Chapter Text
Steve opened her eyes. She was lying on a cot in a small but pretty room, the window open to let in the sound of traffic and a light breeze that made the curtains sway. She was wearing a tight white SSR tee and khaki pants that weren’t hers, hair loose but neatly combed. The radio was playing a Dodgers game, and the whole scene would have been one of peace and contentment if not for the weird mechanical humming and flicker of fluorescent lights that she could hear through the thin walls.
She sat up carefully, muscles feeling stiff. That in itself was weird and frightening – she never felt sore in the mornings, not even after the roughest fights or longest days. Steve took a moment to flex her limbs, testing her body until she felt less tense. She breathed deeply: there was no tightness to her chest, which was reassuring. She looked around for a mirror but there wasn’t one.
The door opened and a woman in SSR uniform entered, long wavy hair brushing her shoulders. Steve had trained with female agents and been taught the same lesson: having your hair down was dangerous in a combat situation – it could be yanked by the enemy, or catch on something, or get in your eyes. It was discouraged in the field and completely forbidden on base.
“Good morning,” she smiled, checking her watch, “Or should I say, afternoon.”
“Where am I?” Steve demanded.
“You’re in a recovery room in New York City.” She smiled, apparently not put off by the gruff question.
She was lying; even without Steve’s previous doubts, she could hear the tiny spike in the woman’s heartrate. The blonde looked around, trying to get some idea of what was going on, but it was just an ordinary room. She decided to see exactly how unshakeable that smile was.
“Where am I, really?”
The woman barely faltered, just a slight bemused twitch to her mouth. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
“The game. It’s from May 1941, I know cos I was there.”
The woman – agent, assassin, whatever she was – froze, eyes turning slightly panicked. Steve felt disgusted; not only were they sloppy enough to try and trick her without checking all the facts, but they couldn’t even keep the lie going once they were caught.
She stood, drawing nearer. “Now I’m gonna ask you again, where am I?”
“Miss Rogers-”
“Who are you?”
The door opened and a couple of men in what looked like HYDRA body armour walked in, armed. Steve shifted her weight, heart speeding up.
“So, it’s like that, huh?”
Steve jumped through the hole she’d made in the side of the fake recovery room and ran, sprinting through a building with huge glass walls. More agents followed her, a whole flock of them in suits and fighting gear, but she was too fast. She dodged a line of guards in the main lobby and shot out onto the street. She didn’t think about where she was going, just ran. There was a comforting lack of bullets flying at her or bombs going off, and as she kept running she realised that the streets were kinda familiar. It looked like New York, but there were things that didn’t fit: the cars were wrong, and the outfits. She sprinted into an open space and stopped, staring as she fought to catch her breath.
It was Times Square but everything was different, the familiar billboards replaced by giant light-up signs. There was honking behind her and she turned as three black sedans pulled up with their headlights on, blocking an escape that way. At the same time, a voice yelled behind her.
“At ease, agent.”
Steve spun, arms up for a fight. There were another three sedans on that side, and in front of them stood a man in a dark coat with a matching eyepatch. He wasn’t pointing a gun at her, but he seemed dangerous all the same.
He walked towards her, stopping just out of reach. “Look, I’m sorry about that little show back there but we thought it’d be best to break it to you slowly.”
“Break what?”
“You’ve been asleep, Miss Rogers,” he said grimly, “For almost seventy years.”
Steve took a shaky breath, looking around. It sounded like bullshit but it had to be true, right? There was no other explanation for the weirdness around her. What happened after the plan went down? What about Peg, and the Commandos, and the SSR? What about the war?
“You gonna be okay?” the man asked.
Steve shot him a wry look. “Oh sure. Just a usual day for me.”
He smiled, which Steve appreciated. “Let’s sit down and talk about it. My name is Director Nicholas Fury, head of SHIELD – the agency that grew out of the SSR. My office is back the way you came-”
“No,” Steve pressed her lips together, “I’m not going back there until I know what’s going on.”
“Okay,” Fury nodded, and Steve decided she definitely liked his style, “Let’s find somewhere to get a coffee.”
