Nice Work If You Can Get It
Title: Nice Work If You Can Get It
Rating: Mature (Steve/Tony, background Pepper/Natasha)
Summary: Steve swore he’d never be a kept man, but a lot can change in five years.
Notes: This is a sort-of, could-be sequel to Ain’t Nobody’s Business If I Do, my cop-and-gangster AU set in Chicago in the early 1930s. This isn’t necessarily what did happen after – but it’s what could have. Written for @wandererriha and @scifigrl47, who asked for it.
It’s less porny than you wanted, I’m afraid. :D
Afterward, Steve wished it had been more dramatic – he wished he’d stormed into the commissioner’s office, or the mayor’s, and thrown his badge on the desk or something similar. He should have, he reflected. But instead, he simply cleaned out his desk (never very cluttered to begin with), typed his resignation letter, and left it on the blotter. He didn’t know who found it or who turned it in to the commissioner, and he was sure he didn’t care.
He should have sent a copy to Clint. Clint would have published it in the paper, and Steve’s vitriolic excoriation of Chicago’s civil service could have maybe had some effect. But he didn’t think of it until later.
He just resigned from the force, viciously and permanently, burning his bridges behind him the way Steve tended to do.
The corruption of the Chicago police department has been known to me for some time, but I could no longer collude with it when I became aware of the extent of the graft and the abandonment of any thought of civil service at its highest levels. I resign in vocal protest over the behavior of the Chicago police and the Chicago mayor’s office and its morally reprehensible refusal to serve the people to whom it swore service.
It was noon when he resigned, a brisk, chilly Friday in September of 1938. He walked out of the precinct with a few valuables in a satchel – a framed photo of himself with Tony and Pepper, a small booklet of news clippings, a favorite pen – and went to the Iron.
“Good afternoon, Detective Rogers!” called the maitre’d, as he shed his hat and coat in the reception room of the best restaurant in Chicago. “Get you seated in just a minute, I’ll have someone lay out your table.”
“No need,” he said, giving her the best smile he could muster. “I’ll just have a sandwich at the bar. Check this for me, would you?” he added, handing her a satchel. “I’ll pick it up next week.”
She looked perplexed, but nodded. “However you want, sir. Mr. Stark’s on the premesis, shall I let him know you’re here?”
“Sure, tell him I’ll be up after I eat,” he said, giving a nod to the mirrored glass of the Iron’s second-floor office, overlooking the dining room, just in case.
(There is a readmore below! Read more! :D)