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It might’ve been a weird sight to anyone else, but Eliot Spencer had seen enough crazy things in his life he had come to re-evaluate exactly what weird entailed. As if his own team didn’t have their quirks, the Avengers were a whole other ball-game. Not that hanging out at Stark Tower for a while was a problem. The others seemed happy enough with it, he observed, as he glanced around the spacious room.
Hardison was off in the far corner, talking technological advancement with Stark himself. The hacker was in real awe of the things the billionaire had access too; he was like a kid at Christmas.
Parker was no less giddy at the secrets she had discovered. Barton and Romanoff kept themselves to themselves for the most part, but they had no problem showing off their skill set to the master thief. They had started executing flips and holds, practising stealth tactics on each other, until Parker got all excited over Clint’s bow and arrows. Stark had sent them somewhere safer then, and Eliot agreed with the decision.
Nate and Sophie were happily occupied too, the grifter more so than the mastermind. If she fawned anymore over Thor’s muscles if was going to get really embarrassing. As it was, Nate was pretending to be engrossed in conversation by Dr Banner, but his eyes kept on wandering.
As he reviewed the scene one more time, Eliot realised that his head count was coming up one short. It didn’t surprise him. Rogers had been quiet and distant since they arrived, like he was there but he wasn’t. Of all people, the hitter understood that feeling.
JARVIS would have told him where to find the missing Avenger, but Eliot didn’t feel he needed any help. He had an idea where he had headed, because it was where he would go himself in a similar situation. Too many people, too much pressure to be social or whatever. Guys like them just needed a little space sometimes, room to let off some steam.
A quick ride down in the elevator got him to the ‘fitness level’ without any fuss, and then Eliot just stood and watched for a minute as Rogers punched the hell out of a bag. This wasn’t a work out or a practise exercise. His eyes would’ve given him away if nothing else, not seeing what he was aiming at. Instead they saw memories long gone but burned deep. The way he moved was precise and almost automatic but fuelled by something so much darker than anyone could imagine.
“I don’t like to be stared at,” said Steve so suddenly that anyone else might’ve jumped, but not Eliot Spencer.
“Says the man that runs around in the stars and stripes,” the hitter drawled, re-folding his arms across his chest. “That ain’t exactly an inconspicuous look, Captain.”
Steve smirked at Eliot’s gall and let the darkness that had settled in his eyes fall away. The change was noticeable; not just there but in his whole stance as he dropped his guard some and stood back from the punching bag.
“Do they want me back upstairs?” Rogers checked. “I’m surprised any of them noticed I was gone.”
“I’m not a messenger,” the hitter confirmed with a shake of his head.
“No,” said Steve slowly as he watched Eliot move around the room, observing the equipment. “You’re a soldier... or you were.”
It was a statement, not a question, that much was clear. He was smart to spot that after so long, but then Eliot knew that kind of training never really left you, no matter where life took you next.
“Y’know, my Daddy talked about you,” he told the hero, turning back to face him with a smile that came naturally when he recalled the happier parts of his childhood. “Big war hero. Everybody’s saviour.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” Steve’s eyes dropped to the mat beneath his feet as he started to unbind his hands.
“I would,” he heard Eliot say, though he didn’t look up yet. “Of course, most people don’t understand that being a hero comes with a price.”
That did get Steve’s full attention. He glanced up to meet Eliot’s eyes and in his fellow soldier’s gaze he saw more than just an ally now, he saw kindred. War wasn’t about being a hero. Joining the army didn’t make you a great man, not the way those outside of the bubble looking in always seemed to think.
“The realities of war... I know its better that they don’t know,” said Steve, having to clear his throat before he could go on. “For every life you save, somebody else has to die, and it stays with you.”
“It does,” Eliot nodded his solemn agreement. “The blood is always on your hands, and the screaming and explosions... its always gonna be here,” he said, pointing an index finger into his temple. “I know.”
An understanding was made in that moment, without any more words being spoken, without hands shaken on a deal. It didn’t matter that one was a superhero that had been on ice longer than the other had been alive. It didn’t matter what awful crimes one had committed more recently, the red in his ledger as the agents here would call it. They were soldiers, brothers in arms, and they both understood what that meant.
“You tired of punching targets that don’t fight back yet?” asked Eliot with a smirk he couldn’t help.
“Yes, sir,” Steve replied with a similar look.
The world saw heroes when they looked at guys like them. When they looked at each other, Eliot and Steve saw the loss, the pain, the nightmares. It made the truth of it a little easier to bear, knowing they were not alone.