"So you've decided to intern at Stark Industries?" Schiller asked.
Peter gulped down a big spoonful of porridge, bit into a sausage, and mumbled while chewing, "Yeah. This way I can explain where my money's coming from. I told Uncle Ben that Stark Industries wants to secure my future employment. Not only will they pay me a big advance, they'll also cover my college tuition."
"And your uncle believed that?"
Peter nodded. "Uncle Ben's always known I've had good grades and a bit of a genius streak. Now that I've finally got this opportunity, he's really happy for me."
"But…" Peter put his bowl down, a little embarrassed. "Mr. Schiller, I was hoping to crash here for a few days. Our house is pretty old and run-down. After Uncle Ben and Aunt May got this money, they decided to do some renovations. The rain the other day even made the outer wall plaster start peeling off. They'll be staying with some old friends, but… I'm almost an adult now, so it's kind of awkward for me."
"You're welcome to stay," Schiller said. "But doesn't Stark Industries provide housing for interns? It's a bit of a trek from here to their headquarters."
Peter sighed. "Yeah, but it's even farther from Gwen's house."
Schiller smirked. "Let me guess— you tried to stay over at Gwen's place and got turned down, so now you're here."
Peter's face flared red. "I'd never make such an unreasonable request! I'd never say something like that to Gwen."
"You're more conservative than most Americans," Schiller teased, sipping his porridge.
Before they could finish breakfast, Steve walked in, sweat on his forehead from running over. He caught a whiff of the porridge and patted his stomach. "I've gotta say, doc, this smells a hell of a lot better than the food at S.H.I.E.L.D."
Schiller pointed toward the kitchen, and Steve went to help himself. Peter kept sneaking glances, cheeks stuffed like a hamster, whispering to Schiller:
"Who's that? He's really handsome— stronger than my high school football captain."
Schiller replied, "Obviously, that's the guy who beat up Stark. Though truth be told, he originally came to give you a beating— since you keep swinging around the New York skyline."
Peter nearly choked. When Steve returned with his bowl, Peter subtly shifted his chair further away.
Spider-Man had no chance of beating Captain America. And Peter, to his credit, knew it. He also knew his flashy antics had annoyed plenty of people. More than a few probably wanted to smack him around. Stark was one of them, and now, apparently, so was this mountain of a man—especially since he'd managed to floor Stark.
The moment Steve's gaze landed on him, Peter jumped up like he'd been shocked. "I..I'll just pack some porridge to bring to Matt at the hospital."
"I'd hold off if I were you," Schiller said. "Did you forget last time you walked in on Matt and his girlfriend in the same hospital bed? How awkward was that?"
Peter's face turned crimson again. He muttered, "It's a hospital… and Matt's still injured… they're the crazy ones…"
Steve quietly sipped his porridge, then asked Schiller, "This Matt—he's one of the 'good men' you talked about?"
Schiller nodded. "I'd go further. He's not just a good man. He's a true hero."
After Schiller briefly recounted Matt's life story, Steve sighed. "Maybe I fall short of him. Back when I was just an ordinary man, there were so many things I hated seeing, but I never had the courage to stop them. I knew I couldn't win those fights, and getting hurt would be too painful."
"Seeking benefit and avoiding harm is human nature," Schiller said. "That's why those who keep moving forward against the wind deserve the deepest respect."
When Peter stepped out, Steve lowered his voice. "That kid doesn't look like he has superpowers. In my time, even we wouldn't blush like a pizza just talking about girlfriends."
Schiller leaned closer. "A girlfriend alone isn't the problem. His girlfriend's father happens to be the NYPD Commissioner."
Steve winced. "You called him a lucky kid? Sounds to me like he's doomed with a father-in-law like that."
Later, when Peter returned from delivering food to Matt, Schiller wasn't there. Steve sat at the bar fiddling with an old record player. To Steve, who came from an earlier era, it was once a novelty; now it seemed outdated, and he couldn't figure out how to load the disc.
"You can't yank the tray like that—you'll break it. Give it here, I'll show you," Peter said, gently taking the disc.
Steve handed it over. "The doctor went to see that damned Stark for therapy. How old are you anyway? About to graduate high school?"
