"You're doing very well, Steve. Just remember to go easy on the keyboard; the keys are a lot more sensitive than an old typewriter." Sitwell instructed.
Steve smiled grimly and gave a curt nod. He powered down the laptop and then closed it.
"So, uh... do you know how Nancy is? Is she out of traction yet?"
"A few more weeks" Sitwell said lightly. "I sent her some flowers from you; pink and orange roses, very pretty."
"Thank you." Steve said quietly.
The men sat in silence for a moment.
"So, I have a surprise for you." Sitwell said. "Grab your sweats and sneakers."
"Uh, no. I don't think that's a good idea." Steve said darkly, flushing.
"Trust me" Sitwell said kindly.
Steve frowned at him, but stood up and gathered his gear.

(later)
The men drove through the city in relative silence; Steve spent the entire time staring out the window, mouth agape with shock and wonder at everything. He broke the silence as they drove across the Brooklyn Bridge.
"Kinda' feel like I'm coming home." he craned his neck to look up at the huge concrete pylons as they passed under them, a huge grin on his face.
"The idea is to move you, eventually, into an apartment in your old neighbourhood." Sitwell explained.
Steve looked at him, concerned. "My old neighbourhood was kind-of dive. And I'm pretty sure the building I lived in would have been condemned by now. It probably should have been condemned when I lived there." he added thoughtfully.
Sitwell chuckled. "The area has been considerably re-gentrified since then. I think you'll be pleasantly surprised. Anyway, when I heard that was the plan, I came out here and found this place for you." He pulled up in front of an old, sturdy but ramshackle red brick building at the edge of an industrial area. Steve stepped out of the car and looked around.
"I know this area, I lived a few blocks that way," he pointed north.
Sitwell nodded and gestured for him to follow. They came around to the front of the red brick building. In faded, peeling paint across the front was the name Delaney's Gym.
Steve stopped and looked up at it, mouth hanging open in surprise. "This place! This is still here? This was around when I was a kid!"
Stilwell grinned. "Same family still owns it. Did you used to train here?"
Steve laughed softly, "No, I didn't need a gym. I used to get beat up for free in the street."
Sitwell's brow furrowed.
"That was awhile ago." Steve said casually.
He and Sitwell walked into the facility. Steve looked around and liked what he saw. No fancy machines. No glaring neon lights. No one in skin-tight black running outfits to stare at him. No sound system blaring repetitive, jarring music; just the thump-thump of someone working on a boxing bag. The place smelled of disinfectant, leather conditioner and sweat. There was a boxing ring in the middle of the space, punching bags hung off to one side, speedballs down one end, and benches and weight stacks down the other in front of a bank of mirrors. The light was warm and bright, the walls decorated with pictures of athletes he didn't know, but they looked old-school. It was a good, simple, honest gym.
"Like it?" Sitwell asked.
"Yeah, I do." Steve said, nodding.
Sitwell reached into his jacket, extracted something, and tossed it to Steve. Steve caught it and looked down at the small package. Acme Boxing Wraps. He shot Sitwell a grateful look.
"Let's get you a membership." Sitwell said.

Fin

Author's Note: Steve in 2010- the possibilities are endless! Thanks to Voiceofdisbelief for looking this over. Disclaimer- these characters are the property of other people, I just like to tell their stories, but I make nothing from it. Feedback is always appreciated, though.