The director waved to one of his men and the sedans started pulling away, leaving only three guys to trail Fury and Steve across the square and up 7th. Not too far down they found a place with a huge green and white sign over the door.
“Starbucks?” Steve asked.
“Franchises – you’ll get used to them.” Fury waved her inside.
The three agents cleared them a couple of tables in a back corner. Fury and Steve sat together, the others spread out to ensure them some privacy. A perky waitress brought over a couple of big clear containers full of pale brown, milky liquid, and Steve managed half a smile for her before she walked away.
“What is this stuff?” the blonde tilted her cup.
“It passes for coffee, though certainly not the good kind.” Fury snorted.
Steve took a sip and wrinkled her nose. “Sugary.”
“That’s the way tastes run these days. War rationing ended a long time ago, but I think we’re still makin’ up for it.”
“You said seventy years.” Steve leaned back in her chair.
“Almost. It’s 2011. April 24th, to be exact.”
“That’s…” Steve shook her head, “How is that possible?”
“When you crashed the Valkyrie into the ice, the serum prevented the damage from killing you. But you were frozen, comatose. Howard Stark spent years trying to find you and never could.”
“Howard?” she looked up.
“He died about 30 years ago. Car crash.” Fury said gently.
“Agent Carter?” Steve sat up.
“She’s alive. You could see her later, if you wanted. Might make everything more…real.”
Steve bit her lip. “Tell me what happened with the war.”
“HYDRA was finished when you killed Schmidt.”
“I didn’t kill him,” she insisted, “The Cube did.”
Fury arched a brow but continued. “Allied forces marched into Berlin not too long after that. The SSR packed up, moved back here. Became SHIELD.”
“What about the guys? The Commandos?”
“I can get you copies of their files.”
She grimaced. “They’re dead too, huh?”
Fury shrugged. “It’s been a long time, Stephanie.”
“Steve,” she scowled, “Steve is my name. Stephanie’s the one Colonel Philips tried to fob off on me.”
“My mistake.”
Fury took a big gulp of his coffee and set the cup back on the table, passing it from hand to hand distractedly.
“You know the army tried to bury anything related to Project Rebirth?”
“Yeah. They didn’t like the results.”
“Well the SSR didn’t care either way. Your friends and colleagues there kept the stories going, and we have Agent Carter’s records. We’re the only ones that know who you are, Steve, and what you did for this country.”
“Is that supposed to make me trust you?”
“Nah. I just wanted you to know why I’m concerned about your well-being. We wanna help you, Miss Rogers. We owe you that.”
Steve sighed. “What does that help entail?”
“Come back to HQ with me and let the docs check you over. We’ve got rooms where you can stay for a couple of days while we make sure everything’s good; after that, there are apartments in the city we use for our agents. You can take some time to catch up on things, ask questions, think about what you wanna do next.”
“I guess I don’t have much of a choice, huh?”
“You’re not a prisoner, Miss Rogers. You’re not even an agent anymore, unless you wanna be. You’re free to do as you please.”
Steve rubbed a hand across her forehead before letting it drop to the table. “I guess I could use some help.”
*****
Being examined by SHIELD’s doctors was surprisingly comforting. It wasn’t that Steve had worried something might be wrong with her – the serum made that almost impossible. It was more the feeling that she was back in Erskine’s lab, under the watchful eye of the kindly old man, not having to do anything but follow instructions and answer the odd question. The feeling was spoiled when she realised she didn’t know what had happened to him, a sick wave of grief washing over her.
“Miss Rogers, could you flex your arm for me?” one of the doctors asked, a needle in hand, “We’d like to take some blood samples.”
Steve curled her arm against her chest unthinkingly, frowning. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
The doctor blinked, a cheery smile stuck on her face. “Miss Rogers, I assure you it’s a perfectly harmless, regular procedure.”
“Let’s just say I have some trust issues. I think I want to get to know you people a little better before I go sharing my DNA.”
