shieldborne | Blue Boyscouts

Blue Boyscouts

The dimensional distortion over London is being observed by more than one agency--including SHIELD, Interpol, the US military and dozens of others--but it's exceedingly difficult to plan or determine what to do about it, since things are happening so quickly. In the US, especially, the only things that can be done on short notice are to try to monitor the ripples from that distortion that fall within American territories, and to offer a hand (and an armed guard) to anyone or anything thrown through the temporary gateways.

Steve is on duty for this, because he's always on duty, and no one is surprised. He's got part of the STRIKE team at his back, but he's the first and fastest to get to the street after there are reports of light and sound and inexplicable flotsam tumbling out of nowhere into Georgetown, a quarter-mile from the edge of the Potomac, riding in fast on his motorcycle and coming to a halt beneath a churning, iron sky.

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While Clark is in some ways wary, he feels like he can trust that Steve doesn't mean him any harm. That he wouldn't lead him back into a proverbial wolf den. So he's perfectly willing to cooperate, not wanting to exacerbate a situation needlessly when so far everyone has been helpful and calm in regards to him.

He's not entirely sure where Fury's opinion on him falls, but he's still respectful when he's brought into the conversation, reassuring the man as well as he's able to that he means no harm to anyone. He's not sure how he'd been pulled here, but he's not one to cause trouble so they'll have no worries from him. Granted he's pretty sure that his word alone won't convince Fury, but it seems Steve is willing to speak in his favor, which he definitely appreciates.

And while it was doubtful they had a cell that could keep him if he really wanted to escape, he was glad that the conversation steers from that sort of thing. Surprised that Steve is willing to open his home so readily, but he's once again grateful to the man, and readily accepts the offer.

The cell design they had set up for the Hulk, which instead ended up in use on Loki and then Thor, is probably still they best they've got. And while it did a reasonably good job on the Asgardians, it likely wouldn't be effective on Clark unless, ironically, he consented to be held there.

There's just only so fast you can go in an interdimensional, interplanetary arms race. Humans are a little bit outflanked. They're really quite fortunate he's friendly.

And perhaps they're also fortunate that Steve is as friendly as he is. It seems wise to give Superman the best possible impression of the people he's landed amongst. Kindness is never a waste, and it can be strategic, but Steve is sometimes a simple man. He sees a strange sort of kinship here, and maybe a little responsibility.

So, it's a couple hours later that they arrive at Steve's apartment building. He goes up the hall slowly, glancing at one of his neighbors' apartments in case she's around (she's a nurse--cute, and nice; he's not smitten, but he's interested). No such luck, but he's not too disappointed, and he lets Clark in with a sigh. The furnishings are mostly vintage, with a few modern twists, and it's very tidy, except for the paintings and art supplies scattered around the living room.

"So, I wouldn't say I'm a great cook, but I can pull together some hamburgers. Or order a pizza. You hungry?" Wait, does he even eat human food? Nah, he must eat human food if he's lived on Earth for a lifetime...

Luckily for all involved that everyone is willing to see reason. And it doesn't hurt that Clark, for all he's seen and all he's fought was still almost desperately optimistic about people. Easily giving the benefit of the doubt that at their core, people wanted to be good. It made those exceptions to the rule that much more bewildering and painful to deal with, but at the same time it served him well in making new friends, or allies.

Not that it ever took him long to see allies as friends in the end.

And subtle or not, he definitely noticed the way Steve's attention fixed on the other apartment's door even for a brief moment before they were passing by, piquing that curiosity that he didn't think he'd ever really shake. A friend's apartment perhaps? Or- no not with that sort of sigh, that was definitely the home of someone Steve was interested in. It told him a little bit about the man, helped to paint a bit more of a complete picture, as did the apartment he was led into. Neat, but not oppressively so, with signs of life here and there in the art supplies that he could see. Homey, in a sense.

"Burgers sound amazing. I'm so hungry I could probably eat the whole cow myself at this point." Only slightly exaggerating. He was lucky that the majority of his power came from the sun rather than food, or he'd never be able to stop eating. As it was he already had more than his fair share of a healthy appetite. "If you've got a spare set of clothes I can borrow I can give you a hand in getting something fixed up if you'd like."

He had some money on him, tucked in a safe slot in the belt he wore, along with another pair of glasses, so if money was the same here, he could hopefully just go pick some clothes of his own up later. But in the meantime what he was wearing wasn't really well-suited for downtime.

Steve inherently sees people as a mixed bag. There's a little good in most people and a little bad in all people, and it's not his place to judge either way. Still, if he can seek out and encourage what's good in the people around him, he will.

One of the more notable aspects of Steve's home is all the books. He's got shelves full of them, some novels, some philosophy, poetry, war diaries--all sorts of things. There's also a record player, and a radio. There's a TV, too, but it looks less used than those.

He laughs a little at Superman's enthusiasm. "That's figurative, right? You don't really need that much food? Any dietary restrictions?"

Honestly, his appetite is pretty significant, as well. He alternates good-sized, healthy meals with days where he eats like an Olympic swimmer in training. Or a climber on Everest. They might need to get groceries stat, but for tonight they should be fine.

"I can do clothes. We're probably...not too far from the same size," he looks him over thoughtfully. Superman is a little taller and a little broader, but not so much that Steve's exercise clothing won't accommodate him, he thinks.

He leads the way into his bedroom, which looks a bit more lived in than the other rooms. It's still pretty neat, with clothing put away and the bed made with great precision, but there's a stack of books on the nightstand, an MP3 player, and noise-cancelling headphones. Steve ducks into his closet and gets out one of the larger t-shirts he owns, a hooded fleece jacket, and a pair of sweat pants. "See how these work? The guest room's the next room over. I'm gonna change, too."

