Chapter Text
A blaring alarm woke Steve Harrington from his slumber, his arm shooting out of the bundle of blankets that he had cocooned himself inside the night before to slam it off. He huddled back inside the sphere of warmth and ignored his phone’s plea that he get up and start his day.
What was the point? He didn't have any reason to get up. He wasn't hungry, he didn't need the bathroom. He wasn't meeting his friends today. And, most importantly, he still didn't have a job. So there really was no reason not to spend the entire day under the covers, snuggled down and pretending that the rest of the world didn't exist.
The alarm blared again, and he groaned to himself, repeating the gesture and slamming it off once more.
"God damn it, I need to turn the volume down on that thing."
He rolled over, screwing his eyes shut.
It wasn't that he didn't need a job. His rent payment was due on Friday, and he knew for a fact that his fridge was bordering on empty. He'd need some cash soon enough, unless he wanted to be homeless and starving. Or, more likely, crashing on Robin's couch, again, because her patience for his ineptitude seemed to know no bounds.
And it wasn't that he didn't want a job, either. He wasn't some bum, he didn't mind working. It was just that he could never seem to find a job that he, if not actively liked, could at least tolerate doing for more than a week without walking out the door.
Everything just seemed so...menial. Unimportant. He didn't want to say beneath him, because after growing up with rich parents that pretty much hated him he was the complete opposite of a snob; it was just that he wanted to do something that made him feel...necessary. Needed. Hell, maybe even valued. Was that too much to ask?
He'd stacked shelves in a supermarket. He'd tended bar. He'd pushed papers across a desk, and before that he'd worked in a mail room. They were all vital jobs, he knew – without them, some part of the world wouldn't move around, people wouldn't eat, contracts wouldn't get signed, whatever. But they didn't fulfil him, not in the way he wanted.
When he'd walked out of his last job a few weeks back, he'd vowed not to go back to work until he'd found something he could picture himself doing long term. He wanted to find his calling, not just his next pay check.
That way of thinking was falling apart pretty quickly in the face of his rapidly dwindling bank balance though. It was easy to take the moral high ground when you had a full belly and a roof over your head. When those were threatened...not so much.
There was always the nuclear option, Steve supposed. He could go and work for his father. He didn't know what he'd be doing – knowing his dad, probably shredding documents until his fingers bled or taking notes in the most boring meetings possible. But it'd pay. He could do that for six months or so, save up some cash, and try again.
But he knew that even with the best of intentions, it wouldn't happen like that. If he got himself into his father's corporate world, if he let his dad start making decisions for him, he'd never escape again. Getting out from under his parents’ thumb the first time had been hard enough. He'd rather sleep rough with an empty belly than give his father the satisfaction of knowing he'd failed.
His phone blared again, and he burst free of his cocoon like a very angry, very hairy butterfly and grabbed the offending device from his bedside table. He was about to swipe the alarm off and then throw the whole thing across the room into the trash can when he realised that it wasn't the alarm this time at all; instead, Nancy Wheeler was trying to call him.
He cleared his throat, making sure he didn't sound like he was still in bed, because he knew Nancy would judge him if she knew he was and he didn't want to deal with that today either. His finger hovered over Accept, until he saw that it wasn't just a voice call.
Only Nancy would want to video call at – he glanced up at the clock in the corner of the screen. It was nearly noon. Okay, maybe he really should get out of bed. And change the time on his alarm to something a little earlier.
He raked his fingers through his hair, blinked the sleep from his eyes, and hit Accept.
"Hey Nance."
She was walking through some busy New York street, elbowing her way through a crowd, because it was New York, so of course there was a crowd, her Daily Bugle staff ID bouncing up and down off of her flowery blouse. She looked windswept, and vaguely annoyed.
"Steve, finally! I've been calling you for like, half an hour."
"I was...in the shower," Steve said carefully. "Sorry. What's up?"
She came to a stop, presumably at a pedestrian crossing. "What are you doing today?"
"Uh, I was going to-" Steve began, not sure which lie he was going to use, but Nancy barrelled over him before he could answer anyway.
"Don't answer that, I know you didn't have any plans."
"I might have!"
"You don't, though."
Steve bit his lip, trying to think of some witty retort and failing. Nancy had had him pegged for years, ever since they dated back in high school. They weren’t together any more but they were still friends, and that intimate knowledge of how Steve's brain worked never really faded, as much as he wished it did.
"Okay, fine, I don't, but that doesn't mean-"
"How'd you like to make some cash? Over the table, easy stuff."
