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I WAS MADE TO HIT IN AMERICAAAA
He should know not to go out at night by himself. Not because he's in any danger - Captain America in New York City on a less-than-average day doesn't have much to worry about. But because, almost without exception, he gets lost. Steve tucks his hands into the pockets of his jeans and squints up at the buildings around him, ignoring the college student who staggers by, stops to stare at him, and bursts out laughing before moving on.
He's used to that, too, by now. Apparently dressing conservatively these days isn't a reflection of care for the resources of the country, or a side-effect of living life as a soldier for two years - it's just "dorky." At least he doesn't feel like someone's taped a sign to his back, not since he asked Darcy - Agent Lewis - why he kept getting that reaction.
Of course the fact that she had to explain what 'Because you're a dork' meant didn't really help his... street cred. He chuckles to himself, only a little ironic, at managing to use both terms in one train of thought.
A few streets later he's getting very confused. Usually he's able to find at least one familiar street or landmark to point him in the general right direction, at least until he finds a cab to get him the rest of the way back to the mansion. He's done this enough in the months he's been here that his assigned SHIELD shadows don't pop a vein unless he's not back by morning - in this case, though, that's probably working against him.
Finally Steve sighs and digs into his pocket to pull out his cellular phone. He looks at it for a moment, smiling to himself and wondering what Howard would make of all this. Tiny phones with tinier batteries and communicators and jets that don't need runways to take off.
Well, for all Steve knows, Howard invented most of it. He still hasn't been able to bring himself to look at history texts to see how his friends lived out their lives. There's something too much like admitting he's never going to see them again in doing that.
He flips the phone open gingerly, poking the tiny buttons with his pinky because he's not sure how else to manage the thing, and dials in what he's fairly sure is Darcy's number. Agent Lewis's number. He could try calling someone else, but she's friendly, in her own way. She doesn't treat him like a loaded gun waiting to be pointed at the next Big Bad Guy.
Steve lifts the phone to his ear with a frown. "Uh. Hello?"
He's used to that, too, by now. Apparently dressing conservatively these days isn't a reflection of care for the resources of the country, or a side-effect of living life as a soldier for two years - it's just "dorky." At least he doesn't feel like someone's taped a sign to his back, not since he asked Darcy - Agent Lewis - why he kept getting that reaction.
Of course the fact that she had to explain what 'Because you're a dork' meant didn't really help his... street cred. He chuckles to himself, only a little ironic, at managing to use both terms in one train of thought.
A few streets later he's getting very confused. Usually he's able to find at least one familiar street or landmark to point him in the general right direction, at least until he finds a cab to get him the rest of the way back to the mansion. He's done this enough in the months he's been here that his assigned SHIELD shadows don't pop a vein unless he's not back by morning - in this case, though, that's probably working against him.
Finally Steve sighs and digs into his pocket to pull out his cellular phone. He looks at it for a moment, smiling to himself and wondering what Howard would make of all this. Tiny phones with tinier batteries and communicators and jets that don't need runways to take off.
Well, for all Steve knows, Howard invented most of it. He still hasn't been able to bring himself to look at history texts to see how his friends lived out their lives. There's something too much like admitting he's never going to see them again in doing that.
He flips the phone open gingerly, poking the tiny buttons with his pinky because he's not sure how else to manage the thing, and dials in what he's fairly sure is Darcy's number. Agent Lewis's number. He could try calling someone else, but she's friendly, in her own way. She doesn't treat him like a loaded gun waiting to be pointed at the next Big Bad Guy.
Steve lifts the phone to his ear with a frown. "Uh. Hello?"
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She's not going to comment on the honeymoon suite. It looks like if they stand here much longer, Steve might actually die of embarrassment, and Olivia has the feeling she might need him. So instead, she simply nods to Tony and says with just the barest hint of sarcasm, "Thank you, Mr. Stark."
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He gives Steve another clap on the shoulder. " All right, it's decided. You have my blessing, Rogers. Go, eat, drink - maybe not that last one - and make merry knowing that your team leader is satisfied with your choice of twenty-first century companionship. Agent."
He salutes Olivia and turns toward one of the doors on the first floor, talking to JARVIS. "I'm just saying the adamantium plating sacrifices speed for security - if we have to double-up on quinjets, then we double up. One for speed, one for situations where we have to go in hot. Oh-"
Tony waves one hand at the pair near the doorway. "Guest rooms up the stairs and to the left. Have fun, kiddies."
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He crosses his arms and huddles in on himself a bit, unable to look at her. "I really, really didn't bring y- He. He's Tony."
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"It's fine." She spares one glance in Tony's direction as he walks off, and then back to Steve. "I know the type. So..." She gestures to the stairs. "You want to lead the way, or...?"
She'd say she could probably find her own way if he'd rather be elsewhere, but she doubts he'd actually let her go off on her own - and she can't blame him. If some woman fell out of nowhere in front of her, dressed like she is, Olivia wouldn't let her wander off either.
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Steve makes a helpless little gesture, ambling down one of the soaring wings of the mansion to a hall labeled "GUESTS" in five different language. "Oh. I guess- JARVIS? Which room is-"
One of the doors half-way down the hall swings open. "And that... would be it. I'll wait out here, if that's all right. Just. Let me know when you're ready to talk."