It's always telling what a person keeps in their home, especially what they keep on their shelves. So Clark can't help but be curious as he skims the titles, noticing the variety there. As well as the record player, not a thing he's used to seeing in homes anymore. Hell, even the one his mother had gotten from her own family was tucked safely in it's box in the attic at this point. Odd, but charming to see one out and in use.

"Thankfully figurative, but on some days I come close." He admitted with a cheerfully abashed smile. "No diet restrictions though and I'm not picky, so whatever's on the menu I'm good to go." They'd definitely need groceries, no doubt about it.

It was definitely questionable if any shirts would fit him. If there was one thing Clark was, it was broadly built, something that most just teasingly attributed to being a 'good ol farm boy' which he wasn't one to try and dissuade. He accepted the offered clothes with a smile and thanks, heading to the indicated room to see about changing. Not at all surprised the shirt didn't fit (it looked a bit snug for Steve even), he didn't bother trying to force the issue, just glad that the jacket fit enough to fasten up, and that the pants fit reasonably well.

It didn't take too long for him to come out, slipping his glasses on as he went, with a faint, wry grin.

"Definitely will have to go find someplace to get some clothes sometime soon." Even if it would be one hell of a task with those shoulders of his.

Steve likes his anachronisms. He's forgotten that his houseguest isn't aware of his own backstory, so he doesn't think to explain them right away. It will likely come out sooner or later, though.

He emerges in jeans and a blue button-down, which he's tucked in neatly. Two thirds of Steve's wardrobe is some shade of blue. He likes it that way. "Okay, pal," he laughs again. "I'll see what I can do. If I don't have enough food in the house, we can always make a run for takeout."

Heading for his kitchenette, he gets down two glasses and pulls out a gallon jug of milk. This is what he's drinking, evidently. "Do you want some of this, or something else? I have apple juice and coca-cola."

He does a mild double-take after that, though, because of the glasses. "Do you actually need those, or are they for show?"

"Milk's fine by me." Even with his ridiculous metabolism, Clark's always tended to eat fairly healthy. Influence of his parents more than likely, but it still stands.

The question about the glasses just earns a faint chuckle as he reflexively reaches to adjust them. "A little of both. Force of habit more than anything at this point, but when I was younger they were a good help in keeping my heat vision from getting out of control."

Puberty was hard enough without risking burning down the school every time he talked to a girl he had a crush on after all.

Steve occasionally keeps beer or hard cider around, but he's not a big drinker. It doesn't do anything for him, so unless it tastes great, he tends not to bother. And today he's got nothing but soft drinks. He fills a glass for each of them, then starts getting out things to cook with: the meat, the rolls, mushrooms and onions...

"They kind of suit you," he says artlessly, smirking. "But I gotta be honest, I'm glad I don't have eyeballs that can weld steel. God, I remember the first couple times I tried to run after the serum--I was actually born pretty normal, a little sickly, but I volunteered for an experiment--it was like I couldn't control my body. All engine, no brakes. I pitched right through a shop window, running down the street."

Clark can understand that. When he was younger, alcohol might have worked if he drank enough, but as he got older, something shifted and it just got less effective. Not that he much cared for the idea of being drunk, so in the end it wasn't such a bad thing.

"Trust me when I say it made school really awkward." Clark replied with a grin of his own, brows lifting. "Couldn't talk to the girl I liked without almost torching the school. No one saw, but the rest of the year was full of fire safety assemblies because of it."

It was... nice, in some ways to talk about this, especially to someone who it seemed had a similar deal with learning their abilities. Similar experiences even if the source was different and Steve had been older dealing with them.

"Buddy, you just explained most of my childhood. I'm pretty sure all my parents grey hairs were because of my learning my speed, strength, or flying. That was a fun one to figure out when you're not even in second grade."

It's just possible that Steve is the dangerous bad boy compared to Clark. He would love to be able to get drunk again. Not that he ever made a big habit of it when he could, but there are nights that seem endless now, and days when his nerves are rattled and he can't soothe the adrenaline down after a fight. He punches things, instead of drinking, until he works himself to exhaustion, but temporary oblivion in a bottle is tempting.

Too tempting, maybe. Maybe it's just as well it doesn't work.

"Are you serious? And I thought puberty was awkward under normal circumstances." He's both impressed and sympathetic. And wants to laugh, but that seems rude.

"You started flying in second grade. Damn...I was still trying to--never mind." Not a happy story there. "But if I could have flown I'd have been up on the Chrysler building petting the eagle statues by the time I was twelve."

"Trust me, puberty only gets worse when you've got heat vision." Clark wouldn't be insulted if Steve did laugh, given he was already chuckling a bit himself at the memory. "Capped it all off when I started being able to see through walls and hearing really well."

He shook his head at the memory of his first flight, running a hand through his hair.

"Honestly it was pretty terrifying. Wandered outside in the morning, half asleep to see if dad needed help with the cows and all the sudden I'm floating over the barn. Didn't know how to move around, or more importantly how to get down."

"Jesus, you have x-ray vision, too? You should come with a tag listing all your superhuman abilities. Do not remove under penalty of law." He's joking. If, in fact, someone tried to require Superman or anyone like him to wear such a tag--especially under penalty of law--Steve would fight them, without question.

He places the vegetables on the nearest cutting board and gestures invitingly, letting Clark know if he wants to help, he's welcome to slice them. Steve himself starts making up burger patties and puts them in the pan to cook.

"Okay, that does sound scary. What did your parents do?"

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Blue Boyscouts

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