Steve Rogers sat at the desk by the window within the living room of the apartment that S.H.I.E.L.D. Deputy Director Maria Hill had designated for him. He had been living in Washington, D.C., for almost two months now. The hustle and bustle of the Nation's Capital was a drastic change to the rustic cabin in which he had stayed for the better part of the past year in the north-western part of the country. S.H.I.E.L.D. had suggested the cabin as a good place for Captain Rogers to adjust to his seventy-year jump into the future. A good place for him to "get his head back on straight" were the words Director Nick Fury had used after boasting that this particular cabin had been designed by Doctor Bruce Banner himself because "the Hulk would know" about such things.
The morning sun poured a light golden glow onto the short pile of manila-colored folders in front of Steve on the desk, all of which had been given to him by the therapist S.H.I.E.L.D. insisted that he visit to treat something they referred to as Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. Steve was not very fond of these weekly sessions. They always began the same way: "How are you feeling, Captain Rogers?" Doctor Andrew Garner would ask. Steve never gave much more than a "Well," or "Fine," in response. He would then have his brain probed for the better part of an hour. In their most recent session that had taken place this morning, Doctor Garner had inquired about the extent of the Captain's relationship with one Margaret "Peggy" Carter during what was now referred to as World War II, among some of his other comrades. Steve could barely formulate a response before a knot formed in the base of his throat as he fought back an onslaught of emotions: sorrow, regret, the future that might have been... It was still more than Steve could bear to think about for too long, even after almost a year of being awake. The doctor did not press the question any further that day.
At the end of their appointment, Doctor Garner had asked, "Do you think you're ready to return to the field?" Steve had pondered the question for a moment. He had been living the quiet life for almost a year. The Battle of New York was something for which he had absolutely not been mentally prepared. Apparently, they had won the war in his time, but the world was still fighting over seventy years later. Steve could not shake the feeling that maybe it was all a futile effort. He gave the doctor his honest reply, "I don't think I want to." Steve theorized that Doctor Garner did not like his answer, because then for the first time since their sessions had started, Doctor Garner assigned Steve "homework."
Steve opened the first folder on the desk in his apartment. He immediately found that it contained personnel dossiers of his Howling Commandos team and other long-lost friends from his day. Steve was not sure if this was some kind of punishment or if the doctor was trying to prove him a point. Regardless, Steve forced himself through each photograph and each line of the documents within the folder, learning how the lives of his former teammates had played out. Some had passed away shortly after Steve's disappearance during the war, while others had led a long life of service. He was particularly surprised to find a file on Howard Stark in this folder and noted the uncanny resemblance between Howard and his son Tony, and then hurt to see that his friend had died in an automobile accident with his wife, orphaning their only child at a young age. The next file was one Steve had been hoping not to come across, but the suspicion and dread of finding it had grown with each file he passed. Steve turned the next page slowly. His eyes caught Peggy's in the black and white photograph held to the page by a paper clip, just as he remembered her. Steve quickly slammed the folder shut.
Steve pushed himself away from the desk and leaned back in his chair. He sat there for a moment, attempting to swallow the lump in his throat. When it was gone, Steve stood up from the desk chair and slowly pushed it back into place. He lingered there, holding onto the back of the chair with both hands and leaning over it to look out the window in front of him at nothing in particular. The chair creaked under his weight. I need some air, Steve decided. He went to his bedroom to pick up his baseball cap off the top of his dresser. As he turned to exit, a familiar round star-spangled shield caught his eye from the corner of the room on the floor propped against the wall. Director Fury had insisted that Steve hold on to it as a reminder of what he was meant to be when Steve had told him that he needed time to think about just that. He glared at the battle-worn shield as if the metal object itself were somehow responsible for Steve feeling slighted in some way. He crossed the room and picked up the shield. Steve stared at it for a moment before turning to open his closet door, placing the shield on the floor inside with the star facing the wall, then shut it away. Steve closed the bedroom door behind him as he left.
