The first time that Steve saw the words across the marquee of the old abandoned theater in Brooklyn, just a few doors down from his apartment, he was walking home from the grocery store, bags in hand and going about his day as usual. Nothing should have drawn his eyes to it; it was the middle of the day, the bulbs had long-since burned out, and the letters in the message showed signs of wear as clearly as the crumbling bricks of the building's façade.
But today, somehow it was all he could see as he took the few final steps home, his eyes drawn to the words that took the length of the display, as if they were written solely for him to see, though he knew that was an impossibility. As he read them, it dawned on him that he hadn't consciously noted this building before.
It's possible we just missed each other
With hesitant feet, he passed it by, entering his apartment with keys in hand and allowing the door to shut behind him as he stood lost in thought. Stories built in his mind of all of the scenarios that could have played out around that one sentence; variations of missed opportunities in love, work, and life that it could have been, and it made him sad to think of those that he himself had missed in his 70 years lost.
But why did this time catch his eye when every other time that he passed it hadn't? Was he really meant to see it this time? Was someone trying to get his attention?
He dropped his bags on the counter top and hurried back downstairs, taking the steps three at a time on his way to the sidewalk and back to the old building. He stood for a moment and considered his next move, if he even had one. Moving now from window to window, he brushed the dirt away from the glass to see inside, finding a stack of marquee letters just behind the door. With a look in each direction and seeing no one in view, he gave the rusty door handle a sharp pull, breaking the lock and allowing him entry. Laying the letters out across the dusty floor, he put together his own message and brought them outside.
Carefully removing the letters that were hung, he set them aside to place his reply against the glass. He didn't know if anyone would answer him, or why he was even bothering to do this, but something inside of him told him that it was the right thing to do. Once he had his message in place, he jumped down from the roof that held him above the marquee and reviewed his work.
I'm sorry that I missed you but I'm here now
He sat on the small ledge against the window that held an old movie poster, it's words so sun faded and worn that he couldn't even make out what it was anymore. Steve waited there for hours, so long that he lost count, all the while not knowing what he was even waiting for. When the sun had set and the night air chilled his skin, he finally returned home, feeling like a love sick idiot over someone that had never even existed.
The next morning, he took his usual route past the same theater, making his way to grab a coffee before catching the train into the city just as he did everyday. He told himself not to look, to keep his eyes ahead and steady, but he couldn't help it. His eyes darted immediately to the marquee, but the sun was creating a glare that stung his still-weary eyes that already burned from a listless sleep. He brought his hand up to shield them, and when his vision cleared, his mind only became more clouded by what they saw.
You weren't there
A chill ran through his body and his breathing labored, shocked and staring as if he had seen a ghost. With a trembling hand, he pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed Tony, mumbling something about how he wouldn't be in today and closing the line before he could offer any explanation to the man on the other end.
Just as he had done the day before, he wrote out a message and hung it as quickly as he could, barely taking the time to be sure that he had all of the letters he needed. Panting and filled with nervous energy, he paced back and forth in front of the theater for hours, waiting for someone to answer him.
I won't leave again
He waited. He waited from the time that the sun rose until the sun fell, but you never showed. He watched the marquee with focus unlike any that he had needed on any mission, determined not to miss that moment when something might change. He watched when the moment finally came, just as he was about to give up, cursing himself for being so weak that he had even considered it.
Steve sat in complete awe and confusion at what was happening right in front of his eyes; knowing that no one would ever believe him, he grabbed his phone and recorded the letters changing, seemingly on their own with no one in sight to be doing it.
We keep missing each other
He had never moved so fast in all of his life. He hastily threw together the letters he needed and leapt onto the small ledge above the sign again, rushing to get the message together before you could leave, from wherever you were. He couldn't understand how or why, but he didn't care.
I'm here with you right now
Within minutes came the reply, allowing him to breathe when he hadn't even realized that he was holding it in.
I don't see you
"What the hell is going on?" he mumbled, again taking his phone in hand and frantically dialing. "Tony, I need you and Banner at the theater next to my apartment right now. Don't ask why, just get here as fast as you can." He closed the line and repeated the pattern over and over, reading your message and putting his own in its place for the next hour as he waited for them to arrive. Finally, in a moment of clarity, he realized that a question had yet to be asked.
