Steven Rogers (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
juststeverogers) wrote2018-01-15 07:28 pm
juststeverogers) wrote2018-01-15 07:28 pm
Entry tags:
Something in Common (for boldygoing )
Steve's had a quiet set of holidays with his Pokemon in his small Nexus apartment but with the New Year over and done with things are picking up again. He's resumed his house hunting with gusto, spurred on by some advice he'd received from fellow denizens during the Yule party he attended nearly a month ago now.
Today, however, Steve's got the apartment cleared and training equipment set up again. Bucky's laid claim to the couch. It's too cold lately for him to get outside and stretch his wings as much as he'd like. Ethel's drug her bed over next to the couch to keep the braviary company. Only Sarah's overly active, running arouns Steve's feet in circles. Are they going to go running? IS he going to do inside training? Both?! Who knows?!
She positively jumps at the knock at the door.
"Grow grow grow!!!" OH BOY are there friends over? Steve. Steve! There's someone at the door!
"I heard it, already!" Steve laughs as he pulls the door open. "Hey there."
Today, however, Steve's got the apartment cleared and training equipment set up again. Bucky's laid claim to the couch. It's too cold lately for him to get outside and stretch his wings as much as he'd like. Ethel's drug her bed over next to the couch to keep the braviary company. Only Sarah's overly active, running arouns Steve's feet in circles. Are they going to go running? IS he going to do inside training? Both?! Who knows?!
She positively jumps at the knock at the door.
"Grow grow grow!!!" OH BOY are there friends over? Steve. Steve! There's someone at the door!
"I heard it, already!" Steve laughs as he pulls the door open. "Hey there."
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"It's...I don't like to eat in front of other people, is all." This time when Steve looks up, it's with a much more reserved expression. He likes Jim and trusts Jim, and it's not like Jim's seen him before to understand why he's so uncomfortable. "I've mentioned it before but I...didn't always used to look like this. Or live in a very prosperous time in American history. There was never enough to go around and I went hungry a lot of days. Coming here and getting a decent meal daily was just..unreal."
But despite the hesitance and discomfort, Steve's putting together a cold turkey and cheese sandwich out of the leftover ingredients for himself.
"It's hard to move past two decades worth of instilled frugality to properly feed myself now. It feels...wasteful. Even though I know it's not. It's especially hard when I'm with people who knew me before."
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Seeing that the other man is making himself another sandwich anyway is a small comfort, part of the anxious knot in his chest loosening, despite a whole new type of agitation taking hold. He can't talk about his own reasons. He can't. Even Hunter doesn't know it all, more than the basics of what happened, more than he should know. But he also can't just... sit here like a statue and let Steve think that he's alone. Not when his own neuroses are playing a part here, too.
No specifics. No names. People, places, nothing. Jim crosses his arms over his chest, uneasy but set on saying something. "I've gone without, before. Seen others... others too. Had to eat when I could." The less said about that, the better. It's been long enough, now, that he can shove those thoughts aside, force them to the background, well aware that they're going to come back with a vengeance the next time he closes his eyes at night. But James T. Kirk is nothing if not stubborn, and he continues, not making eye contact. The sooner he gets this over with, the sooner he can stop. "I have a... hard time, having food and not eating it. Or watching other people."
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Living on his own. Working with other abnormal people with similar needs as his. He had a place to belong, back in his world. The Accords took all of that away so now Steve lives here. Safest place to be, an entire half a dimension away from home. But the people here don't look at him and see Steve Rogers. They wonder what happened to the scrawny guy they used to call their friend.
Steve hasn't had to deal with that before in the years since he woke up.
"I see people who knew me when they could pick me up one handed." Steve stops talking then and takes a couple minutes to eat the sandwich he's made. Doing his best to be quick, efficient. Not to keep Jim waiting or staring at him. It's easier around the captain. He's only known Steve since he's come back. Jim isn't looking at him and wondering what happened to the man he used to know. "The way they look at me sometimes I dunno how to describe it. The eating thing was just one more thing that made it clear I was Different now. Easiest thing to fake."
