shieldborne | Timeskip ((fluff for a new friend))

Returning from his own world has been disorienting. So much happened, not the least of which is his re-transformation from Captain America to plain and simple (and short) Steven G. Rogers. He still owns the Clubhouse, though, and there's always going to be work to be done there. The kids have kept it up reasonably well in his absence, but the groceries needed restocking and some deep-cleaning and repairs have proven necessary.

There are a lot of modern treatments available for the ailments that have returned. He's not worried about pernicious anemia now, and far less concerned about asthma. The scoliosis and flat feet are a little bit of a problem still, alas, and after an hour of dusting under things and toting laundry, he's aching.

The weather is still warm, and so he sprawls on the front stoop of the Clubhouse, legs extended so he can stick his bare feet in the grass; he slouches against the wall and closes his eyes, but he's not so out of it that he won't notice someone passing close by.

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"Oh, plenty of those, too." Steve smiles. "I come from one of the bigger cities on my world."

He's curious where this kid comes from, if not a city or, evidently, a place where much grass grows, but it's pretty clear he's skittish. Maybe it's a good thing Steve's so much smaller now than he was a few months ago. It's been hard to adjust but for this first time in his life he's starting to see advantages.

"First time in the Nexus, huh? Hate to say it, but it only gets weirder. I don't mind helping if you have questions, though. You okay? Need anything to eat or drink?"

Definitely a good thing that Steve is smaller now. As he was before, he would have been too intimidating for Iris to even think about talking to. He was aware that humans could be plenty dangerous even if they were smaller, but that combined with just how personable Steve seemed... well it definitely had the kid's guard going down a lot quicker.

"I think the problem is I have so many questions-" He replied with a wry laugh, face flushing as offer of something to eat had his stomach growling noisily even as he opened his mouth to assure the man that he was fine.

"...Guess it's been a while since breakfast... maybe something to eat isn't a bad idea."

His lips quirk into a smile at the sound of that stomach-grumble. "Yeah, that sounded like a yes," he says with a little laugh. "Listen, if you trust me, you're welcome to come inside for a little while. I have a kitchen and I just restocked. I make the best pancakes ever, according to my pal, Bucky. He doesn't like anything else I make, but I take compliments where I can get 'em."

He gestures at the building behind him. "I own the place. I'm Steve, by the way. Steve Rogers."

"What are pancakes?" Whatever wariness the teen had? Forgotten utterly in the face of hunger and excited curiosity, clearly. He was really lucky that Steve was absolutely a nice guy.

"I'm Iris Black. It's nice to meet you, Mr. Rogers."

Really? No pancakes? What a sad world this kid comes from. Steve rolls forward onto his feet and stands up, stretching his arms over his head. "Mf! They're batter, cooked on a griddle, and then you cover them with butter and syrup, or fruit, or whipped cream, or all of the above. Is there anything you can't or don't eat? Allergies or anything?"

As far as he can tell, this is a human kid, but it never hurts to double check.

He offers a handshake and then opens the door behind him. "Nice to meet you, Iris. You can call me Steve."

Steve had no idea! "I know butter and fruit, we had some with breakfast sometimes but I don't think I've ever had syrup or whipped cream." Iris mused as he gave the grass one last passing pat with a hand before rocking to his feet. "No allergies though!"

The handshake... he'd seen them before! Never had chance to do one- the new doctors and staff that occasionally came into the Tower didn't shake hands with the Demiflora, so it was a bit gingerly that he took Steve's hand to shake. "Steve, right, okay!"

Quite content in the moment to follow Steve inside.

Steve's grip is not so strong as it used to be, but he's used to tempering his handshakes. His clasp is quite gentle. "Good! I think I'm a little hungry, myself. I'll fry up some sausage, too."

The building used to be a coffee shop or small restaurant of some sort, and the door they're entering through is the one that leads directly into the kitchen. There's an industrial fridge directly to the right, and then a door to a pantry with shelves full of dry goods. To the left is a long counter with various implements arranged tidily, and then a stove, a convection oven, and a microwave. There's a kitchen island in the center of the room, and a huge double-sink on the far wall, with another counter, upon which sits a half-full coffee pot.

"Pull up one of the stools if you want," he tells Iris. "And have a seat. Do you drink coffee? I have juice if you prefer."

It was likely a bit unusual for a teen boy to be so utterly fascinated with a kitchen of all things. And yet if Steve were to look, Iris was entirely intrigued, drifting one way and the other as he followed along, derailed utterly when he saw all the small appliances and tools on the table.

Pausing in giving the handle of the flour sifter a curious tone when Steve spoke again, a flush on his face as he snatched his hands back sheepishly to hurry over to where the man had been leading him.

"I've never had coffee. Mo- Madame said it would stunt our growth."

He's a strange boy, Steve thinks, but the bright fascination is so endearing, he can't help but watch Iris scurry around. He doesn't object to his investigation, and only looks amused when he blushes. "If you feel comfortable talking about it, I wouldn't mind hearing more about where you come from," he says. Because the more he watches the kid, the more he thinks it's not from a world or situation he himself would consider normal.

"...ehh, well, too much coffee isn't healthy for anyone, but one cup wouldn't hurt. It doesn't taste quite the way it smells, though. You'd probably want a lot of sugar and milk in it. I got used to drinking mine black when I was in the military."

He gets out a bowl and steps into the pantry to fetch the pancake mix, as well as syrup and a jar of raspberry jam, for variety's sake.

"I don't know how interesting it'd be in comparison to living in a huge city," Iris admitted with a small, sheepish laugh. "Not a lot of excitement in the Tower, but that's by design I suppose. Safer or something." He shrugged faintly as he perched on one of the stools, watching Steve with a keen interest in what he was doing. "The Seattle Tower's the first one so I guess they've had time to get everything right."

And boring, but he wasn't about to say that. Nope, not supposed to say anything against the Tower or the Madame when her eyes and ears were everywhere. Even in this place that ingrained caution was still there. But Steve would likely recognize that fledgling little bit of rebellion as he nodded slowly.

"Yeah you're probably right. Be a shame not to try it when I've got the chance though!" Iris caught the pot gingerly by the handle, tugging it closer to take a curious whiff, nose crinkling at how strong the scent was, gaze flicking back to the man curiously. "You were in the military?"

It made him feel a bit safer, honestly. Soldiers were who guarded the Tower from the Spawncampers after all.

Timeskip ((fluff for a new friend))

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