Steve's attempt at clearing his mind was not as successful as he would have hoped. His mind was swimming in the past with the people who had been left behind. Everywhere he looked as he walked through the streets, there were more things strange to him than he found familiar. Everything from the way people dressed to the cars they drove and the words they said seemed like a whole new world. After a while, Steve's head began to ache behind his forehead from the furrowed expression he had not realized he was holding combined with unintentionally over-analyzing every new thing his senses were processing. He needed a reprieve from his break.
Steve sighed as he came within view of a local deli he had taken to frequenting. He was impressed with the never-ending array of sandwiches that he had been trying one by one for lunch (the food in this century was a vast improvement from back in his day), and they made good coffee. That last thought made Steve reach for what he was told was a "smartphone" in his pocket. S.H.I.E.L.D. had provided him this high tech gadget that could perform an extraordinary number of tasks. He suspected that they were somehow using it to keep an eye on him, but at the present moment, Steve was quite intrigued with the feature that allowed for instant written messages between two people, or "texting" as he had heard Liz call it when she first showed Steve how to actually do it. He went into the messaging area of the touch screen and tapped out a brief message to Liz awkwardly with his index finger:
Coffee?
Liz and her grandfather, John (whom Steve had also taken to calling "Pops" at both of their insistence) were always going out of their way to accommodate Steve, and he could not be more grateful. They were good people, and Steve felt guilty for not being completely honest with them about who he really was on a daily basis. It had been strongly suggested to him by Agent Hill that Steve keep his true identity on a need-to-know basis for his own security. It was difficult to walk the line between seeming genuinely curious about certain topics brought up by either Pops or Liz and coming off as completely incompetent and poorly versed in popular culture or modern technology, especially with Liz. Almost half the sentences that Liz spoke to him went over his head, and almost half the sentences that Steve spoke to her were only half-truths. That may have been the reason Steve had started trying to reciprocate their generosity by helping them out in their store as some sort of atonement. The phone buzzed in Steve's hand, and he saw that Liz had replied to his message:
Stupid question. Yes. Always yes :-)
For the first time that day, Steve allowed himself to smile. On second thought, maybe atonement was not the only reason. Maybe he liked the time he spent with them. Maybe he liked doing something normal. Listening to Pops proudly talk about all the history held within his store made Steve feel less out of place somehow. Catching up on films and learning how to use these "new-fangled gadgets" (as Pops put it) with Liz was actually something he had started looking forward to, something he had not felt since before he woke up in the twenty-first century. Pops was also showing him how to fix up old, seemingly broken things, which Steve found cathartic on multiple levels. Steve loved the way Liz's emerald eyes lit up whenever he understood a reference or indulged a playfully snarky remark and threw either one back at her. He'd forgotten what having a friend could be like...
Steve ordered two coffees with cream and sugar to-go and Pops' usual chocolate donut from the teenaged boy behind the deli counter. He paid the boy with a plastic card that Agent Hill had assured him was as good as actual money in most places before heading back towards the storefront of Dolan & Sons Antiques.
Steve walked along the sunny side of the street as he made his way back. He was glad that he had forgone his jacket when leaving his apartment as the sun splashed down warmly on his back. The weather was changing, and Steve was glad of it. He had spent the better part of the last century on ice, and feeling cold was one of the first things he had remembered after waking up.
It took close to a quarter of an hour for Steve to reach the Dolan's store from the deli. As he came in front of the windows, he looked inside to see if he could spot Liz on his way to the front door. She was standing behind the glass countertop, where she would usually check out customers for their purchases. Her posture was abnormally rigid, her arms were crossed, and she was glaring at the man across the counter from her with a look that could kill. In comparison, the black-haired man seemed far too relaxed as he leaned on the top of the counter with his weight rested on his forearms, hands crossed. Steve thought he knew the face.
Steve wasted no time proceeding toward the front door. As one hand was holding a tray with two coffee cups and the other a small bag with the donut, Steve used the side of his body to push open the door. It chimed at the same time he heard Liz saying, "And there is a reason for that, Jason," with a commanding tone that Steve had not heard from her before. The conversation seemed to abruptly halt as Liz and the man identified as Jason turned to see who had entered the store.
