleased for Steve’s liking.
“Sam..”, Steve let his face fall into a hurt look, knowing full well Sam would tell him everything in about thirty seconds. “I thought we talked about how you were not going to submit my name for jobs anymore.” Steve shuddered at the memory of Sam’s last attempt to help. To be fair, the hunky priest calendar had made him a lot of money. But still, the images would forever haunt him.
“Well…”, Sam was rolling Steve's phone in his hands, his nerves showing. “I know you like musicals. And I know you’re always so busy with your graphics commissions and that you would rather be creating,” Sam lifted the spoon from the soup, making air quotes with both spoon and hand, “real, physical, dirty organic art.”
Sam leaned over to smell his soup, frowning at the imagined shortcomings of it. “I thought it might be good for you,” Sam grabbed a bowl from the shelf, “to be involved in something where you can experience the reaction first hand. Something where you can get dirty again. Maybe meet some people who are not Riley or me. Some people who are not clients. Ya know, be a part of a team, so to speak. Meet people who are not Riley or me.”
Steve watched Sam fill the bowl, glaring at the potatoes floating in it, pointedly ignoring Sams gaze. “So I submitted some of your work for this set design thing I saw posted on a flyer down at the VA. But I know Pepper. Personally.”
Bread was being sliced now. Butter was being applied.
“Congratulations, Steve," Sam said. "Looks like she liked what she saw. Now you can add Little Shop of Horrors set design to your resume. Get out from behind the computer screen for a little while. Peppers great. You’re going to love her. I know how you have this thing for powerhouse women.” The bowl was placed in front of Steve. “Now. Say thank you and tell me what is missing from this soup.”
Sam smiled. Steve glared. The soup souped.
Taking a deep breath, Steve spooned some of the soup in his mouth, his eyes never leaving Sams. The soup was amazing. The soup was beyond amazing. Steve slowly spooned more into his mouth, eyes still matching Sams, purposely showing no emotion. Two can play this game and if Sam if setting him up for mystery jobs, then, Sam deserved this. Slowly, Steve picked up the bowl, tilting it to his lips, loudly slurping down the rest of the soup.
Sam stared. Steve wiped his mouth. "The only thing this soup needs," Steve said, turning to leave the kitchen, walking away from Sam, "is to stop surprising all the other soups with things they may or may not want to do.”
Sam scoffed. Steve walked away. The soup souped deliciously.