She looked annoyed now, lips pursed. “Miss Rogers, we already collected multiple samples while you were unconscious to check for various diseases and disorders. Director Fury has imposed very strict biohazard containment and disposal regulations for your organic material; there’s no need to worry. We’re not going to turn you into a guinea pig.”
Steve didn’t totally believe her, but if it was true that they’d already taken samples there wasn’t much point being squeamish about it now. She held out her arm and flexed, sighing as the tip pricked her skin.
After Medical were finished making her do star jumps and lift weights and pass various bodily fluids, Steve sat down to put her borrowed shoes back on. The door opened and an agent sauntered in. She was black, just above average height, and lean without being skinny. She must have been about Steve’s age but the well–tailored suit and shaved head made her look older until she smiled.
“Sam Wilson,” she offered a hand, “It’s an honour to meet you, Miss Rogers.”
“Thanks.” Steve shook.
“Director Fury’s asked me to show you to your room.”
“Can we take the scenic route?”
Wilson frowned. “You don’t have clearance to move freely around the restricted areas.”
“No, I meant the view outside. Can we walk by those big windows I saw earlier?”
The agent perked up. “Sure. Right this way.”
She led Steve down the hall and around a couple of corners until they came to a long, wide passage with tall ceilings and one wall of windows. The blonde walked up to the glass and stopped, staring at the familiar-but-not skyline. She almost wished everything was different; it might be easier to process than this mixture of new and old.
Agent Wilson didn’t rush her, hanging back as Steve moved down the line, stopping now and then to examine something more closely. Finally they reached the end of the hall, Steve putting her hands in her pockets glumly.
“Must be a lot to take in.” Wilson said.
“It’s unreal.”
“We wanna help, Miss Rogers. We’ll do whatever we can to ease your transition.”
She smiled wryly at her reflection. “I don’t think there’s anything you could do to make this easy.”
She took a last look and turned, following Agent Wilson into the elevator. They exited on a floor that looked like a normal apartment building or classy hotel, the doors marked with brass numbers, the hallway cameras discreet compared to the ones downstairs. Wilson stopped outside room 616 and swiped her ID through the card reader, the door clicking open.
It was a small studio, comfortably but cleanly furnished in sensible fabrics and colours, no decorations in sight. There was a lounge area with a couch and coffee table in front of a hi-tech screen as thin as paper, the kitchenette similarly shiny and futuristic with a lot of complicated-looking compartments. A second door led into the bathroom; the bedroom was concealed by a mostly opaque glass panel that was just tall enough for Steve to see over if she stood on tiptoes. There were no windows though.
“The kitchen’s stocked, and there are some spare clothes in the wardrobe – nothing fancy, but you’ll probably wanna buy your own stuff anyway once you get out of here.”
She handed Steve an ID swipe card with her name and picture. There were a bunch of numbers and codes she didn’t understand, and a big label that said ‘LEVEL 4’.
“This is yours. It opens any door you have access to. You can’t leave the building until you’ve been cleared, but let me know if there’s anything you want from outside and I’ll get it for you. Director Fury would prefer you stay in your room while we determine if you’re susceptible to our present-day viruses and bacteria, but you’re free to walk around the building. We don’t want you getting cabin fever.” She smiled.
“What about my door?” Steve asked, “Who’s got access to that?”
“At the moment it’s me, Commander Hill, Director Fury, and the assigned med staff. Don’t worry though, we’ll knock first.”
“How reassuring.” Steve muttered as the agent turned on the TV.
“Director Fury had the research team put these together when we found you.” Wilson said, flicking through a complicated menu with her fingers, “Each folder has a brief introduction on the subject – technology, history, pop culture, whatever - and then more detailed videos broken down by time period, so you could either go through it topic by topic or decade by decade, whichever works for you.”
“Uh, thanks. I guess I should start with history?”
“It’s got voice command, so just say ‘Computer, play’ when you’re ready,” she opened the file and hit pause, “Is there anything else you need, Miss Rogers? Help with the kitchen? Company?”
The blonde bit her lip. “I think I’d like to be alone for now. Thanks though.”
Wilson gave her a breezy smile. “Alright. Well if you need me, just ask the computer and I’ll get the message.”