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But the rest... yeah, he thinks he gets it. Enough of it, anyway. "Makes sense." He doesn't try to tell Steve that he's being irrational, or that he's got nothing to worry about, or that he's got to eat regardless of what other people think of him. Steve already knows all that shit. Knows how conscious, rational reasoning through the whole thing doesn't matter one bit against years of ingrained habit and anxiety.
After all, knowing that he can get something to eat whenever he wants, however much he wants, has never stopped Jim from hoarding food in every home he's ever known, no matter how temporary. It's never stopped him from completely clearing his plate at every meal, no matter whether he hates whatever's for dinner. Reason didn't get him there in the first place, and it sure as hell can't get him out of it again. Why waste words arguing otherwise when he knows all too well how little that will actually do here?
He's not quite looking at Steve - hadn't been, even before he'd mentioned the staring thing, this topic being one of Jim's least favorites to start with. But knowing that now, he definitely doesn't look up until that sandwich is gone, loathe to do anything - no matter how minor - to discourage Steve from eating his fill.
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"Come on." Jerking his head back toward the rest of the apartment and leading Jim back over to the corner. He stops at the coffee table though and picks up a leather bound notebook and pulls out a photograph that's tucked into the binding, handing it over to Jim. In for a penny, in for a pound. At least this way Jim will understand.
"That was me, before."
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It's a hell of a lot easier to understand why Steve would be so self-conscious about the whole thing. He must've had to at least triple his calorie intake, if not more. Taller, more muscle mass... hell, even his bone structure would have to be different to support the increased weight. You could never tell by looking at him now that he was anything other than the strong, healthy human he is now.
For one brief moment, Jim wonders if Khan ever looked anything like this before becoming an Augment, and quickly shoves that thought back down where it belongs. Don't say that to Steve, Jim. "Those growing pains must've hurt like a bitch," he says instead, handing the picture back.
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The only reason Khan's attack hadn't instantly killed him was because he hadn't considered Steve Rogers to be a threat. He'd only attacked the man at all for being the one to carry the holo transmitter Ghost had made to distract Khan and get him out into the open.
It wouldn't be the first time or the last he's nearly died for his beliefs, friends, and world. Steve doesn't regret the choice, even if sometimes he sees those pictures. Those sketches.
"Sometimes I don't feel like I'm me. This body isn't mine, you know? It's difficult to explain. It's one of the reasons I train so much. I always feel like I'm trying to adjust to someone else's reach."
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There's a lot about Khan's invasion that Jim still doesn't know and probably never will, but honestly, he's kind of fine with that. He's seen what one Augment is capable of already; his imagination can do the rest, thanks very much. No need to pry into someone else's trauma just to get confirmation of shit he's already guessed at, not unless it ever becomes tactically relevant, and he hopes to God it never is again.
Moving on is a small mercy. Jim may not have any personal experience with the kind of dysphoria Steve is talking about, but it's not hard to grasp the idea. The guy basically doubled in size overnight, it'd be more a surprise if that didn't mess with his head a bit. "Muscle memory biting you in the ass, huh. You ever forget how strong you are now?" he asks as he seeks out the wrist tape and begins wrapping his hands.
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Steve trails off with a furrow of his brow and focuses instead on setting up the punching bag in the corner of the room like it had been before. There were a few times he really hurt people without meaning to. Acting and working the USO might not have been what he wanted out of the army, but it might have done a lot of good. Letting him get used to his new body in Not a life or death environment.
"I broke a lot of stuff without meaning to." He settles on finally, with a small embarrassed smile. "The worst was getting stuck though. I couldn't slip around the way I used to and I wouldn't think. End up getting myself wedged somewhere stupid. God, Peggy laughed at me so much."
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