Chapter Text
It’s a quarter past four when the noise of the streets awakening gets too much and Steve finally gives up on sleep. It had been one of the first things he noticed about this new century, the never-ending din of a city that had never slept but which now also keeps him awake when his nightmares take the day off. He gets up from the bed with a sigh, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. At this point, he had lain awake for almost an hour, trying in vain to get even 4 hours of sleep a night, a wish that seems more delusional with each passing day.
A sterile white room stares back at him, reminding him yet again that he has almost no personal belongings to make it his own even in the smallest meaning of the word. Everything he owns from his old life, his only true belongings are his shield and his dog tags alongside the compass with the picture of Peggy. The latter two he always carries with him, worried of losing the last connection to his old life alongside it.
Or another seventy years for that matter.
It still feels like a fever haze most of the time and a part of him still hopes that it is, that he will wake up with the real Peggy holding his hand, wake up from this weird and horrific nightmare where all of his loved ones are dead and he, the old forgotten relic from another time, is just another annoyance for everyone.
Just like every morning Steve gazes at her picture for a long moment before snapping the watch shut with a sigh. The shield sits in a corner, a silent reminder.
The cold of the room immediately slips beneath his clothes, making his shoulders clench as he shivers involuntarily. He should be used to the cold by now, having been frozen for seventy years but instead, it made him somehow more aware of the chill permeating the air. He quickly throws on a hoodie and some sweats, then heads out for his morning run in Central Park. The noise on the streets is even worse, assailing his ears with a cacophony that on his worse days threatens to drive him mad. Memories of last night still cloud his mind as he starts running down the streets, stopping every so often to not get hit by one of the many cars already crowding the streets. The smell of exhaust lingers heavily in the air, something he should have gotten used to by now but only one more thing on the long list of stuff he is overwhelmed by.
The Park is still empty this time of day, the yellow light of the streetlamps illuminates his path around it. The brisk air revives him after the long night, even though it brings fragments of images and sounds with it as the Hydra aircraft had been on its way down. Memories assault him. Peggy’s voice mixed with static over the communicators promising him a dance. The ice coming closer with each passing second, the wind whipping his hair back. The remaining smell of melting metal from where the Cube had burned itself through the plane. Steve runs faster, tries to outrun them, outrun the pain they bring and the taste of loneliness they leave in his mouth. Just like any other day, they are faster than he is. Since the serum, tiring out his body with physical exercise had seldom worked. What else is there to try though? So he runs to forget and to remember, to know he is still alive even if all of his friends and acquaintances are not and to get everything he has lost out of his head.
His body is covered in sweat when he gets back to the SHIELD facility in Manhattan, his breath comes pleasantly short, his muscles burn in a way that tells him maybe the third lap around Central Park should have been the last. The sun is already up and the traffic has gotten significantly worse, threatening Steve with a headache he knows he can’t get. That doesn’t mean the memories of them are gone. He can’t help the slight crease of his forehead as he watches the cars block streets, the constant honking grating on his already fragile nerves due to another overly short night and the fact that his body reminds him to finally feed him after the exercise. Again he thanks whatever deity kept Howard Stark from continuing his research on flying cars.
Immediately Steve vanishes into his small apartment, not wanting to meet any of the agents the huge building hosts, afraid of their judging eyes. Fury has them keep an eye on him, this much Steve is sure about. Everyone at SHIELD treats him like a porcelain doll that’s about to break if someone were to even look at him the wrong way.
Technically he isn’t working for SHIELD anymore, having quit alongside Barton and Romanov when their team had formed, so he shouldn’t be living in this facility anymore but since neither Fury nor anyone else had told him to leave yet, Steve had accepted this small mercy of familiarity for the time being. It’s been almost two months since the Avengers had formed, little less than three months since he woke from his long sleep in the ice. Yet he is still disoriented, has a hard time reconciling his world with this new one. He hadn’t been able to bring himself to look for a new place to stay. Stark had offered up her mansion in Long Island as a sort of headquarters for the team until the Tower is fully rebuilt. How good of an idea to move in with the team, especially with her, would be, Steve hasn’t figured out. And hiding away – in Long Island of all places – had felt too much like admitting defeat.