Steve frowned at her. “You know, you’re not really what I expected.”
“What did you expect?” she tilted her head.
“Someone more like Director Fury. Serious, detached.”
Wilson shrugged. “Takes all kinds, Miss Rogers.”
“It’s just Steve.”
“I’ll check in on you later, Steve.”
She let herself out and the other woman looked around with a sigh, not sure what to do with herself. Steve liked knowing where she stood; she liked having a plan. Now she was so out of place, surrounded by all this stuff that seemed normal but looked and behaved totally wrong.
“Kinda like you, huh?” she snorted.
She had an overwhelming urge to just lie down and let her mind rest, but her body was shouting at her to keep moving, keep assessing, keep safe. In the absence of an assignment she might as well do her research. Steve rummaged through the kitchen cabinets and drawers fruitlessly before finding a notebook and pen in the coffee table, then made herself comfortable on the couch.
“Computer,” she said, feeling like an idiot, “Play.”
Steve rubbed her eyes, glancing back over the scribbled notes on her page, arrows and lines pointing to some sentences, a couple heavily underlined. She felt like someone had cracked the top of her head open and poured information in, the images and sound bites leaking out through her pores. She’d made her way through all the basic clips, figuring she’d save the bulk of the info for another day, and it was still too much to process.
The world was a very different place now, full of wonderful new tech Howard would have sold an arm to get a look at and opportunities for anyone who wanted them. It was also the same old shithole, with prejudice and crime and a depressingly high amount of greedy, selfish people. Steve didn’t know if she was disappointed or not; maybe it was silly to wake up in the future and expect humanity to have changed, but she felt a little cheated that she’d fought so hard and lost so much to keep people free, only to find they’d barely noticed. She didn’t like to think she’d been fighting for their right to make bad decisions, but she supposed forcing them to be better would make her as bad as Schmidt.
She navigated her way around the tiny kitchen, truly unsure what to do with the bounty of ingredients in the pantry and fridge, and settled on toast because it was the least daunting option. She washed up and changed into a clean shirt and some soft flannelette shorts, and climbed into bed more from habit than any desire to sleep. Steve closed her eyes and let it just wash over her, losing herself in the noise.
She didn’t know what time it was when someone knocked softly, but she slipped out of bed and took a balanced stance behind the partial cover of the couch – just in case.
“Hello?”
“Miss Rogers, it’s Agent Wilson. Can I come in?”
“Sure.” She relaxed.
The door opened and the agent came in with an armful of glossy paper. “Hope I didn’t wake you.”
The blonde glanced at the clock, brows shooting up. It was after midnight? When did that happen? “It’s okay, I wasn’t sleeping.”
The other woman gave a knowing look but didn’t comment. “How are you doing? Did you watch the videos?”
“Some,” Steve scratched her thumb over her forehead, “It’s a lot to take in.”
“I don’t doubt it. You managed okay though? No issues?”
“I found everything I needed.”
Wilson held out her bundle. “Here, I thought these might come in handy.”
Steve took them, studying the front cover with a frown. It was a picture of a giant chocolate cake. She flicked through the stack and found a range of different foods, from steaks and soups to smoothies and noodles. “Recipe books?”
“I know there’s a video on cooking in the Tech folder, but that’s more about microwaves and food processors than actual techniques. We’ve come a long way since the ‘40s – you can get just about anything in New York, and there’s a million different ways to serve it. I thought you could have a look at some simple stuff, experiment a little.”
Steve smiled gratefully. “Thanks. I wasn’t sure where to start. I grew up in the Depression, and then we had rations during the war…not a lot of variety.”
“Well feel free to ask if you need help or ingredients. I love baking.”
“I will.”
“Good night, Steve.”
For a second she considered asking the agent to stay and distract her from the poisonous loop of her thoughts, but it was late and for all Steve knew Wilson had a family to get home to. Other people had those; they had normal lives and places to be. So instead she just smiled.
“Good night, Sam.”
