Man of Iron, Child of Magic

6

AUGUST 1

Steve had visited London once during the war, if you counted a stopover between New York and the Eastern Front as "visiting." He hadn't had time to see the sights then, though, so this morning, just as dawn crept over the city, he pulled on a T-shirt, track pants, and running shoes.

His morning run, planned with JARVIS' assistance, would take him all the way to Buckingham Palace and back, passing the Tower of London, the Houses of Parliament and Big Ben, Westminster Abbey, the Tate Gallery, Trafalgar Square and St. Paul's Cathedral along the way.

The route would take almost two hours, and he'd still likely be back before Tony and Harry were up. Certainly before Tony was awake, he acknowledged wryly, as the other man had spent much of the night in his workshop working on who-knew-what.

He paused at the door to his room. "JARVIS? Please alert security that I'm taking the stairs down."

"Done, Captain."

"Thanks," Steve replied and turned toward the emergency exit.

Fifty stories later, he pushed open the door to the alley behind the London version of Stark Tower. He turned toward the main street, only to be stopped by an excited yip.

He turned and saw a large black dog sitting by the trash bin, tongue lolling and tail wagging madly back and forth across the sidewalk.

"Hey, fella." Steve bent to scratch the dog's ears. Something about the dog seemed familiar, but he couldn't place it. He put that thought aside and addressed the dog as though it were a person. "Pretty sure you don't want to try to keep up with me. But if you're still here when I get back, I'll make sure you get a meal."

The dog yipped again and licked Steve's hand.

"Good boy." Steve rubbed the dog's head again and then set off.

Much to Steve's surprise, the dog met him two blocks from Stark Tower and Steve slowed his pace so it could keep up as he finished his run.

"Guess I owe you a meal," he said, scratching the dog's ears. "Be right back."

Steve headed in the main doors, and the dog tried to follow him.

"No," Steve told him, holding up a hand, palm outward. "Stay."

The dog whined, but sat near the door, his expression clearly showing he didn't like the order.

Steve made his way to the employee cafeteria and selected a couple of hamburgers and hot dogs, and a heaping pile of pancakes for himself.

Once he paid for them - at prices he would've expected in 1940 rather than 2020, which made him appreciate Tony's consideration for his employees - he headed back downstairs to the dog, who hadn't moved from where he'd left it.

"Good boy," Steve said. "Let's get out of people's way while we eat, huh?"

He led the dog - or, more accurately, herded the dog - back around to the alley where he'd first left the building and, setting the to-go container with his pancakes on a lidded trash can, placed the burgers and hot dogs on the ground. The dog didn't quite lunge for them, but it was close.

"I have no idea why the cafeteria has hot dogs and hamburgers this early in the morning," Steve told the dog as he patted its shoulder as it ate, "but I'm glad it does. You probably like those better than oatmeal or eggs."

The dog didn't stop eating, but its tail wagged madly.

Grinning, Steve picked up his carton of pancakes. He leaned against the wall, opened the carton, and began to eat.