After the bright fluorescent light of the hallway, Steve welcomes the dim indirect light of the city in his own apartment and doesn’t bother with additional lights in the main room. He walks through the narrow kitchenette into his living room, wondering again how this has become his life. The white walls are void of character, the furniture is as nondescript as it gets. He’s got a feeling they tried to make everything look slightly old on purpose to make the transition as easy as possible for him. With a slight frown he turns to the bathroom, indulging in a long hot shower, which is easily the best thing about the future. In his former life, he had never had this luxury, the hot water supply had been patchy at best. Here, he could probably stand for hours under the warm spray without risking running out of it.
The rest of the building slowly wakes up as Steve chops up some bell peppers and onions for his breakfast, the repeated noise familiar and at the same time grating his nerves. Bruce had suggested he use headphones if only to replace one source of noise with another, more controllable one. He had tried this method but the dual exposure had been even worse.
Most days just stretch out in their endlessness in front of Steve. He had never had much downtime, first Bucky and he had to earn enough money for rent, medicine and art school, later during the war with the Howling Commandos, there hadn’t been much time for leisure either, at least none he spent on his own. Now, though, in this new age, no task waits for him, no goal is to be reached by him. Every day drowns in its own monotony.
Like that, the rest of the morning he spends reading the second half of a science fiction novel Bruce had gotten him. It has him briefly wondering how much of this is still ‘future’ and how much of the technology already exists. Before he leaves the house for lunch, he rechecks the address on his phone.
The phone had just shown up with in a package, approximately two weeks after the battle of New York, alongside a post-it which had read ‘No one writes postcards these days.’ in a barely legible scrawl. It had been surprisingly easy to figure out how it works and what to do to send short messages to his fellow team members, Bruce had explained the rest of it at one of their weekly lunches.
Not a lot of agents are around this time of the day which makes it easier for Steve to navigate his way to the subway station and take the subway halfway across Manhattan. The rattling of the carts and the stuffiness are a welcome and familiar thing.
‘Hey!’, Steve calls out with a smile when he spots Bruce on the street corner, looking as forlorn and insecure as usual. Apparently, he never gets used to being out in public without checking his back every few seconds. The scientist stops most of his fidgeting as Steve comes closer, a small but genuine smile spreading on his face.
‘Hi. You doing okay?’, he asks as they walk the short distance to the café Bruce had chosen this time around on his mission to show Steve the culinary side of this new century. Steve sees him more as his guide to this new world than whoever Fury had put in front of him in the first weeks after his defrosting, before the whole affair with Loki had cut that short.
‘Mostly. You?’
‘I’m holding up just fine. Still weird to be back in New York, though, I will admit that. Have you already decided if you will join us in the Tower?’ Banner changes the topic quickly as they walk into the place. Steve had already noticed before that Bruce never likes to dwell too long on his past. He remembers the footage Coulson had shown him of Hulk rampaging through the streets of Harlem and still struggles to reconcile those images with the reserved person right next to him.
Steve sighs. ‘No, I haven’t. Are you sure that’s a good idea?’
Bruce raises his hands with a knowing smile. ‘I know you two had a rough start.’ Steve snorts at understatement, thinking back to their previous encounters as Bruce gets up to order their food at the counter while Steve chooses a table at the window front.
He and Stark had had exactly three conversations, two of which ended with insults. Back on the helicarrier, Stark had claimed to be able to trace Barton via a tracker she had apparently planted in him ages ago as it became clear he would be close to the Cube. Fury had suggested she’d get access to their tech if she could tell them his location.
She huffed. ‘I don’t care how bad you fucked this up, Nicolas. My priority is getting Barton out of the mess you created. And for that I’ll get him myself.’, she drawled in a tone that had Steve frowning at her insolence. He inserted himself into the conversation before he could think about it, crossing his arms.