*****
Steve spent the rest of the night reading her new books and making a list of what she wanted to try – which was pretty much everything, just written down in order of priority. In the morning she had to do an hour on the treadmill while they hooked her up to various machines; Steve spent it thinking about pepper sauce and cauliflower cheese. The doctor peeled the various sensors off her chest and gave a tight smile, noting something on a tablet.
“We’ll need you to come back this afternoon and do another hour, Miss Rogers.”
“My muscle mass seems fine, ma’am.”
The woman made a stern face that implied she was used to dealing with difficult agents. “We need to make sure there’s no deterioration. 15:00 at the latest, Miss Rogers.”
She sighed. “Yes ma’am.”
Steve didn’t bother showering since she was only going upstairs anyway; she’d rather clean up in private. She pulled a singlet on and left the lab to find Agent Wilson checking her phone in the hall outside. She looked up with a smile, tucking it away.
“Hey. How’d it go?”
“Everything’s fine, just like yesterday.” Steve rolled her eyes.
Wilson shrugged, leading her towards the elevators. “Better than the alternative, right?”
“I guess. I’ve definitely been sick enough for one lifetime.”
“Plus you’re getting some exercise instead of being stuck roaming the halls. Gotta focus on the positive.”
Steve smirked. “Oh yeah. Sports bras – miracle of modern science. Could take or leave the treadmill though. I like some scenery when I run.”
“Well once you’re out of here you can do all the picturesque jogging you want.”
The blonde stopped. “What if they don’t clear me?”
Wilson placed a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “Then they’ll find a way to fix it. Director Fury wants to get you back in the world.”
“So I can acclimatise and go back into the field?” she guessed.
Sam smiled. “Probably. That something you’d be interested in?”
“Ask me in a month or two.”
They started walking again, joining the cluster of agents waiting for the elevators. Some of them looked at Steve curiously, nudging their neighbours. She ignored it.
“Sam, do you mind if I ask you a favour?”
“Sure.”
“I was reading those cookbooks you gave me, and I put together a bit of a grocery list. I was hoping you could pick some things up.”
“I’d love to. Need any help cooking?”
Steve shook her head. “I’d like to have a go myself first. But I could use a taste-tester.”
“Sign me up.”
Despite the strangeness of waking up in a new reality, Steve’s days quickly fell into a routine. She’d have breakfast, then watch one of her videos. After the morning lab tests, she and Wilson would tackle something complicated for lunch, the agent offering tips and appreciative comments that Steve was pretty sure she didn’t deserve – she wasn’t a bad cook, but she certainly wasn’t great either. Wilson left to work on her other assignments, and Steve spent the rest of the afternoon watching more debrief presentations and going over her notes, putting together a picture in her head of everything she’d missed. She had her afternoon tests and washed up before making dinner. Afterwards she took a long walk, making the most of the empty hallways to wander and admire the city lights outside. When it got so late she couldn’t keep her eyes open, she reluctantly went to bed, but she only slept an hour or so, some nights less. How could she sleep? She’d spent decades doing nothing else, and she didn’t have any more time to waste.
The only thing Steve didn’t do was think about her future. She knew she should have been making plans, deciding what she was going to do with herself once she left SHIELD, but it hurt too much. Every time she tried, all she could think of was the life she’d imagined with Bucky: the wedding at St Agnes’ and the children they’d adopt, going to art school, having their own place. She watched him fall but hadn’t really given up on it, figuring that after Schmidt was dead she could search Europe until she found the brunette; waking up to the realisation that life was never going to happen was like a new knife in her heart.
Steve was getting tired of constantly having the rug pulled out from under her. First Project Rebirth, then falling for Bucky, then losing him, then waking up in the 21st century – her life was a shifting, changing thing, slipping out of her grasp just when she had it pinned down. Maybe that was just reality; maybe it was the same for everyone. But if there was one thing Steve was going to do with her second chance, it was find something she wanted and hold on.
She was watching a video on 1980s pop culture, mostly staring at questionable hair choices and wondering just how widespread the cocaine problem was back then. She got the feeling SHIELD had censored that info a little bit; there’d been a quick mention of it during the synopsis of Reagan’s War on Drugs campaign but she had to believe no sober person would think shoulder pads and neon mullets were a good combination.
