Chapter Text
"Seriously, man, you don't need to stay here, this is boring as hell anyway," Sam tells him.
"Right." Steve rolls his eyes. "As if I'd leave you alone at the hospital with a possibly broken ankle."
Sam scowls. "It's not broken."
"Let the X-Ray decide that," a nurse popping up out of nowhere says. It's three am so the waiting room is pretty empty, and she's brought a wheelchair with her. "Sam Wilson?"
"That's me." Resigned, Sam gets into the wheelchair, graciously not commenting on Steve hovering around him like a fretting parent, ready to catch him should he falter. "But seriously, you don't need to come with me for this, too. Go get some coffee or something."
Steve takes that to mean that Sam feels emasculated being trailed everywhere, and also possibly Sam's pride is injured because he hurt himself while they were running. So he just nods. "Alright. See you back here."
The nurse wheels Sam away, and Steve goes to search for coffee. They already had some from this vending machine and it was awful, so Steve goes to look for a staff room. His mother was a nurse; he knows that they keep the better coffee in their own machines. It's only sensible.
As he wanders the bright, but strangely quiet corridors he comes by another vending machine, this one for snacks, and on a whim gets a bag of cookies. He's munching on one when he finds a staff room and carefully pokes his head in. If it's occupied he won't go inside and steal their coffee.
It is occupied, but Steve highly doubts the guy in the slippers and nightgown with the IV pole actually works here. Still he hesitates, not sure if he should enter, but then the guy turns around, spots Steve and goes still. He's pale, dark rings under his red-rimmed eyes, hair a mess and his face slightly scruffy like he hasn't shaved in three days, and somehow, he still looks cute. "What are you doing?" he guy demands, eyes narrowing.
Steve quickly averts his eyes, both from the guy and the seriously inappropriate thoughts he's having about him (a hospital patient, for god's sake) and instead eyes the cup the guy is holding. He focuses on that and makes an educated guess. "What you've already done. Stealing the good coffee." Since they're now mutual witnesses to each other's misdemeanors or, perhaps, rather partners in crime, there's no reason to pass up on the coffee so he enters the room and walks over to the coffee machine. As he approaches he eyes the guy from the corners of his eyes, and yeah, he's definitely a patient. His fingers, wrapped around the coffee cup, are shaking a little and Steve doesn't think it's nerves. And he is also really cute. When Steve is unwell he looks like something the cat dragged in; this guy manages to look both sad and adorable in equal measures. Just as well that thanks to the serum, Steve doesn't look unwell nearly as often anymore.
He pours himself a cup and leans against the counter, sipping it slowly. Sam won't be back for a while yet, Steve knows – not from personal experience, at least not in this millennium, but because he's been there a couple of times when one of his friends needed an x-ray. As he swallows his first mouthful of coffee, and yes, it's way better than that vending machine crap, a thought occurs to him. "They not letting you have any coffee?"
"No," the guy confirms, mouth twisting a little. For a moment it looks like he's going to elaborate, but then he doesn't.
"I never understood that," Steve says. "Why there are so many things you aren't allowed to eat when you're unwell. I mean, there has to be a reason you want them, right?"
The guy shrugs and squints at him. "There's generally also a reason why they're not allowed."
One eyebrow raised, Steve eyes the cup the guy is holding and periodically sipping from. "Right." Then he shrugs; it's none of his business. "Cookie?" He offers the bag.
The guy blinks and stares at him for a second, then at the cookies. "...why not," he then decides and takes one, a sort of fatalistic air about him. They're just cookies.
"So," Steve says after a moment of awkward, oppressive silence. "Come here often?"
For some reason that makes the guy burst out laughing, though it doesn't sound particularly amused. "Really? Are you coming on to me or are you looking for a story? Because I gotta tell you, I'm really not in the mood for the whole secret reporter shit right now."
"I'm not a reporter." Steve frowns. Is the guy paranoid? Or famous? Or both? And also, what rock does he live under? It's neither conceited nor arrogant to assume that most people have seen Steve's face before, especially after the whole press chaos after the invasion. It had been quite impossible to escape, actually, he's been told by more than one person. Not to mention all the history books he's in.
"Prove it," the guy challenges with a smirk, but his eyes are cool.
Steve hitches up one eyebrow and pulls out his phone. He's allowed to use it in this area of the hospital, he'd checked, and he swiftly googles himself and pulls up his wikipedia page. Then he presents the website with his face plain to see to the guy.
It's sort of amusing, watching the guy's face transition from skepticism to confusion to disbelief. Then the guy exclaims, "Shit, I knew you were familiar!"
Steve shrugs and takes his phone back. "Definitely not a reporter. Why were you worried about that?"
The guy raises one eyebrow and makes a grabby hand for Steve's phone. Puzzled, Steve hands it back over and watches the guy google something. A moment later he hands the phone back to Steve, also with a wikipedia page pulled up, of one Thomas "T.J." Hammond, son of former President Bud Hammond and current Vice President Elaine Barrish. The photo shows the guy standing in front of him right now.
"Oh," Steve makes and grimaces a little, putting his phone back into his pocket. "Sorry. You weren't familiar to me. I don't really follow, uh, the popular press." That isn't about actual news, in any case. "I've heard of your mother, though." What with her being Vice President and all. Wow. TJ comes from a family that's as close to royalty as it gets in the US; suddenly, Steve feels almost... clumsy.