‘Miss Stark, I don’t think that a civilian should do that.’
She glanced over the top of her tinted glasses, looking him up and down, an eyebrow raised dauntingly. Never had Steve felt this exposed by a mere gaze. Tilting her head slightly, never stopping chewing on her gum, she said: ‘You know, why don’t you just stand there with all those amazing muscles on display and leave the thinking to people actually qualified for that.’
Steve didn’t know what to make of this. ‘Ma’am…’ He surely must have misheard.
‘I’m not going to let some pretty fucktoy tell me what to do.’ With a calculated flick of her hair, she turned back to Banner, ignoring the expression of utter shock on Steve’s face. He was sure his cheeks were on fire. ‘Let’s take this to the lab, Dr. Banner, shall we?’ Bruce had looked equally stunned but followed her out.
Looking back, Steve of course got why she felt able to extract Barton herself without the help of SHIELD and why she thought – rightfully so – that they had brought that whole business on themselves. He comforts himself with the fact that Fury seemed just as surprised by her metal armor as he was.
Bruce returns a minute later, sitting down opposite of Steve. He nervously glances out at the street, a habit that is hard to shake. ‘She can be tough, so don’t think I’m delusional. Give her a chance. You both misjudged each other, I guess.’
The second time may or may not have been on Steve himself, when he had kind of told Stark to her face that she had nothing on her father and was only in this for her own gain. And when she called him a lab experiment, well, things might have escalated.
‘Stark just has a way of getting under my skin. Living together would probably lead to more stress than our team can hold at the moment.’
Bruce sighs, taking off his glasses to clean them. ‘Steve, the Tower is far bigger than the Mansion and even there, I barely set eyes on her outside of the workshop and lab. There she’ll probably stay in her apartment or in the R&D department most of the time. You won’t see her that often.’, he assures him.
Steve sighs deeply, contemplating. ‘I’ll think about it, okay? I’ve brought your books, by the way.’ He motions for his backpack.
Bruce seems surprised. ‘You already finished?’
He shrugs, aiming for nonchalant and probably failing it by a mile. ‘I have a bit of spare time right now.’
The rest of their lunch they talk about the books and Bruce’s plans for his next travels now that he doesn’t need to worry about being followed by the military and other organizations anymore. Just as they are about to part, Bruce says: ‘Listen, there usually is no one around the Tower after five pm. You could take a look around, no strings attached. If you don’t like it, you can still get an apartment in Brooklyn.’ With his soft smile and a shrug, he leaves Steve at the street corner, heading for a cab.
The soldier heads towards the subway and lets it take him to his old neighborhood, homesickness still churning in his gut. The past visits of Brooklyn had done little to quell it but the slightly familiar buildings offer solace despite that. His feet carry him through streets that hadn’t changed and yet look so different, past houses that had been there from before his birth, housing new generations of people, places where small shops had made way for coffee shops and fast food chains, cars littering every available space. Sometimes he stops and stares, taking in a detail or another, reminiscing. After having joined the army, he hadn’t had time to just stroll through his neighborhood.
As the afternoon sun loses the battle against the clouds, he slowly makes his way back to Manhattan on foot, traversing the Brooklyn Bridge, sneaking a few last glances at the borough. With his SHIELD allowance he now wouldn’t even get an apartment here, something he hadn’t bothered telling Bruce about.
Steve reshoulders his backpack and decides to stop at a coffee shop before heading back to his quarters for an early evening in. Maybe he could watch another of those spy movies Bruce had introduced to him.
He chooses a table outside, bracing the cool June air and slight winds that rustle the pages of his notebook. His hot chocolate steams next to him. His pencil scratches over the blank page as Steve attempts to reconcile his Brooklyn with this new century.