There was a knock and Steve paused the video. “Who is it?”
“Sam.”
“Come in.”
The smaller woman opened the door, a tray with a couple of takeaway coffees in one hand and a brown paper bag in the other. “I got breakfast – thought you might want a break from cooking.”
“I don’t mind it, actually. It might even be relaxing once I stop panicking about using the blender.”
Wilson giggled, sitting on the couch. She set the coffees between them and opened the bag, taking out a bagel before handing the rest to Steve. “How are you going with your debrief?”
The blonde made a face. “The videos are good, but they’re a little…basic. There’s uh, there’s a lot of stuff in there I already kinda figured. You know, the US vs. Russia Cold War stuff. Civil rights movement. Computers.”
“Fury wanted to make sure they covered as much as possible without overwhelming you. He had some very strict ideas about culture shock and giving you too much to process at once.”
“See that’s the thing – I don’t get overwhelmed easy,” Steve tapped her head, “Super serum.”
“Right,” Wilson nodded, “I keep forgetting. You just seem so…”
“Average?” Steve grinned.
“Yeah – no offence.”
“None taken. I’m looking forward to being ordinary again.”
Wilson gave her a sceptical look and Steve laughed.
“Well maybe not ordinary, but a regular tax-paying member of society at least.”
“And we wanna help you. I could ask them to make some new videos-”
“That’s one idea. Orrrrrr,” Steve ripped off a piece of bagel, “You could teach me to use the Internet. Then I could figure stuff out for myself.”
Sam arched a brow. “You think you can handle it?”
Steve pouted. “Wilson, how am I going to adapt if I can’t use email or Google? From what I’ve seen, nobody can go an hour without them anymore.”
The agent looked thoughtful, sipping her coffee. Finally she sighed. “I guess if your brain hasn’t exploded by now, the Internet’s not gonna do it. But if you go into a meltdown, don’t tell anyone I helped you. I don’t wanna be known as the agent who broke Steve Rogers.”
“My lips are sealed.”
Wilson came back after dinner with a slick black laptop and spent a couple of hours showing her how to use it. It didn’t take Steve long to pick up the basics; it took even less time to realise that the human race were a perverse group of sex-obsessed weirdos, and that Wikipedia was 50% helpful and 50% bullshit. But at least she could type up her notes and organise them for easy access, and with such vast stores of knowledge at her fingertips she could cross-check facts and find alternate perspectives, chasing down the things she really wanted to know.
One of the first things was the war – not so much the outcomes and policy, which had been covered in her video summary, but the people. There were plenty of old photos and documentaries about WWII, and she combed through it all looking for the tiniest trace of her squad. It felt stupid and desperate, but she needed to see them. In her head it only felt like a couple of days since they’d stormed Schmidt’s base together, and she needed the crackling black and white footage to understand just how much time had passed. Her friends were old or gone. They might remember her fondly, if they remembered her at all, but they’d lived their lives without her and she couldn’t slot herself back into them now.
Steve carefully didn’t think about Peggy. According to Fury’s files she was living a bus ride away in D.C., and yet there was so much distance between them Steve didn’t know how to cross it. It was a gamble – either Peggy was the same as she remembered, in which case Steve would feel depressed about missing out on her life, or she’d be completely different and the blonde’s fond memories would be tainted by images of a stranger. She didn’t want to risk that.
Steve was getting used to the idea that she had no one, despite Director Fury’s promise to help her adapt. She had no old friends, no family, no familiar neighbours, no surviving comrades. Once she left SHIELD it would just be her, one of the millions of New Yorkers, no more special or famous than anyone else. She’d never had that before; even after her parents had died she’d had Bucky and his family, and some acquaintances in the neighbourhood. Then she’d had Peggy and Erskine, and the girls at the Academy, and the Commandos. Steve had spent her life surrounded by good people, and she had to believe that she’d find them again – but it was very hard in her solitary, windowless room.
