Yet When the Other Doth Far Roam

Chapter One

Mentally, she kicked herself for having been late to the show. If she hadn't gotten caught up in visiting a few old haunts she'd have made it before Steve got into a fight and he wouldn't have gotten hurt at all.

"Should you have been doing that in a skirt?" Steve asked with a slight grin, wiping the blood off the corner of his lip and pantomiming the kick she'd just done.

Rebecca rolled her eyes and managed to hide her irritation. Just once, just once , she'd like to see him put a fraction of the effort into staying safe that she did in keeping him safe. Instead it was always this, quips and jokes like he hadn't just gotten his bell rung halfway to Newark.

"Shut up, Rogers," she said, biting back what she'd really like to say. "I swear, sometimes I think you like getting punched."

It was all she could say. Anything else and he'd take it as her pitying him. Steve hated pity. He took it as a challenge to go do something stupid simply to prove he could, and that was the last thing she needed or wanted on her last day in Brooklyn.

"I had him on the ropes," Steve said confidently, blinking rapidly and bending over as a wave of dizziness assailed him.

Rebecca tensed and a muscle in her jaw tightened. Steve Rogers, the walking paradox. Hero complex the size of Brooklyn trapped in a body so frail she was sometimes terrified he'd shatter just from the effort of getting up in the morning. Always ready and willing to help anyone who needed it but hated receiving any help in return.

Except from her. Barely.

He hunched over farther, wheezing as his lungs struggled to draw in air. As she waited for him to recover, and resisted the urge to try and help, Rebecca caught sight of papers scattered on the ground. She crouched to pick one up, and frowned as she recognized the form. An enlistment sheet, with the word "rejected" stamped across the front. She'd like to say this was the first time she'd caught Steve with one, but it wasn't even the fourth or fifth.

Damn it all, why couldn't Steve accept that he wouldn't last five seconds in the military? Hell, forget that, why couldn't he accept that he had the body of an asthmatic 80-year-old? She got that he didn't want to be treated like an invalid. She even understood the sheer size of the chip he carried on his shoulder. She got it, but that didn't mean she couldn't see what was right in front of her eyes.

Steve might have more heart and bravery than half the blokes in Brooklyn but it didn't mean a thing when it came to the body he was trapped in. All the wishing and willpower in the world wasn't going to get him past his physical limitations. All it would do was get him an early grave, and that was the one thing she was determined to prevent, no matter what it took.

"How many times is this?" She waved the form at him, and then frowned down at it. "Oh, you're from Paramus now?" she asked sarcastically. "I hear the weather is lovely there this time of year."

"Pretty sure it's not," Steve muttered. He straightened slowly, eyes running and face red from the coughing fit. He reached for the form, but Rebecca held it out of his reach.

"You know, I'm pretty sure it's illegal to lie on these things."

"Only if you get caught." He reached for it again and, this time, Rebecca allowed him to snatch it from her hand. He folded it and stuffed it into an interior pocket of his threadbare jacket. He started to say something else, but paused as he seemed to notice the uniform she was wearing for the first time. In addition to the pumps she'd also been forced to put on the skirt Steve had complained about earlier, uncomfortable nylons, jacket, dress shirt, and tie. There was also a hat which she'd put on at an angle to try and look like slightly less of a stuffed shirt.