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WHO: Steve Rogers v 1.Werewolf, Meeting up with Betty and OPEN
WHAT: Letting Betty risk her life to deliver a message and roaming around.
WHEN: Flexible
WHERE: City of Tomorrow
NOTES/WARNINGS: None, will update as necessary.

Betty:
He meets Betty, bright and early Thursday morning. He's dressed in the dark blues of shield, but it's not a uniform, it's his compromise to not standing out in vivid colors, without resorting to the harshness of black. He's nervous while he waits on her, wants to pace, wants to maybe change his mind and back out.

But it's Bucky. He needs to know Bucky's okay - or even just alive, since he's not stupid enough to believe okay, really okay, is even possible. It's not possible for Betty either, though. The conflict there is acute so the first thing he says when he spots her is, "You sure about this?"

Open:
Human:
Steve spends most of his days around City of Tomorrow. He's restless and anxious, and hanging around here is easier for him to do than waiting around in his own world. It stops him from micromanaging, wanting to hover, or clamp down and demand information updates every five minutes.

So he wanders the streets, pokes into McAran tower, grabs cheese fries and a burger at lunch and a steak for dinner. He checks into a coffee shop, has a drink there and even manages to spend a few minutes sketching.

Wolf:
When night falls, he stows his clothes somewhere safe and accessible enough, finds a private corner to change in and spends the night more obviously roaming and pacing - on four feet and with a thick coat of fur. He is, if anything, more into sticking his nose into things that are none of his business and places he doesn't belong.

Not that he belongs in the city at all.

He clearly isn't shy or reclusive, though, much less afraid. He'll approach people, and be reasonably happy to be approached by them.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

He is going to have a talk with Sam about the wisdom of taking home strays - might even manage it with a straight face - once he can talk again. For now he just sticks close, and trots along beside Sam all the way home. Good distraction for waiting on word from Betty about Bucky, anyway, and it's still Sam.

Once they're in the apartment he licks Sam's hand, has a look and sniff around, considers vaguely pretending to pee on his sofa but opts not to give Sam ammo to use later.

Then it's a confusing, messy, process that looks like a seizure for about half second and ends with Steve being Steve. "I need a pair of pants."

Hey, now, taking home strays has worked pretty well for him so far. More or less.

He's liking how it worked right now, too, considering he seems to have found himself a pretty decent companion. It's not like he was looking for a dog or anything, but he's not gonna say no to keeping this one around at least for the night.

Until that happens. There's a brief moment of panic - Sam's a medic, yeah, but he's got no idea what to do with a dog having seizures. Then Steve is standing there, and panic turns to what the hell.

His eyebrows shoot up as he just barely resists the urge to reach out and poke Steve, make sure what he's seeing is actually real.

"Oh, just a pair of pants, huh?"

He groans and pushes up to one knee but stays pretty crouched over. Looks up at Sam like this is the most normal shit in the world (there is nothing normal about this and he's actually feeling pretty damned exposed and vulnerable).

"Yeah. Just a pair of pants. I guess maybe a shirt would be nice, but pants first."

Priorities.

All right. The stray wolf-dog that Sam took home and was planning on feeding and maybe thinking about keeping turned into his best friend sitting naked on the floor, staring at him like there's nothing wrong with this scenario.

There's a lot wrong with this scenario, really. But most of it... well, most of it isn't all that important right now. Not when he knows Steve well enough to get the way he's feeling, so Sam doesn't tease him the way he's tempted to. Not yet, anyway. Sam can roll with this.

Still, he can't resist calling over his shoulder as he heads to grab some clothes. "What kind of terrible partner would I be if I didn't get you a shirt along with those pants, huh?"

When he returns, he's careful to keep his eyes on Steve's face as he sets a pile of boxers, pants, and shirt close by before he turns towards the kitchen. He busies himself with poking around in the fridge, giving Steve a little space to get dressed.

"How about you tell me what the hell while I make good on my promise of dinner, even if I did think I was promising it to my new best friend."

If Steve had to pick one reason for liking Sam, get all the various reasons down to just one, it might be his ability to roll with some seriously weird shit. Weird shit, chaotic shit, wild shit, Sam can roll.

The amount of awkwardness that saves....

He takes the stack of clothes and says, "Thanks," because he has manners. He spends a second or two deciding the only real way he can get dressed and not make things more uncomfortable is just to do it.