Whenever he looks up, Stark Tower – or rather Avengers Tower as the press had redubbed it – is in his field of vision. The big ugly building is clearly visible from almost anywhere in Manhattan. Steve shakes his head and concentrates on the placement of his pencil strokes, capturing the disparity of his mind.
Nevertheless, his eyes dart back to the Tower on their own behalf every now and then, scanning its curves and edges that stand out so jarringly against the backdrop of a half remembered skyline. It’s already half past five, and while the surrounding buildings slowly light up, the Tower remains conspicuously dark except for the brilliant, light blue, ‘A’ at the top. Fortunately it doesn’t read Stark anymore, he thinks. It had been strange to see Howard’s name plastered in the sky, the self-absorption of his daughter really being something else. Steve knows there’s a lot about the future he has to get used to but he’s pretty certain others consider Stark egocentric as well.
Before he can change his mind again, Steve packs his sketchbook alongside his pencils into his backpack, leaving the rest of his cooled chocolate behind on the small table. He sets his eyes on the Avengers Tower and holds his head up high as he marches the short distance as if he were to do battle upon the building itself. Dusk is slowly setting around him, bringing with it even more unpleasant noises and smells as the commuters and tourists alike flock to the Grand Central Station right in front of the Tower. Despite the extensive damage it had sustained only a few months ago, it has been mostly rebuilt and is functional again.
The Tower looms above him after a few minutes of getting through the throng of people needing to be somewhere else, its dark glassy surface cutting through the darkening sky. The doors to the lobby slide open before Steve can even access the security pad. He is slightly taken aback but enters the deserted lobby nonetheless, never having backed down from a challenge.
‘Good evening, Captain Rogers.’
The sound of a crisp British voice echoes around the empty room. Steve looks around surprised but can see no one. His brain catches on before he can embarrass himself further, his eyes involuntarily looking up at the ceiling.
‘Hello, Jarvis.’ It sounds more insecure than he would have liked. Then again, it’s the first time he speaks with something not strictly human. ‘How are you?’
‘I am very well, Captain. All my systems operate within their given parameters. How are you?’
Steve takes a tentative look around the cool lobby, the white marble floor glimmering even in the diffuse lighting. ‘I’m fine.’, he answers almost mechanically. Why had he thought this would be a good idea? ‘I-‘
Jarvis fills the silence in a beat. 'I assume you would like to see your accommodations in the Tower.’
He is tempted to tell Jarvis straight away about his qualms about moving in. ‘Bruce said I could take a look?’ It sounds more like a question than a statement. His eyes are still busy scanning for the source of the voice. It feels weird talking to the ceiling despite Jarvis seeming very nice and agreeable. Bruce had explained the concept of artificial intelligence to him but also reassured him that Jarvis is one of a kind. It seems like something straight from one of the science fiction novels Steve used to read.
‘Of course, Captain. I will do my best to answer any question you may have.’
Steve nods, then asks: ‘Will the others move in as well?’ He isn’t overly looking forward to sharing a house with only Stark in it, or worse, to get between her and Bruce. They had bonded immediately over their love for science.
‘Avengers Tower hosts an apartment for every team member, no matter if they choose to use it. If you decide against moving in, the apartment will still be available to you whenever you are staying here. Mr. Barton for example has decided to not move his family from their home. I still expect them to visit every so often.’
Steve nods. ‘Okay.’ So Clint wouldn’t be there as a buffer for handling Stark. There goes that hope.
‘Would you like to start in your personal quarters or in the communal area?’ Jarvis seems unbothered by his reaction.
‘Uh, personal?’
‘Very well, Captain. For future reference, the inhabitants of the Tower have their own entrance, so you don’t need to use the lobby. The elevator to your left will take you to the 85th floor which contains your rooms along with Dr. Banner’s and Thor’s.’
‘Interesting choice.’, he says almost under his breath but of course Jarvis catches that.
‘Miss thought it advisable to have a damage control unit close “in case Point Break loses his chill or gets a visit from Reindeer Games”.’ Jarvis seems a little unhappy with the choice of words.