Steve sat on the exam table, clutching the edge of the cushion as the doctor read over her notes. The silence seemed to drag on, the occasional beep of equipment the only distraction.
“Your results look good, Miss Rogers. There’s just one thing.”
“You want me to do a couple miles, make sure I haven’t forgotten how since yesterday?” Steve joked.
The doctor gave a sour smile. “I was going to say we need your signature here confirming your release.”
“Ah. Right.” Steve hurriedly took the tablet and stylus, scratching her name on the line.
“You’re free to go then,” the doctor took it back, “I’ll let Director Fury know.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” Steve nodded and let herself out, heart beating faster at the thought of leaving the building and breathing some actual air for once.
Agent Wilson was waiting by the elevators, and Steve bounded over to tell her the news.
“Dr Manchen cleared you, I see.”
“Yep. How soon can I get out of here?”
“They’ve prepared an apartment for you. We can leave as soon as you’ve packed.”
Steve frowned. “I don’t really have anything.”
“You’ve got your laptop, your toothbrush. What about your cookbooks?”
“I kinda figured you’d want them back.”
“Think of them as a house warming gift.” She said as they stepped into the elevator.
“Thanks, Sam – for everything,”
“Are you kidding? This was way more fun than my usual assignments.”
Steve made a face. “I doubt babysitting me could be more fun than…whatever it is you do.”
“Hey, most of the people I work with don’t spend their days making me chicken noodle soup and cheesecake. It was a welcome change.”
The apartment SHIELD had given her was in a pre-war townhouse in Bushwick, not far from the park. Steve walked around the lounge room, gaping.
“This place is huge.”
Sam laughed. “It’s pretty standard for the era.”
“Not in my neighbourhood. There you were lucky if you weren’t sharing with another family, ten of you all crammed in together. I mean it must be three times the size of my Ma’s place.”
“You should make the most of it – make friends, host some raves.”
Steve frowned. “Raves?”
“That wasn’t included in your cultural studies? The lab techs have some questionable taste.”
“They probably say the same about you.” Steve smirked.
Sam scoffed. “Please! In fact, I’ve been putting together a little playlist to catch you up on your essential tunes.”
“Thanks.” Steve said, wandering into the kitchen.
Sam leaned over the counter, holding out the keys. “So you can stay as long as you want. Don’t worry about the bills – SHIELD will pick up the tab.”
“I appreciate the gesture, but I’m gonna find my own place as soon as I have a better idea of the local real estate situation.”
The agent raised her brows. “Fair enough. I can point you towards some useful sites.”
Steve nodded. “I just want somewhere that’s mine, you know? Where I can get comfortable. Ground myself.”
She certainly wasn’t lacking the funds for it. When Steve disappeared, her SSR pay had sat untouched, accruing seventy years of compound interest – not to mention the hefty compensation SHIELD had paid out for her time in the ice. Steve wouldn’t have to work unless she wanted to, which gave her plenty of time to adjust, learn, and try to get her head straight.
“Well if you’re good, I should head back to HQ.” Sam straightened.
“Actually,” Steve bit her lip, “Um, would you mind…”
“What’s up?”
“I wanted to go clothes shopping, and as much as I’d like to do it alone and prove I can still talk to regular people, I’m not really sure about…well, any of it. The clothing stores are all different and there are so many new styles, and I’m not 100% sure what I like or even what looks good on me. After the experiment Pe-my old C.O. picked out a lot of my wardrobe for me, since I wasn’t used to women’s clothes.”
“You want a second opinion?”
“Please.”
Sam beamed. “Sounds fun. You wanna go now?”
Steve gave a relieved smile. “That’d be great.”
Sam led Steve through the aisles, taking a red dress off the rack and holding it up in front of her.
“What do you think?”
“It seems a little, uh, short?” the blonde blushed.
“You can flash a bit of skin, Rogers. It’s not 1940.” She put it on the top of the pile clutched to Steve’s chest.
“Easy for you to say. I’ve only been in 2012 for a week.”
An older woman standing nearby raised her head with a frown. Steve gave her a nervous smile as Sam steered her away.