What's the date
September 6th
He breathed a small sigh of relief, but it wasn't enough to calm him or to explain the first thing about what he was seeing. The pit in his stomach was inescapable as he assembled the next set of letters, and he was awash with fear at what your answer was going to be.
What year is it
1918
"That can't be right," he whispered, furrowing his brow as he tried to make sense of any of it. Was he dreaming? Was he crazy? Either could very well be true with how he was feeling in this moment, and he was actually ready to accept them. When he saw his teammates approaching and Tony's car parking in front of the building, he jumped down to meet them, panting out his words frantically and pulling up the video that he had taken earlier. "The message keeps changing...I watched it...she's in the past...don't know how..."
"Cap, breathe, give me the phone," Tony urged, taking it from his hands to watch with Bruce. "What the hell is going on? Wait," he stopped, looking up at the current board. "1918? Is that where this person is?"
"Yeah," Steve replied, rushing to get the next message together. "Hold on, watch this."
My friends are here to help me find you
The trio stood steady and watched, waiting for the words to change as they had in Steve's video. Bruce grabbed a few pieces of tech from the car while they waited, returning quickly just as the letters began to shift.
It's getting late here I have to go
"No, no, no," Steve muttered under his breath, hurrying to catch you.
Just a bit longer please
It's dark and not safe to stay I'm sorry
"This is incredible," Bruce whispered to Tony, showing him something on the screen in his hands, "it's like there's a hole in time. This entire building is in some sort of flux. Steve, have you seen anything change with the building itself?"
"No," he replied quietly as he hung his words, barely hearing the doctor. He had one task at hand and one goal in mind; it was all that mattered.
Stay safe come back tomorrow
I will and sleep well Steve
With that he stopped and allowed himself to relax just slightly, dropping himself to sit on the cool concrete of the sidewalk for the first time in hours. His body was filled with fatigue but he paid it no attention, giving his focus to Tony and Bruce. "Well, any thoughts?"
"Alright, we have till tomorrow," Bruce offered, "so let's take this information back to the tower so I can try to work this out. I don't know how long this connection is going to last, so I'll work fast."
"Thank you," Steve nodded, "I appreciate that." With a quiet groan he pushed himself back to standing with a long stretch of his arms over his head, yawning away the ache in his muscles. As they pulled away, he gathered up the old glass letters that were strewn across the sidewalk in front of the building, gently putting them back inside so that he could use them again when you returned tomorrow. If Banner had any success in figuring this out, he might even get a glimpse of you for the first time.
When he finally had the chance to put his head on his pillow for the night, he closed his eyes and tried to imagine what you might look like or how your voice sounded. He was sure that you were beautiful and that you had to have the voice of an angel since you had come to him in a miracle of sorts. By the time sleep had taken him, and after his mind had created a complete vision, you were everything that he ever wanted.
The next morning when he woke, the sun was glaring through his bedroom window and birds were singing loudly just outside. The world was wide awake and ready for him to join it; he was ready to join you, and hurried to dress and be on his way. With a quick check of his phone to see if Tony or Bruce had any updates, he found none, so he tossed it aside and grabbed his keys instead, again rushing down the stairs of his building and out onto the busy sidewalk that would lead him to you.
As he neared the theater, something felt wrong. A flash of intuition hit him forcefully, and his heart began to pound against his chest with so much pressure that it almost hurt. His pace quickened and his feet fumbled slightly, rounding the corner only to find a nightmare realized and every one of his hopes helplessly dashed.
The theater was gone as if it had never existed, leaving only a vacant lot in its place; a vacancy as striking as the emptiness that dropped Steve to his knees in front of it. He would stay there for hours, with passersby staring but not stopping, leaving him to realize on his own that you were never coming back. When he finally stood, he made his way to a small deli on the corner, grabbing a scrap of paper to scribble a final message to you. He brought it to the center of the lot, digging a small hole in the dirt to place the folded paper in before covering it again. You would never see it, but it didn't change the feeling behind it. To Steve, that would never change.
It's possible we just missed each other. I'm sorry.