A smile tucks at Steve’s lips at the obvious quote from Stark. Of course she would instruct her AI to claim Thor’s the problem, not Hulk. That she thought Hulk rather interesting and amusing opposed to dangerous had already been discussed thoroughly in their brief encounters on the Helicarrier. The elevator doors close behind him, he looks at himself in the mirrored walls as he is taken upstairs, barely feeling the smooth upward movement.
There are shadows beneath his eyes, he thinks he looks lost with his hoodie pulled up like that and his backpack slung over his shoulder. Right now, there is no doubt that it is not Captain America looking back at him.
It takes almost no time to reach the 85th floor, the doors open with a very soft sound, revealing an equally sterile room like the lobby. The three doors going off are the only thing there is on this floor.
‘Your apartment is the one to the right. Dr. Banner will move into the middle, Thor to the left.’ The indicated door opens with a click. Steve wonders briefly if Jarvis has access to really everything in the Tower, then steps forward, opening the door fully. His breath catches.
Transfixed, he stands there, probably with his mouth open, taking in what’s supposed to be his. A sprawling living room is framed by a gorgeous view of the city below, soft lighting illuminates the sofa and the armchairs which are perfectly positioned to enjoy the view. There even is a fireplace, and Steve has to take a double look to make sure that it’s real, to cozy up in front of with the books that take up almost an entire wall. Everything is kept in muted colors and feels homely despite its spaciousness. He wanders further into the room.
His fingers touch the soft fabric of the sofa, gliding over the luxurious texture. His eyes roam the bookcase, taking in familiar titles along with newer books he hasn’t heard about. The selection is vast and as he takes out an old copy of ‘Room with a View’, which had been one of his favorites before the war, he is thunderstruck for a moment when he finds it’s a signed first edition and nothing like the battered copies he used to borrow from his local library. Quickly he puts it back, afraid of damaging the old book.
‘If anything is not to your liking, it can be replaced or remodeled.’, Jarvis assures him, when Steve continues his silent exploration of the living room, not yet ready to go to the hallway that goes off to the left.
‘I-‘ He is unsure how to continue. ‘No, this is just… a lot.’
He sits down on the sofa, the plush carpet beneath his feet giving way slightly. His eyes fall to the coffee table which contains some magazines and a tablet.
‘I understand what you mean, Captain. Miss Stark can be a bit much at times but I assure you, she usually acts with the best of intentions. After all, this is the Avengers Tower, a place for all of your team to live.’
‘This is all for me?’, he asks, his voice resounding in the empty apartment. It looks positively cozy and lived in. A few personal touches might still be missing but compared to his current living conditions, he could imagine spending time here, he could imagine making this his own.
‘Of course. This unit contains two bedrooms though one of them has been furnished as an office space. Should you wish though, it can be adapted to your preferences. We tried to personalize the apartments as much as possible to their respective inhabitants, you can switch out furniture or even remodel the whole apartment though. If you have a particular wish, I will do what is in my power to fulfill it. It has been Miss Stark’s explicit order that every occupant should feel as comfortable as possible.’
Steve takes a deep breath as if to say something but the words turn to ash in his mouth. This doesn’t align at all with his first impression of the selfproclaimed genius, billionaire, playgirl, philanthropist he had met onboard the Helicarrier.
Instead he remains silent and gets up to continue his exploration.
‘There is a bigger kitchen in the communal area, this is just for your personal use.’, Jarvis assures him when no words leave Steve’s mouth.
He looks around the huge kitchen, wondering how on Earth the other kitchen could be bigger and who was supposed to use that either way. On the other side of the hallway a table for six hides, gazing out on another partition of the city. It’s all very elegant and modern but fortunately lacks the distinct coolness the other rooms of the Tower had until now. There are even art pieces on the walls, small decorations and plants take up some of the space.