“I get that you prefer jeans and a tee, but you need at least a couple of nice going-out dresses.”
“I know. I’m just uh, adjusting to what that means now. ‘Going-out dresses’ used to have about five times more material than these.”
Sam put her hands on Steve’s shoulders. “Relax. I’m Agent Good Taste, remember? I’m not gonna dress you like a stripper – though God knows you could pull it off.”
Steve flapped a hand at her, flustered, and Sam turned back to the hangers.
“Wait, how do strippers dress?”
The agent laughed. “You’ve never seen one?”
“No. Wasn’t exactly my scene.”
“You can Google it later.”
Steve’s gaze narrowed. “Do I want to?”
Sam shrugged. “I dunno. Do you like naked girls?”
“Sometimes.”
“What about naked guys?”
Steve looked down, stomach clenching painfully. Sam frowned.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to imply anything. I was just curious-”
“No, it’s okay,” Steve said quickly, “The question’s fine, it’s just…”
“The answer?” Sam offered.
“Yeah.”
“Don’t stress. I won’t pry if you don’t wanna tell me.”
Steve smiled. “You’re a spy.”
“Right now I’m just Sam, stylist to the elderly.” She winked, flicking through a row of navy blue shirts.
Steve hugged the clothes tight, eyes on the ceiling. “I guess the short answer is ‘Sometimes’.”
Sam glanced back, meeting her gaze with a nod. “Alright.”
“What about you?” the blonde blurted, immediately cringing, “If you don’t mind me asking.”
“I like beautiful people, no matter which department they shop in.”
“Oh. Cool.”
Sam snorted. “You’re pretty relaxed for your generation.”
“I’m not exactly conventional, am I?”
“Good point. Come on, let’s hit the fitting rooms before you collapse under the weight of all those clothes.”
Shopping turned out to be kind of fun, Steve trying on outfits and letting Sam pass judgement, twirling in front of the mirrors. They managed to find a style that suited her but didn’t make her feel naked, ending up with about twenty key pieces Steve could expand on once she had a better idea what she needed. She felt bad enough having that many – it seemed obscene for anyone to own more than a couple of outfits, but then they weren’t living in the Depression anymore. She was allowed to own things without worrying she was taking food out of her ma’s mouth, or Bucky’s, or her own.
The blonde still almost had heart failure when they got to the register.
“$20 for a shirt? That’s outrageous!” she hissed.
“That’s like a dollar where you’re from, Rogers. Now hand your card to the nice sales assistant so we can get on with our day – we still need to get shoes and underwear, and a phone.”
Steve pouted. “Why? I don’t have anyone to call.”
“You’ve got me, for a start. Plus you said it yourself, no one can get by without constant access to the Net. We just need to figure out if you’re an Android or iPhone kinda girl.”
They spent another couple of hours shopping, and Steve thought it went well; she understood about 70% of the slang she heard and saw, and (regrettably) knew all the celebrities on the billboards and glossy tabloid magazines.
A hundred times she saw something and went to tell Bucky, only to remember he wasn’t there. The enthusiasm or curiosity would drain away, replaced by dull, heavy sadness. Steve couldn’t help thinking if Bucky had come to the future with her, it would have been a great adventure they could have figured out together; instead she just felt slow and sheltered when she didn’t understand something that should have been easy, no matter how nice Sam was about it.
They headed back to the apartment, Sam pulling the car up outside. “I won’t come in – gotta head back and make my report. Fury’s probably freakin’ out about you settling in.”
“We can’t have that,” Steve smiled, “Thanks for today.”
“Anytime. Seriously, I mean it: next time you wanna try a recipe or go out, give me a call. You’ve got my number now.”
The blonde waved and got out, grabbing her many bags as if they weighed nothing. She headed inside and got the door open, lining everything up on the kitchen counter. It was too quiet; she turned the radio on, tuning it until she found something she could deal with. Steve cut the tags off her purchases and hung them in the closet, then stood in the middle of the strange apartment full of someone else’s furniture.
“So,” she sighed, “What now?”