Steve wanted to resist. Wanted to say no, he had it handled, that he had a job interview lined up today, that he was fine and didn't need her charity. But the calendar on his wall, with the big red circle around Friday with the words RENT DUE written in capital letters told him that his pride would have to take a hit this time.
And besides, it wasn't a proper job – it wasn't like he'd broken his vow. He was just...doing some creative accounting. It didn’t count.
Self-delusion didn't suit him, but he was well practised at this point.
"...What do you want me to do?"
Nancy grinned triumphantly. She knew she had him, no matter what she said next. "Jonathan's sick, and I need a photographer."
"And your first thought was me?" Steve wrinkled his eyebrows. "Nance, I don't even know which way up to hold a camera."
"It's fine, you don't need skills or anything. You can use your phone – I know you know your way around a selfie. You just...flip the camera the other way and take a picture of something other than your own face for a change."
His confusion melted into a glare, but he didn’t rise. If they got into an argument, he’d definitely lose, and then he wouldn’t get paid either. "Why me though? Doesn't the Bugle have like, staff photographers or something?"
"All on assignment. Jonathan’s our best guy, obviously, but he’s out. Our second best guy's on assignment in Westchester, and our worst guy's on a tour of the Baxter Building. Which makes this your lucky day."
Steve still couldn't shake the feeling that there was an ulterior motive here. But maybe it was just Nancy taking pity on him. And when it came down to it, he really did need the money, so he had to accept, no matter what.
"Okay, fine," he relented, at least trying to make it sound like he was the one doing her the favour and not the other way around. "Where am I meeting you?"
"You know the big BrenCorp building downtown? Outside there, half an hour."
"Half an hour? But I haven't even showered!"
"You said you just got out of the shower."
Shit. Busted.
"Half an hour, okay, bye Nance!"
Steve hung up before he got himself into even more trouble. He threw the charging cable into his phone so it’d be fully charged to take photos, and ran for the bathroom.
*****
The BrenCorp building was an eyesore, and that was saying something considering the amount of huge skyscrapers that littered the New York skyline.
It towered over everything around it, a monstrosity in black and red steel, the name of the company ostentatiously plastered about halfway up in letters three times bigger than they needed to be. You could probably read them from space.
Steve huddled beneath an awning across the street, gazing up at the building and shaking his head.
Everyone seemed to love BrenCorp. They made everything from medicines to electronics, clothes to cars; you name it, and their CEO Doctor Martin Brenner had his fingers in it somewhere. Steve had never been much for economics so the idea of diversification and monopolies didn't enter his head, but he did know the old adage about being a jack of all trades. Just because you could do everything didn't mean you did any of it particularly well.
And yet BrenCorp was everywhere, almost unavoidably so. His phone was BrenCorp, their awful little BC logo thankfully hidden under a New York Knicks phone case. The sneakers, jeans, and shirt he'd thrown on were made by BrenCorp. His dad drove a BrenCorp car.
It didn't seem like a good idea to put all your eggs in one basket, at least to Steve, but BrenCorp's influence was so wide reaching that it was difficult not to. Even when you made the effort to buy from some smaller company, if you traced the supply chain back far enough they were probably involved with BrenCorp somewhere anyway.
Which made the idea of walking into their New York base of operations a little worrying. Nancy was a hard hitting journalist; she didn't waste time with all the fluff. There was no way she was here to write some puff piece about Brenner, or anything like that. If she was here, there was dirt to be found – or she thought there was, at least.
If there was, that could be a problem for the world. And if there wasn't, that could be an even bigger problem for she and him.
But Nancy, for some reason, had come to him for help, and he’d already agreed. Hell, even if she hadn’t promised to pay him he probably would have said yes – it wasn’t in his nature to turn his friends away when they needed him.
And besides, he'd used the last of his cash on subway fare, so he really had to get paid for his time now. Maybe he'd ask Nancy to get him dinner too, so he could eke another few days out of whatever was growing mould in his fridge.
He spotted her about five minutes later. She was a woman on a mission, and she walked with the purpose of one, her long coat flapping behind her like a superhero’s cape. She didn't even stop when he fell in step beside her, just gave him a tight smile and carried on marching onwards.
"You're late," he said.
"You can't go in without me, so no, I'm not," she fired back. "Thanks for coming, though."
"You called, I came. You know I always will. We may not be together any more, but we're still friends, Nance. Is Jonathan okay?"
Nancy gave him a strange look, like she didn't know what he was talking about, then her eyes grew wide with realisation. "Oh, yeah, he's fine, just woke up with a stomach bug. He's at home, in bed."
Like I was, Steve thought to himself, but didn't dare say out loud.