Peter shook his head while adjusting the machine. "Not yet. I'm only a sophomore."
"I heard from Schiller you got lucky and gained some special powers."
Peter frowned. "Lucky? Maybe I thought so at first… but not anymore."
"You're more mature than I expected. I thought you'd be bragging, or dying to show off."
"Maybe a month ago, I would've. Okay, here—you just press this button, and it'll play. Not many people use these anymore, but my uncle still has one, so I know how."
Steve pressed the button and smiled. "What about vinyl record players? I know those better."
Peter shook his head. "Too old. I only ever saw one once at my uncle's coworker's house, but the records always skipped, and no one could fix it."
"Bring it to me. I can fix it. I'm good with that stuff. Back in the army, these machines were treasures. If one broke, you'd hear wailing all over the barracks."
"You're military? I figured as much. You're definitely strong enough to be at least a Sergeant."
"Close enough," Steve said with a chuckle. "I led a special ops squad. Took them on missions."
Peter's eyes lit up. "You're Special Forces? Which unit—SEALs? Rangers?"
Steve grinned. "We liked to call ourselves the Patriot Squad. But I think you'd know us by a louder name."
"What name?" Peter asked curiously.
"Captain America and his Howling Commandos."
Peter's jaw dropped. "No way! You were part of Captain America's team?! That was nearly a hundred years ago! You—"
"Oh my god… so you must know Cap! Does that mean he's still alive?!"
Excited, Peter darted into the back room, rummaged through his backpack, and pulled out a collectible figurine. "Look! This is the newest promo figure from the soda company! I had to drink two whole cases just to get it. And it's the only one that actually comes with the shield. Everyone at the party last week was jealous—this beats breakdancing any day."
Steve squinted at the tiny figurine, turning it over in his hands. The head seemed loose, so he gave it a wiggle—only to snap it clean off.
Peter screamed, snatching it back. "Nooo! It broke!! Glue—I need glue! I spent two months collecting for this!!"
"Sorry… I didn't realize. I thought it was supposed to move," Steve said sheepishly.
Peter sighed. "It's fine. If you really are from seventy or eighty years ago, I guess toys back then were sturdier. Like Lego—you had Lego back then, right?"
Seeing Peter wasn't angry, Steve thought maybe Schiller's description of him wasn't completely accurate. Sure, the kid was jumpy and immature, but he clearly had potential.
"Take a closer look," Steve said. "Doesn't the face on that little figurine's head look familiar?"
Peter studied it. Despite its cheap quality, the carving was quite detailed.
Peter looked at the figurine, then at Steve. Figurine, then Steve. Again and again, until his eyes went wide and his jaw nearly hit the floor.
When Schiller returned carrying Pikachu, he walked right into the scene. Pikachu wiggled its tiny paws and muttered, "Looks like we interrupted Jack and Rose's long-awaited reunion…"
Schiller pinched its cheeks. "Told you to stop watching so many romance flicks."
Peter turned to Schiller, stammering: "He… is he… I mean… him… that's—?"
Schiller pressed the button on the player. An old, mellow tune began. Patting Steve on the shoulder, he said, "Cap, I think he wants proof. Am I right?"
Steve rapped his knuckles on the bar. "So where's my proof?"
A woman's melodic voice answered from inside: "On its way."
Before Peter could process, a gleaming red-white-and-blue shield with a star at its center flew in through the door. Steve snatched it out of the air with one hand.
"Awesome!" Peter gasped, eyes wide.
Leaning casually in the doorway, Natasha drawled, "Welcome back, Cap."
Steve tapped the shield. "So you planned this all along."
Schiller said, "Sentimental reunions can wait. Two days' worth of sessions—five million dollars total. When will the payment clear?"
Steve shot him a look. "You seriously plan on charging that much?"
"What did you expect? Letting you bug my office and freeload my meals—what, just because you're Captain America?"
"I thought we were friends," Steve said.
"Of course. If we weren't, five million would only buy you breakfast here."
Steve frowned. "And you charge Stark the same rate?"
"Next time, I'm charging him double."
Steve immediately turned to Natasha. "Pay him. And add a ten percent tip."