Then starts pulling on Sam's clothes.

"Uh." Right. The answer to what the hell. "Ran into a woman named Nightshade while I was looking for Bucky. She had her own ideas about what the ultimate soldier was and her own version of a serum to test out."

He... really did want food, and he thought about offering to sit up and beg for it just because it would be more 'normal' in some ways, but he really felt like Sam deserved an explanation.

But God, he hoped Sam kept rolling.

It's maybe just a little bit endearing when Steve gets flustered or awkward, but not like this. This is the serious stuff, the stuff that's better taken in stride until it's not quite so fresh.

And he's a little glad he's looking away when he hears the answer, because his first response is fuck. As if Steve hadn't already been through enough, of course the world's gotta throw more at him. ...and yeah, okay, maybe it's stupid to be protective of the guy who's a super soldier and has been a national icon for longer than Sam's been born, but there it is. Sam came to terms with it a long time ago.

"Damn. How long ago was this?"

Either Steve's been keeping a hell of a secret from him, or it's a pretty safe bet to assume that Steve isn't exactly from his world, kind of like the Barnes he'd met here. Sam'll hold off reacting too much until he learns which one for sure - but honestly, far as he can tell so far, it's still Steve.

It's pretty ridiculous for anybody to be protective of him, but Steve's got his own brand's of ridiculous and it's not too aggravating coming from Sam, most of the time. He's not real interested in seeing strong reactions right now, though. Mostly because he's even less interested in having one.

"It's only been a couple of months. I ran into her while I was off looking for Bucky." He shrugs and pulls the shirt down further. "So, about that food."

He's not shutting down the conversation, just throwing open an escape hatch for the conversation. If Sam wants or needs it.

As far as Sam's concerned, Steve could use someone to feel protective over him - although it's more Steve's emotional and mental well being that Sam tends to feel protective over. It just sounds weird when he puts it like that, so he just keeps it to himself.

He watches Steve out of his peripheral vision for a moment, trying to decide how uncomfortable Steve is with the topic at hand.

"I got chicken, pork chops, or steak, your choice." There's another brief pause, then he adds, "If you don't wanna talk about it, man, I get it. I'll let it go. But you know I'm always here if you need me, yeah?"

"Yeah, I know."

He does. That's one of the things about Sam. There's not much there to get him riled up, maybe, which isn't much like most of the friendships he's had - but he doesn't doubt that Sam's got his back.

He hopes like heck that Sam knows the sentiment's returned.

"There's not a whole lot to say about it, at least not from where I'm standing." That's true. It's just a thing that happened and is. "What's gonna be the easiest thing for you to turn into food, and can I do anything to help?"

Sam keeps watching him for a moment longer, but he's satisfied that Steve actually believes that and isn't just giving him the brush off. So he nods.

"All right, point, I guess on the scale of weird shit that happens in our lives, you turning into a wolf is... nah, I gotta be honest, it's up there, man. But it's nothing I can't roll with, long as you're rolling with it."

He turns his attention back to the food, considering. "Steak, probably, it just needs some seasoning and I can drop it on the heat. Can you put the rest of that back in the fridge for me while I get these on?" He hesitates for a moment, then asks, "Are you, uh. Are you okay with me asking some questions about it?"

He immediately went to work clearing up int he kitchen, getting things put away. It kept him busy, made him feel useful, and it was a hell of a lot more him than standing around while somebody else prepared a meal for him, even if that somebody was Sam.

"You can ask whatever you want." He glances up when he says that, so it's clear that he's not avoiding looking at the other man. Then it's back to work. "I'm not telling people at home, but there are reasons for that and not many of them apply to you, anyway."

Things like, oh, Captain America being a fucking werewolf and the firestorm that would happen if media caught wind of it. Sam? Never going to be an issue. Tony? Big issue.

It's almost domestic, the two of them moving around together in the kitchen like this, which is both unsettling and comforting at the same time. It's not like he and Steve haven't lived in the same place for a while now, it's just... it's just this is nice, really. He's just gonna let it be nice, and not worry too much about it other than that.

Sam ducks his head a little as he focuses on seasoning the meat in an even layer, trying not to let himself be too appreciative about that. Sure, he knows that he and Steve share some things with each other that they maybe wouldn't share with others, that they trust and support each other, but it's one thing to know that and another to hear Steve actually imply it.