Instead, he said, "Good, tell him I said get better, or I might take his job permanently."
Nancy rolled her eyes, and then they were inside the BrenCorp building. The foyer was mostly empty aside from a severe looking woman at a reception desk. Nancy didn’t even break stride as she headed towards the elevators on the opposite wall, her boots clacking loudly across the black tiles, each of which could probably have paid Steve's rent for a year or more.
"Don't make eye contact with the receptionist, just get in the elevator," Nancy said. "We're meant to be here, okay?"
Steve didn't believe her, his feeling that she wasn't telling him something growing by the second, but he just nodded.
No one stopped them, and once they were inside the elevator Nancy breathed a sigh of relief that didn't exactly fill Steve with confidence. She hit the button for the sixty-first floor, and leaned against the golden handrail that ringed the car.
Steve whirled on her, blocking the door. "Okay, spill. We're not supposed to be here, are we?"
"Nothing gets past you, Steve," Nancy gave with another roll of her eyes. "No, we're not."
"So what the hell are we doing here? If you get me arrested-"
"We're not going to get arrested. I just need you to take some pictures, and then we'll be out again. Simple."
"Something tells me it's not going to be. Give me the details, or I'm not getting out of this elevator. I’m here, Nance, the least you can do is not lie to me." He put his hands on his hips and cocked his head at her.
Nancy held his gaze for a second, then shook her head in defeat. "Okay, fine. I got a tip from a source in the building that something weird is going on in here. Like, really weird. And possibly dangerous. So I'm here to meet my source, and he's going to spill. It's an exclusive, a scoop, and possibly the story of the century. If Brenner's doing something illegal, playing with something dangerous, then we have to expose him."
"You mean you have to expose him," Steve said pointedly. "You couldn't have given this to one of the more experienced reporters, could you? What's his name, Urich?"
"Ben's great," Nancy said, "but he's too cautious. He'd wait too long, and then we'd lose the opportunity. I have to do this. And I need your help, Steve."
When she looked at him like that, Steve couldn't say no. It was the right thing to do, and he always did that, even if it wasn’t the right thing to do for him.
He sighed, his entire body sagging. "Alright. But the first sign of danger, we're out of here, okay?"
Nancy traced a cross over her chest. "Cross my heart. First sign."
Somehow, he doubted her sincerity. But at that point the elevator door pinged and she elbowed past him.
This new room was basically sterile, all white lights and blue glass. A security door surrounded by glowing red light took up the opposite wall, and a bored looking security guard lazed about at the desk just in front of it.
Steve went to walk towards him, but Nancy threw out her hand, holding him back. "Okay, there might be something else I haven't told you."
Steve gritted his teeth and looked down at her. "Nancy, I swear to god-"
"We have to get past this door," she said, ignoring him, "and the only way to do that is if the security guard lets us in."
"And what, you want me to beat him up?"
"No, idiot. I need you to...turn on that old Harrington charm."
Steve looked over at the guard, head down, scribbling something on a pad. "Him?"
"You're not scared, are you?" Nancy teased.
Steve bristled. "Of course not."
"And I know you're like, out and proud, right? Even though you've never had a boyfriend-"
"You know you'd like a Pulitzer, but you've never won one," Steve shot back. "Just because I've never had a boyfriend doesn't make me any less bisexual, Nance."
She raised a hand in defeat, but Steve knew that she knew that she'd gotten him. She knew he couldn't resist a challenge, even a foolish one. What a low blow. What a supremely Nancy Wheeler move. He hated that she knew how to push his buttons.
"But," Steve continued, "what are the chances this guy's into guys? We don't know the first thing about him."
Now Nancy's face grew mischievous. "Actually, we do. That's the other, other reason I needed you. My source, he told me a new security guard was starting today. Someone I knew. Someone I remember had the biggest crush on you back when we were in school."
Steve frowned. "I knew most of the girls at school liked me back then. But I didn't come out till after we left."
"Didn't matter – we all saw him glaring at you, like he wanted to pin you to a wall and have his way with you, as much as he hated himself for it."
Steve wracked his brain, but he couldn't think of a single guy that fit that description. Then again, he hadn't exactly been embracing his queer side back then, so even if he had seen something, he probably wouldn't have acknowledged it.
Nancy pushed him in the small of the back, rocketing him across the room towards the security guard.
He stumbled, somehow making the motion look smooth as he leaned on the desk, looking down at the guard who was still scribbling furiously.
"That looks interesting," he said, fighting the urge to throw a dirty look over his shoulder at Nancy. "What're you doing?"
The guard looked up, blinking, and Steve found himself staring into the eyes of Eddie Munson.