The guy's – TJ's, Thomas'? – mouth twists. "Everyone has." Then he eyes Steve a little. "I don't really follow the tabloids either though."
"Tony finds them hilarious," Steve replies, for lack of anything else to say. "He also calls them vicious bloodhungry sharks though."
"Mixed signals, and yet both is true," TJ smirks. His coffee is empty so he moves in for a refill, arm brushing Steve's in the process. "So what's Captain America doing in the hospital?"
Steve winces a little. "Just Steve, please." It was uncomfortable enough being Captain America back then; now it's downright... awful at times. "And my friend hurt his ankle while we were running so I took him here."
TJ sends a pointed glance out the window. "Running? At this time of night?"
"It's less busy than during the day," Steve shrugs. "I'm sort of used to it, but he's not really cool with being followed around by paparazzi while he tries to keep up with me."
That makes TJ laugh again, and it sounds more amused than last time. "Wow, way to sound arrogant, man."
Steve rolls his eyes. "It's not arrogant if it's fact. And Sam says trying to outrun me is half the fun. Actually outrunning him is half the fun for me."
Again TJ chuckles, shaking his head a little as he takes a sip of his coffee. His eyes are bright as he looks at Steve over the rim of his cup, and suddenly Steve's mouth feels a little dry.
He takes a sip of his own coffee and licks his lips afterwards. "So... why are you here? If you don't mind me asking."
"Medication reacted badly with other medication, they had to pump my stomach," TJ says as he lowers his cup. All the brightness has gone from his face and Steve chastises himself for asking; what was he thinking? That it was something happy, a nice story? "That's the official story," TJ continues, eyes shrewd.
Steve swallows, wonders if he should ask. But TJ practically offered it to him on a silver tablet, so he takes it. "What's the real story?"
"Cocaine overdose," TJ tells him promptly.
"Oh," Steve makes, not sure what else to say to that. "I'm sorry."
Immediately TJ latches on to that. "Sorry that you asked, or that I did it?"
"Sorry that it happened," Steve replies slowly, not sure where this is going. It feels like TJ is waiting for something, but he has no idea what for. "I think you wanted me to ask."
Eyes narrowed, TJ looks at him for a moment. "I knew what I was doing."
That can only mean one thing. Steve swallows and takes a breath, holds TJ's gaze steadily. "I'm very sorry, then."
TJ stares at him, eyes still narrowed. It's clear he's waiting for whatever he expects, and that he's not getting it. Frowning, Steve tries to recall everything he ever heard or read about suicide attempts – or rather, how to talk to people who made one. But it's not something he ever paid particular attention to.
Eventually TJ exhales noisily and shakes his head. "I'm sorta waiting for you to tell me to get over myself."
Now Steve frowns for real. "Why?"
TJ snorts and gestures at himself, expression derisive. "Look at me, spoiled rich kid, got everything I ever wanted, nothing horrible ever happened to me. You went through the Great Depression and fought in World War Two. Yet I'm the one who tried to kill himself."
That's just not right. "I don't know much about this stuff, but I know this: depression has nothing to do with how ostensibly great your life is or is perceived to be. I'm pretty sure you had your reasons."
For a moment TJ just looks at him, then he shrugs and looks away. "Don't really remember, I was kinda drunk."
That doesn't sound like the truth, but Steve doesn't call him out on it. He feels vastly unprepared and unqualified for this conversation and, as he takes another sip of his coffee, he desperately tries to find something to say, but before he thinks of anything his phone vibrates. It's a text from Sam: "did u abandon me after all??"
"That your friend?" TJ asks.
"Yeah, he's back from x-ray," Steve replies as he texts back, "on my way, geez, quit whining". Stuffing his phone back into his pocket, he refills his cup and then fills another for Sam. "Do you want to come?"
TJ hesitates and for a second Steve thinks he's going to say yes; it'd be great because he's pretty sure Sam is much more qualified for this. But then TJ shakes his head. "Nah, gotta get back to my room before they send security out to look for me."
If he's under suicide watch that's actually not unlikely, probably. Steve nods, then hesitates. "Listen, can I have your number? Or do you want mine?"
Visibly surprised, TJ eyes him. "I'm not allowed a phone." Then he sneers. "And I don't need your pity."
"Good, because I'm not really in the business of pitying people," Steve returns, rolling his eyes. He's not sure if the phone thing is an excuse or not, but pushing is probably not a good idea. "It was nice talking to you, anyway. Bye."
He's almost at the door when TJ says, "You could visit me. If you want. I'm allowed visitors."
Steve turns around and smiles. "I'd like that, actually."
"Okay." TJ swallows. For a second he almost looks vulnerable. "I'll put you on the visitors list then. I'm in room 2134 in the Eccleston wing."
"Alright, got it." Steve smiles. "See you, then."
"Yeah, see you," TJ says quietly, and Steve sort of doesn't want to leave. TJ looks strangely alone the way he's standing there, but Steve has no other choice, not if he doesn't really want to come off as pitying. So, unable to wave with his hands full, he sticks to giving TJ another smile before turning around and going back to Sam.