"Ain't like I got anyone to spill shit to, anyway. Except maybe the birds, I save all my best secrets for them." He can't resist throwing in a little joke, shooting Steve a soft smile before he gets on with the actual questions. "Just how werewolf are we talking? Are we gonna have to start worrying about full moons and silver bullets?"

Steve's pretty aware of the domesticity of the scene, too, but he's not going to remark on it either. It's more reassuring than it might've been without the wolf influence, though, and that's say something. Probably something to do with dens and pack, but he's really not all that inclined to think too hard about it.

He finishes up putting things away and parks himself against a counter and more or less out of Sam's way, and gives a low, kind of amused, snort. "No more than you'd have to worry about any other kinda bullet." Which, you know, is true enough, really. He heals, he's impressive, but he's not bulletproof. "As far as I can tell, I'm basically the same as I was, except I can turn into a wolf. Senses got jacked up some more, though." A pause and - "Yeah, full moon makes changing ...not optional."

Sam snorts in return, shooting him a little teasing smile. "So keep on covering your ass when we go charging into things but don't get paranoid, got it."

He sets the steaks on the stove top grill, leaning against the counter as he considers that.

"Huh. All right, then, note to myself: maybe start showering a little bit extra. So what about..." He pauses as he tries to figure out how to ask 'so is it like those werewolf movies where the dude goes all crazy' without actually saying that. "I mean, tonight it seemed like you were still pretty much you, just as a wolf. Is it different if it's not optional?"

"Sounds about right. Maybe cover my ass a little more literally and start stashing pants around, just in case." Is he self-depreciating? You bet your ass he is, because he's Steve. Also because it might come in handy.

His eyes track from the steak, then back to Sam's face and he shrugs a little. "Doesn't seem to make any real difference. Guess I'm a little... hotter tempered, more likely to react first and think later." Which - well, maybe of that what you will, Sam. Which leads him back around to - "Why would you shower more?"

You don't smell bad, Sam. You smell -

Okay, that's awkward, but good. Part of what feels good about this place.

All right, he can't help but laugh at that, sudden and soft and grin going wide. "Mmm, I think I can handle that. Not all that much to cover, really." There's a glint in his eye as he throws some sass back, though he manages to hold off from adding in something about the view.

"Good to know. All right, yeah, I got this. I've handled 'my best friend is a super soldier from the stone age' for a while now, I can handle throwing wolf in there, too. Give me a head's up if things start getting... I don't know, worse? Weirder? Whatever." His brows furrow a little at Steve's question, and he shrugs one shoulder. "You know, the sense of smell thing. Not all of us are the run thirteen miles without breaking a sweat type."

"Keep calling it the stone-age, Mister, and I'm gonna start communicating with points and grunts." Which was teasing. He was smiling when he said it, his tone was warm. His smile's maybe not as certain since he's still feeling - pun not intended - exposed, but it's Sam and the warmth is just a thing that's there, with him. He couldn't turn that off hif he tried.

He blinks a little at the rest, though, and the smile fades a bit. "...I promise you, Sam, any soap you use is gonna bothr my nose a heck of a lot more than you smelling like you,."

That gets another chuckle out of Sam. "Now that I'd almost like to see." It's always been so damn easy between them, right from the very beginning, and Sam's almost grateful to see that's apparently still true even when Steve's revealing that he's a werewolf.

Granted, Sam'd always thought he'd be open minded and judgement free - more or less - about anything Steve wanted to share with him, but he hadn't quite counted on werewolf.

His brows pinch a little when Steve's smile slips, though, because he isn't a hundred percent on what'd made that happen, and he hadn't meant to kill the teasing mood. Which means he's definitely going to try to bring it back. "You got it, I'll scratch that off the list. That sounds almost like a compliment, man, you saying I smell good?"

...all right, he'd maybe slipped a little closer to flirting banter than teasing there, but it's not like he hasn't done that before.

He arches an eyebrow at Sam for the first, implying heavily that if Sam's going to make it a dare, Steve's going to pick it up. Smart people can walk away from dares. It's not a kind of intelligence Steve has. Has ever had. Is likely to ever have.