Steve immediately recognized him from the photograph that had presented itself on Liz's smartphone two weeks ago when Steve had taught the Schaefer twins, Billy and Emma, some defensive maneuvers. He remembered how easy it was to tell how visibly upset Liz had become at that moment without even being able to see her face. Steve guessed that was because he was struggling with something similar, the difference being that this Jason seemed to have intentionally inflicted some damage somehow. Steve gripped the donut bag tighter in his fist.
"Coffee, as promised," Steve smiled at Liz, holding up the cup tray as proof as he walked over to the through-space between the countertop and the door to the back room in the corner where Liz was speaking with Jason. Liz's shoulders visibly relaxed as Steve approached.
"Thanks," Liz half-smiled at him as she brushed an auburn strand of hair that had fallen out of place back behind her ear. Her eyes, however, did not look happy in the slightest. She reached for one of the cups that Steve had offered her.
"You're welcome," Steve grinned back at her before turning to look at Jason, "Is everything okay here?" He asked Liz before he could stop himself. Jason had a smug look on his face. It reminded Steve of the way Bucky used to look at dames; the difference being that the girls Bucky was looking at seemed to like it. Liz apparently did not.
"It's fine," Liz answered quickly, her voice tense.
"You're not going to introduce me to your friend, Lizzie?" Jason interjected, taking things upon himself. He held out a hand to Steve in greeting, "I'm Jason."
Jason was cocky, and it glinted in his dark eyes as he smirked; an alpha male type. He kind of reminded Steve of Tony Stark in that aspect. Steve did not like it. Nevertheless, Steve found his manners and took part in the handshake, trying very hard to keep his augmented strength under control, "Steve," he answered curtly as an introduction.
"Steve, I think Pops had something in the back he wanted to show you," Liz started. Steve only looked away from Jason when she continued, "Could you... Could you give us a moment?"
She was genuinely asking him, Steve could tell. Steve gave a half-smile as he placed the donut bag on the tray with the remaining cup of coffee, "Of course," he looked back at Jason one more time before pulling open the door to the back room reluctantly. It swung closed behind him. Steve paused for a moment contemplating whether or not to stay and eavesdrop but decided against it out of respect for Liz's wish for privacy, believing that she would do the same for him. He continued through the maze of shelving in the back room to where he could hear Pops shuffling around in an area that had been set up as a workshop. John "Pops" Dolan was sitting at the workbench with what Steve recognized as a record player, similar to ones he had been familiar with back in the forties.
"Hungry, Pops?" Steve asked by way of a greeting, handing the donut bag towards the old man. Steve wondered which of them was actually the oldest in the room.
"Thank you, my boy! If I didn't know better, I'd say you were trying to bribe your way into my good graces," Pops joked, accepting the paper bag eagerly.
Steve could not help but smile. He played along, "Is it working?"
"Yes," Pops bit into the donut, "Though I do suspect you're just trying to spoil my appetite so that I forget to invite you for dinner. Lizzie cooks a delightful gnocchi bolognese."
Steve was not exactly sure what gnocchi bolognese was (something Italian by the sound of it) but moved past it, "I just don't want to impose on the two of you more than I already have," Steve answered honestly, smiling slightly.
"One of these days, I'm not going to take no for an answer!" Pops persisted with zeal.
A chuckle escaped from Steve at Pops' enthusiasm, "You let me know when that is. So what have we got here?" Steve questioned, referring to the record player on the work table. The turntable had been separated from the box and set to the side so that the inner mechanics were exposed.
"Tabletop record player from the early fifties, it looks like. Wiring has gone bad. I'll have to have Liz do some rewiring and soldering. My hands aren't as steady as they used to be," Pops explained, "Is she still putzing with that damned contraption at the counter?"
Steve was familiar with the item to which Pops was referring, "The computer?" Steve shook his head no, "She was speaking with—" Steve cut himself off, not sure if he should say.
Pops turned to him curiously, "Speaking with who?"
Steve paused for a moment before answering, "She was speaking with Jason." It came out harsher sounding than he had meant it to be.
Pops leaned back in his chair and looked toward the door that led to the storefront, eyes squinting as he said, "So you've met the elephant she's been trying to hide in the closet then."
