[Steve pauses before opening the door, giving Clint a look that isn't admonishing so much as understanding, but he goes into the place without a word. It's sprawling, the building's entire top floor, and looks all the more barren for its size. Steve's never had this much space to himself in his life. He has no idea how to fill it.
The rooms bleed into each other through double-wide open doorways, and his bed is positioned in a far corner that gives him a view of every window and the front door. One of the rooms has nothing but weights and a punching bag. Another, a couch and half-filled book shelves. A closed door leads to the bathroom. The kitchen is probably the second most used space, after what would be an office if Steve did any kind of business. Instead, the room is a studio, and the handiwork from it provides one of the few things that give the apartment any kind of character beyond abandoned.
Paintings, portraits and landscapes done in pastels and ink. The city, its parks and people. There are some half-finished sketches of repeated faces - one of them being Howard Stark's, similar enough to Tony to stand out - and then Peggy. Over and over again, depictions done with the sharpness of a photograph or a blade. Peggy in a red dress, Peggy in her uniform. One doodle of Peggy throwing a glass of wine in Howard Stark's face, though the latter is grinning. Memories made into photos Steve himself doesn't have.
He walks past them without pausing, into the kitchen to turn on the sink and stick his head under the faucet. He scrubs a hand through his hair, enjoying the cold and sputtering water before he calls back to Hawkeye.] Make yourself at home. There's drinks in the fridge - no beer, but it doesn't do much for me.
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The rooms bleed into each other through double-wide open doorways, and his bed is positioned in a far corner that gives him a view of every window and the front door. One of the rooms has nothing but weights and a punching bag. Another, a couch and half-filled book shelves. A closed door leads to the bathroom. The kitchen is probably the second most used space, after what would be an office if Steve did any kind of business. Instead, the room is a studio, and the handiwork from it provides one of the few things that give the apartment any kind of character beyond abandoned.
Paintings, portraits and landscapes done in pastels and ink. The city, its parks and people. There are some half-finished sketches of repeated faces - one of them being Howard Stark's, similar enough to Tony to stand out - and then Peggy. Over and over again, depictions done with the sharpness of a photograph or a blade. Peggy in a red dress, Peggy in her uniform. One doodle of Peggy throwing a glass of wine in Howard Stark's face, though the latter is grinning. Memories made into photos Steve himself doesn't have.
He walks past them without pausing, into the kitchen to turn on the sink and stick his head under the faucet. He scrubs a hand through his hair, enjoying the cold and sputtering water before he calls back to Hawkeye.] Make yourself at home. There's drinks in the fridge - no beer, but it doesn't do much for me.