fandomtownies | The Parking Lot, Thursday Afternoon

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The Parking Lot, Thursday Afternoon

Steve's Harley had been acting up a little lately, so Steve had decided to channel some of his extra...energy into fixing it. Which was how he found himself crouched in the parking lot next to said motorcycle, wielding a wrench and wearing an old t-shirt and jeans despite the fact that it was February, because he didn't get cold and saw no reason to mess up perfectly good clothes when he didn't have to, especially considering he couldn't seem to accomplish these sorts of repairs without winding up half-covered in grease.

((Expecting one for wanton cruelty to teen supergeniuses on behalf of the universe, by which I of course mean we the players, but open parking lot is, of course, open. And now my spamming of town shall cease.))

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Well, certain teen super-geniuses were going for a second run of the day since he couldn't keep working on the suit or calling Stephanie.

So, running it was.

Until there was abrupt stopping. And very concerning thoughts about teachers that should not exist in any sane--and decidedly straight--minds. "Hi."

Steve turned without rising from his crouch or setting down the wrench and warmly smiled up at Tony. "Tony, hi," he said, very pointedly not thinking about the last time he'd run into a Tony Stark while things were like this on the island, because this one was a minor. "Out for a run?"

He had grease smeared on his arms, Tony. His muscular, manly arms.

DAMN IT, STEVE (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5tuEaG-buvo).

"Yeah," he replied clearing his throat and finding a different place to look. OH, A BIKE. "It seemed like a good idea."

Steve's bike! There were pieces of it scattered on the pavement at the moment, in fact. Hence the wrench. And the grease. "Yes, that does sound like a good idea," Steve agreed. "It's important to stay in shape." And let off excess energy. Steve was currently clocking thirty miles a day. Ahem.

"Did you need help?" WHY WAS HE ASKING THAT?

Steve looked around at the various pieces of motorcycle. He actually could use another pair of hands, but there was the possibility that his motorcycle would somehow wind up with power brakes to consider.

Or able to fly.

Also there was the...other factor. He knew he should just say no, but he did hate to just blow Tony off. "Do you know anything about motorcycles?" he asked a little dubiously.

"In theory." A beat. "I've never built one at least."

"Of course," Steve said vaguely. Then, before he could think better of it, he asked, "Could you hand me that 3/16ths socket?" At the very least he could trust Tony to know his way around tools.

Not dirty.

No, it was just made of awkward. Made of it.

Tony grabbed the requested wrench without needing to investigate too closely. "Just, uh, maintenance?"

"I think it's the carburetor," Steve said as ~~his forearms flexed~~ he unscrewed something. "Actually, it's definitely the carburetor, the question is whether I can fix it or I have to find a new carburetor for a '49 Panhead." He shot a wry half-smile at Tony and said, "Always a fun job."

DAMN IT, STEVE. WE'VE BEEN OVER THIS (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5tuEaG-buvo).

"I could find one!" He was a billionaire, Steve. And would pretty much offer to do anything right now. WHAT?

HE CAN'T HELP IT, THEY'RE JUST MUSCULAR, OKAY?

"That's a nice offer," Steve said, "but I have a couple of parts guys I can talk to, they haven't let me down yet."

Also he was worried Tony would show up with some modern emissions-limiting monstrosity. He was a motorcycle purist, okay?

Just because he made a minivan fly and armed it with missiles...

"If you're sure..."

"Maybe if my sources come up dry I'll get back to you," Steve said as he carefully removed another piece of motorcycle.

Don't hold your breath, Tony. He does not want his Harley armed with missiles.

He'd be sorry when AIM attacked his bike and it couldn't defend itself!

Tony crouched down, keeping his eyes firmly on the scattered parts. "Billionaire and all," he added. "Not that you didn't... know that."

Shut up, Tony.

"Yes," Steve agreed, smiling mostly at his bike. "I did know that." He'd finally gotten to the part he needed, and, as he turned it over in his hands, concluded, "Okay, I think this is fixable."

"Might want to find a part anyway. In case it can't be the next time." And Tony had the urge to buy things and say things that were obvious.

...oh god, he was Topher.

"Hm, probably," Steve agreed. "I'll look into it." Meaning Tony didn't have to. He turned the part in his hands and said, "There's the problem, see?" tapping a ~~handwavey~~ section ~~because lol like I actually know anything at all about engines~~.

HE STILL WOULD, STEVE. IT WAS A SICKNESS.

"You could reinforce it easily," Tony said, letting SCIENCE! take over his brain. "Probably even make one from scratch with better materials."

And then a GPS. And missiles. And maybe flamethrower.

"No," Steve said, smiling fondly, almost nostalgically, "I don't want better materials. I like my bike the way it is. But it could do with reinforcing."

You know what that means, don't you, Tony? That means welding.

AND NO GPS.

"I have a plasma welder or two that I could spare," he offered. Possibly with puppy eyes.

GPS WAS THE WAVE OF THE FUTURE.

Oh, God, the puppy eyes. "I think a plasma welder might be overkill. I'll probably just ask Dean over at the scrapyard if he can do it." And, you know, crush all of Tony's hopes and dreams.

STEVE DOESN'T LIKE THE FUTURE. THAT'S WHY HE HAS A MOTORCYCLE FROM 1949.

"But I can do it too!" HE'LL BUILD YOU A NEW BIKE, STEVE. WITH BLACKJACK AND HOOKERS. SO HELP HIM.

"No, really, Tony," Steve said, smiling sort of encouragingly. "It's okay."

You can't fit hookers on a bike, Tony. They're too big.

HE COULD SO.

"If you're sure..." He'd so do it anyway.

"If it turns out I need your help I'll let you know, okay?" Steve asked. "How's that sound?" Would it keep him from coming down here one day to discover his bike now had wings?

...possibly.

"That could work, I guess." And now he was noticing Steve's arms again. WHY?

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The Parking Lot, Thursday Afternoon

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