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It had been strange for him to wake up from the ice in a new century.
Some things were the same, some things never changed, some things were gone forever, and some things sparkled with a newness he could hardly grasp.
And New York was the center of it all.
He could walk through Brooklyn and see the five story walkup that he squatted in for a summer with Bucky.
The alleys where we took punch after punch, and he could still taste the blood in his mouth.
But at the end of the block, where the Pie Shop used to be was a shop that sold coffee and snacks that went with coffee and that was it; they called it Starbucks.
He had expected a Moby Dick theme, but inside was all dark woods and vibrant wall art, his friends told him it was kind of ‘hipster’ and he put it in the lexicon of new words that meant nothing.
There were five of these Starbucks places on his route back to the tower, except for slight differences in layout and the baristas, another one for the lexicon; they could all have been the same coffee shop.
He went into the Starbucks closest to the tower; overwhelmed by the baffling assortment of coffee drinks that were made with coffee and flavoring and milk and ice and called bizarre names like Frappuccino that were ordered by picky overdressed over made-up middle aged women who said things like “Two percent, half-caff, half-sugar-free caramel, half-regular mocha, three pump hazelnut, two splenda and one-third equal, iced macchiato, upside-down with non-fat whip, and cinnamon on top.”
He scowled and made his way to the front, “Coffee please?”
The vaguely familiar all too chipper blond woman fired back in a dizzying stream, “Tall, Grande or Venti? And would you like the Blond, Medium or Dark roast?”
He looked at her blankly and could feel the line forming behind him, “Grande?” he said, unsure of what that would get him. But then she held up the middle size paper cup and he felt good about his choice.
Then he noticed she was still staring at him expectantly, and that he had to select a coffee, because apparently ‘just coffee’ didn’t exist here. He must have looked particularly helpless because she took pity on him and said, “How about I get you some Pike’s and you can bring it back if you don’t like it?”
He nodded dumbly before considering that he should also take some coffee back with him, it would be rude not to, but Tony and Bruce were out for the day, so he bucked up and ordered a Caramel Frappuccino for Jane and an Iced Tuxedo for Darcy.
The Barista asked for his name and he gave it, and a small tip, before thanking her and standing off to the side.
He waited patiently for his drinks, confident that the barista making the drinks would call out his name.
She didn’t.
Instead the barista called out “Captain America!”
He blanched, prepared for the onslaught of people to crowd around him, but nothing happened.
“Captain America?” she called again, holding up the drinks he had ordered, and he took the few steps to pick them up.
“Uh. These are my drinks, but I’m not,” he began, trying to play it cool when the girl behind the counter said, “I know.”
“Um. What?”
She gestured to the tower across the street, “Beth’s always putting the names of the Avengers on the cups for fun, on account of the tower being right there and all.”
“Oh.” He said, not sure what else to say.
The girl shrugged and handed him a drink carrier, “Like the real Captain America would ever come in here,” she leaned in and whispered conspiratorially, “Beth says she’s seen his face.”
He made a non-committal grunt and took the carrier and the drinks, making a point not to look back at the register and the girl behind it until he got to the door.
He hazarded one single glance back as he pushed it open, long enough to see Beth mouth thank you before turning back to the customer in front of her; the smile back on her face, as she scrawled Black Widow on the woman’s cup.
Steve turned back to the door, pushed his way through and into the world.