The rest... Good news: Steve wouldn't recognize flirting if it walked up and kissed him square on the lips. The bad: He still gets a little uneasy in response to the question, because he's aware of his own feelings and that he's maybe exposing them here. He overcompensates, and looks Sam square in the eye. "Why do you think I'm so comfortable being here? Smells like you."

His grin just widens a little at that arched eyebrow. Sam likes to think that he does have the kind of intelligence that makes him being able to walk away from a challenge. Sometimes. But mostly, nah, that's one place he and Steve are a little too similar, and he's kind of looking forward to seeing what Steve does with it.

And then Steve says that.

Sam's eyes widen a little in surprise. He hadn't actually expected Steve to get all direct like that, though in retrospect, he probably should have. He swallows a little, just the smallest bit off balance. It's a hell of a lot easier to be charming and flirty when he doesn't have a stake in anything, or when he can convince himself it's just silly banter. He loses his game a little when he's got Steve looking at him like this, open and honest. Maybe because it forces him to admit that it does mean something, at least to Sam.

But he doesn't look away, or try to take it back to light and teasing. Instead he angles himself a little closer, smiling at Steve soft and sincere. "Wish I'd known that earlier, I've been trying to figure out the best way to get you comfortable and relaxing a little since I first met you. Gonna have to try to rope you into coming around here more often."

Steve doesn't back down but he doesn't get any closer, either. He keeps an eye on Sam, tries to sort out a response to that that won't make Sam cut, run, or feel ... what? obligated? Put on?

In the end, he just doesn't know, but wolf-nature and Steve nature combine to have him finally leaning lightly against him. "You need to spend less of your time worrying about me." Not that he's not grateful; he is. He just worries bout Sam back and doesn't want to be Sam's problem.

Kind of the opposite of what he wants, actually.

His expression lights up, just a little, when Steve leans against him like that. He doesn't exactly realize he's doing it, but he knows the way it makes him want to shift closer - and he tells himself that Steve's just being friendly, that he shouldn't push it.

But he still stays where he is for a long moment. "Don't think of it as worrying, just think of it as me wanting you to be happy. Anything I find out that's gonna do that is good in my book."

Especially when it involves something about Sam himself, or something Sam can do. He leans over to flip the steaks, giving a chuckle to bring himself back to the more comfortable banter as he asks, "We can add one more to the list, how do you like your steak?"

Push it, Sam. Steve's being more than friendly, even if he doesn't quite know it, and he's more into physical contact than he's ever been. More tactile, more willing to seek it out. Which means he leans, Sam leans, and Steve leans a little bit harder, before Sam moves to deal with the steaks.

"Still seems pretty unbalanced to me. How about you start sharing some of the things that make you happy?" Otherwise, it's just not fair. Not that his only motivation for wanting Sam happy and to do for him is Steve's sense of fair play.

Not even close.

He shakes his head with a self-depreciating snort. "I'm gonna go for medium and not gross you out, but if it ever saves you work in the future, you could toss it to me raw and bleeding and I'd eat it."

If it was anyone else, or maybe under different circumstances, Sam'd probably be more eager to push. But Steve means a hell of a lot to him, more than he's willing to admit, and it makes him falter, just a little. Not enough to be able to resist touching Steve every opportunity he gets, though.

"Woulda been more grossed out if you said well done, man, I couldn't do that to a piece of meat this beautiful. How about we say rare?"

He pulls out a pair of plates before he goes back to that first question, looking back over at Steve. "I'm not the one who said they didn't know what made them happy, can you blame me for wanting to change that?" He'd meant it to be teasing, and it comes out light, but his smile is a little too soft and genuine to really sell it.

"But yeah, all right, it's an easy question. Flying makes me happy. Running, even when some jerk decides to chase me around and make fun of me. Listening to music, a good glass of wine. Cooking."

Sam bumps Steve's shoulder playfully with his, lingering against it. "This makes me pretty damn happy."

He doesn't bump back so much as he leans back, then moves to grab silverware, even though he has to guess at where it'll be, and take his plate. "I'm not saying that I blame you." Blame's a nasty word, implies that there's some kind of resentment there, and there's not.

There is, however, a little envy at how easily that answer comes to Sam. "Just that maybe it isn't the most balanced thing in the world." Isn't fair to Sam is still what he means. "You want to eat this at the table?" Tell him where to go, Falcon.