The bathroom is far too big to be for only one person, it looks more like a spa than a bathroom. An enormous walk-in shower dominates the room, a partition hides an equally gigantic bathtub. It’s utterly ridiculous, Steve thinks, stepping back out of the room. This is all so much, he feels vastly overwhelmed by it all. With a sigh, he finishes his tour of his apartment.
Two more doors branch off from the hallway. Steve takes the left door, leading off to a generous bedroom with one of the biggest beds he had set eyes on. The last room is his biggest surprise. Jarvis had said something of an office though it looked rather like atelier of an artist.
It's a corner room of the Tower, two walls are completely made of glass. The desk is full of sketchbooks and utensils to create with various mediums, two easels stand close to the window front, canvases are waiting to be filled. He can already tell that natural light would stream into the room the whole day. He walks over to the desk, too surprised for words. Wondering how Stark came up with this idea, he picks up something that looks vaguely familiar. The sketchbook on top of a small pile is old and the cover faded.
His breath hitches as he frowns at it. ‘Are these my old sketchbooks?’, he asks, looking through the pile. Memories of art school with Bucky fill his mind, for a moment his longing is a living thing in his chest.
‘Yes. Miss thought you might like them back. Her father used to collect all of your belongings and when she found this particular part of his collection in the Mansion last month, she instructed it to be moved to the Tower. The rest is stored safely in a room on the 78th floor where you may access it.’
The only thing that processes is: ‘Howard collected my stuff?’
‘Yes, he collected everything he could find of you during his life. Almost everything has been donated to the Smithsonian by Miss Stark, just his private collection remained in the Mansion. These contained mostly personal items of you.’
‘Ah.’ It leaves a bad taste in his mouth. Why had his old friend collected these? Fury had stated that Howard had never given up on finding Steve but this seems a bit excessive. This isn’t just stuff from his old apartment, he is pretty sure he threw away this particular notebook long before joining the army. With a shake of his head, Steve shoves those thoughts from his mind. He's aware that someone had to have put a lot of effort into this despite Stark’s claims she’d felt obliged to host their team. The small touches just make that all the clearer. He flicks through one of his old notebooks before snapping it shut, looking out of the corner windows.
‘It’s so quiet in here.’, he muses, staring out at the city crawling by. He fancies he could make out its sounds but there is just blissful silence surrounding him.
‘These are specially reinforced soundproof walls. No noise can get in or out through the outer walls. This was added when it was clear the Tower would host sound sensible people. Miss Stark usually just drowns out any noise with music but not everyone prefers it this way.’ Jarvis sounds resigned about this. The more Steve hears him, the more trouble he has thinking about him as a computer and not as a person. Steve can almost hear the exasperated eyeroll accompanying that last statement and he can’t help but smile.
‘That sounds just like her.’, he says, enjoying the view of his hometown for the first time in months, or more accurately decades. He had lived through a war, slept in active war zones and thrown more grenades than would be good for any hearing, yet he hadn’t noticed how much the constant ruckus had worn him down until now, that his ears can understand what true silence is. There are just the normal noises of an apartment, the slight electric hum of the air conditioning or some other electric appliances.
He licks his lips, contemplating. ‘What will happen to this if I don’t move in?’
‘It is yours. Miss Stark has signed these apartments over to their respective inhabitants. Whatever you choose to do with it, you are free to do.’ There is a short pause. ‘Though, I think, Miss would be less than thrilled should you consider hosting individuals who have no access to the Tower like General Ross or SHIELD agents other than Mr. Barton and Miss Romanov.’
Steve nods as if this wasn’t the strangest thing. ‘That’s very … considerate.’
He leaves the atelier behind him, walks back through the hallway to the living room portion of his new apartment and contemplates if moving in would indeed be such a bad idea. Sure, there is Stark to consider but if Bruce is to be believed, she spends most of her time on her own and won’t insult and challenge him every single minute of the day. Furthermore, he could retreat here and just enjoy the quietness. It’s not as if he has many other options.