"Sir?" Steve was not sure what the old man meant.
Pops turned back to Steve, "It's really not my place to be telling the details. Lizzie tries to bottle it up, but that one did a number on her when he vacated the premises. But I knew he'd turn up sooner or later. She's been on edge every time she's looked at that damned phone screen for over a week now, just like she was after he'd left." There was a certain amount of contempt evident in Pops' tone.
"She has seemed tense on occasion," Steve offered. He had noticed this a few times since the night of the incident with the twins as well. Steve had questioned Liz about it once or twice while watching a movie together or hanging around the shop, but it seemed like the two of them were very alike when it came to opening up about subjects that troubled them. All things considered, Liz seemed to be holding it together about this Jason fellow better than Steve was holding it together when he thought about Peggy. Their last words to each other haunted him every day. The promises he made that were broken before he spoke them; the slightest tremble in Peggy's voice as she set a date she knew that he would never make... Steve took a long sip from his coffee in an effort to dissolve the lump in his throat and suppress the memory.
"Would you mind helping an old man clean this beauty up?" Pops began as he turned back to the record player on his workbench, "Apart from the innards, she's in good condition. Just needs a bit o' elbow grease."
"Of course," Steve replied, setting down his coffee cup. He reached for a spare rag on the workbench and began polishing the wooden top of the player.
* * *
Steve stayed in the shop for the rest of the afternoon, helping out with things here and there. Liz was unusually quiet. Her mind seemed to be somewhere else entirely as Steve watched her catalog items into the computer at the glass countertop. Steve had returned to the storefront earlier that afternoon with a box that Pops had asked him to bring out to find Jason had left and Liz focused on vigorously polishing an already spotless wooden wardrobe at the far end of the shop with an annoyed expression. He assumed that she was still stressing about the encounter now.
"When's the last time you took a break today?" Steve asked, pulling up a stool and sitting down on the opposite side of the counter. He knew Liz well enough by now to know that she worked too hard even when she was not trying to bottle something up. Though Steve could not blame her for trying to keep busy in order to keep her mind off things. He was guilty of the same thing himself. He was doing it right now.
Liz looked up suddenly as if startled by the sudden sound, "Um, I don't know... When did you get here with coffee?" She kept her eyes on the computer screen.
"You're working too hard," Steve was all for putting in a good day's work, but Liz had a tendency to overdo it.
"Someone's got to keep up with this place." This seemed to be Liz's typical response whenever someone would bring up this particular topic.
"You should take a break," Steve persisted. It was the most he had gotten her to talk all afternoon.
"You're starting to sound like Pops," Liz teased and looked at him finally, "We're closed Monday for the holiday. I'll take a break then."
"The holiday?" Steve questioned, "You're closed Mondays anyway."
"Yes, but it's Memorial Day," Liz explained.
"Oh, right..." Steve looked away from her. Steve did not know much about the twenty-first-century version of this holiday. Judging by what he had seen on television, it had turned into something to do with celebrating the beginning of summer.
Liz read his face easily, "No plans, I'm guessing?"
Steve shook his head.
"Pops and I have a few things planned," Liz started, "Almost every year, we go out to Arlington early for their memorial service and then spend some of the afternoon in Monument Park, followed by a barbeque on the roof. Kind of a Dolan Family tradition," Liz trailed off the end of her sentence a bit rushed, "You're welcome to join us if you want..."
Steve looked at her for a brief moment as he considered the invitation. She was smiling for the first time all afternoon, and he did not want to be the one to make her stop.
"I'd be honored," Steve replied, returning the smile. He watched Liz's smile reach her emerald eyes.
* * * Author's Notes * * *
Surprise! It's from Steve's point of view, and Chapter 7 will be as well! I felt that it was important to show what Steve is going through at this point in time, and what better way to do that than through his eyes? Let me know whether or not you agree :-)
Special thanks as always to my beta reader, , for being fantastic! They've also made some new covers that I'll be showcasing as the cover of this story. There are several that will be revolving over time. Let us know what you think of them!
Thanks for reading.
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