Jarvis interrupts his contemplations. ‘Would you like to see the communal area now?’
‘Uh, sure.’ His eyes still flit to the ceiling occasionally, fully expecting there to be a real person to talk to. His ears can pick up the location of the speakers Jarvis uses but he still can’t see them.
‘The training area is not finished yet, Miss is still working on the details of the programming of the training sequences. The planned completion date is end of next week.’
Steve nods. It sounds good, surprisingly thought through.
‘If you will step back into the elevator, I will take you upstairs.’
Steve takes one last look through his apartment on his way out, lingering probably longer than is strictly necessary. When he steps into the elevator it already feels like a dream he’s slowly waking up from. It feels surreal to stand here and even contemplate moving in. As soon as the doors close, Jarvis continues.
‘I will inform Miss Stark that you are coming up now.’
Before Steve can get a word in, the elevator starts moving up. A mixture of something similar to dread and embarrassment makes him stare in blank confusion at the closed doors before him, hoping against hope that they wouldn’t open to expose Natasha Stark as she reveals her perfect ploy to trick him into thinking he could actually live here. Steve shakes his head, banishing these thoughts out of his head. Stark is no James Bond villain, she probably doesn’t even have a swivel chair. Or a cat for that matter.
Moments later, the doors open to a wide open space containing a living room portion and what Steve assumes is the ‘bigger’ kitchen Jarvis had told him about.
Stark stands leaning against a counter, her phone in hand, and looks up surprised. ‘Hey Cap. Fancy seeing you here.’
‘Hi, I just took a look.’, he admits sheepishly, feeling an unbidden blush rise in his cheeks.
She shrugs casually, putting her phone down. ‘Sure. Everything to your liking? Well, let Jay know if that’s not the case.’, she immediately cuts off with a smile.
‘It’s really swell.’, Steve admits. Stark’s lips twitch, probably the word ‘swell’ isn’t exactly 21st century material. At least she isn’t outright laughing at him, he figures. ‘What are you doing here, anyway?’ He stops in his tracks when he notices how that must come across, but Stark doesn’t seem fazed.
‘Well, ten floors of R&D all for myself. Can’t let such an opportunity go to waste.’, she says with a grin. ‘I’m only up here because Jarvis has limited my caffeine intake in the lab and I have to get it myself now.’ She motions with her head to the coffee machine already gurgling happily on the counter. ‘Apparently nine cups a day are “too much”.’ Rolling her eyes, she ventures back behind the counter, scouring the cabinets for a cup.
‘They are indeed more than enough, Miss.’, her AI interjects pointedly.
‘You have no physical body, you can’t even judge that. I need my coffee, Jarvis. It’s a goddamn human right.’ Steve can tell it’s not the first time those two have this discussion.
‘I highly doubt this much is necessary.’
‘You can have as much electricity as you like but I can’t even have some caffeine?’, she asks indignantly.
Steve’s sure, if Jarvis could produce a resigned sigh, he would do so now. ‘It’s not quite the same, Miss.’
‘You’re one talking. I swear, I will somehow trap you in a human body and then you can figure out how to survive without coffee.’
‘Shall I put this on your to-do list?’
She pinches the bridge of her nose. ‘Dum-E would never do something like this to me. See what I’ve gotta to put up with here?’, she says in Steve’s direction. ‘You want a cup as well?’ She had finally located the mugs in a cabinet above the sink. ‘I’ll fix you one.’ Steve has to suppress a laugh that threatens to bubble up when she answers her own question. He can’t help but agree with Jarvis that she’s already enough caffeine in her system as it is. ‘Have you already had dinner? I could certainly eat something. I feel like Butter Chicken. Have you tried Indian Cuisine yet? We could also eat something else as long as it’s Indian and Butter Chicken…’ Stark continues her rambling as she pours coffee, fighting with Jarvis about the order he’s supposed to place at her favorite place and how they still don’t deliver.
Maybe life in the Tower wouldn’t be the worst thing that could happen.