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With that, she starts off down the hall to the room, and closes the door gently behind her after stepping inside. It's kind of a shame she's too tired to really appreciate it. The room's huge, and beautiful, with a beautiful view - of mountains rather than New York, presumably some kind of hologram Olivia's not curious enough to investigate, but it is pretty.
There are clothes laid out on the bed - black slacks, a white blouse, underclothes... The outfit's more familiar to her than the other Olivia's wardrobe, actually - that's somehow more reassuring than the lack of amber or zeppelins here. This isn't home, but it's not the universe she was running from either. The rest she can deal with. A little of the tension eases from her as she shrugs out of Steve's jacket and walks to the bed to collect the clothes.
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Steve is in fact there, standing and looking 'out' one of the holographic windows with his hands clasped behind him in parade rest. He looks every inch the young soldier, even in khakis and a button-up blue shirt. Even though there's a wall between him and Olivia's temporary bedroom, he can't help pointedly keeping his back to her door. It just seems rude to do otherwise.
Besides, the view is nice. It reminds him of the view out the window of one of the SSR planes, flying low during sunrise over the Baltic... Steve sighs, amused at himself, and gives a little shake of his head. "Wake up, Rogers. You're in the middle of New York City with someone who can... teleport. You have other things to think about."
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She strips out of the damp, clinging clothes she got from Liberty Island the instant she reaches the bathroom, hurling them to the floor with maybe a little too much force. She doesn't want to look at them, never mind wear them, for a second longer than she has to. It only takes a minute after that to towel herself off, dress properly, finger-comb her hair into something a little more presentable.
She pauses in front of the mirror before heading back out of the bathroom. She still looks like hell, but she's been worse. There's no trace of the marks that had been drawn on her face, though she can't stop herself from scrubbing at her forehead with her fingers anyway as she turns and crosses the room to the opposite door.
Olivia stops just outside the doorway when she sees Steve by the window with his back to her. "Mr. Rogers? Or would you prefer Captain?"
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Steve gestures to one of the couches, taking a seat on the one opposite, across the low coffee table. "If you need anything while you're here, don't hesitate to ask him. There are only a few full-time residents in the mansion and the place is fully staffed twenty-four hours a day, so..." He coughs. "Tony doesn't believe in doing things half-way."
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She sighs a little, and looks down at her folded hands on her lap. "I'm grateful for your help and... all of this," she says, with a gesture to the clothes, "but I'm hoping I won't be here long. I think I'm needed back in m- where I come from, as soon as I can figure out how to get there."
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"Earl Gray for me, please," Steve says. He unconsciously mimics her position, leaning forward slightly when she talks. "It's my job, Agent Dunham. It's what I'm here for. But you're welcome."
He's silent for a moment. "I'm going to guess it's not as simple as a plane ticket to Boston. Do you mine starting with who you work for and going from there?"
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She draws a breath, and laughs shortly at his question, shaking her head. "No, I don't a plane ticket is going to help much. Unfortunately." Explaining who she works for, even what they do... that's easy, at least. Getting him to believe her may not be, but she'll see how well he takes it. She might be breaching all kinds of confidentiality agreements in telling him, but Broyles can take her to task for it later, if she ever makes it back home.
"I work for the FBI, in Fringe Division. It's a task force that investigates the things other people can't explain. Unusual experiments, impossible technology, people with strange abilities... parallel universes..." She watches his face closely as she speaks, watching for absolutely any reaction - recognition, disbelief, whatever she can read that might give her a hint as to how to proceed, how much and what to tell him.
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For his own part, Steve is trying to figure out how much he should pry. How much she's willing to disclose. "Agent Dunham, if I said you're not from around here. Would that be... accurate on more than one level?"
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She presses her lips together, trying to find the simplest way to phrase this. It's not easy - she doesn't often get the chance to talk about any of this with anyone who doesn't already know all about it, and there are so many background details, so many frankly insane concepts to accept... Fine. She'll go with the very simple version.
"Very accurate. A friend of mine was taken to a parallel universe. I went to get him back, and... I did, but the other version of me went back with him. I got stuck there, and..."
Spent three months just trying to remember who she was while God knows what went on back on. It scares her to think about what the other Olivia could have been doing while she was on the other side.
"They were gonna kill me. The alternate Fringe Division. I was trying to get home, but... I don't know. It went wrong somehow. I shouldn't be here."
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This is hitting close to home. Really close to home. Right over the plate, in fact, and Steve is about as good at hiding that as he is at hiding anything.
He gets up rather than trying to meet her eyes again, paces to the door, and then forces himself to calm down before he walks back and sits down.
He still can't quite look at her. "Excuse me. How did you..." A vague gesture. "What landed you here? I mean, how did you do it?"
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"I was treated with a drug called Cortexiphan when I was a child. A lot of the children treated with it developed... abilities. The first time I crossed over, it was with three other Cortexiphan subjects helping me. It's harder when it's just me. This is the first time I've managed to cross over on my own for more than a couple minutes."
She grimaces, glancing out the holographic window just for something to look at that's not him - not that it matters, when he's not looking at her. "I don't know why here. My universe is connected with the other, because of... some things that happened a long time ago. This one isn't. Or it shouldn't be." She laughs a little bitterly, and shakes her head. "I don't know. I'm not a scientist, I just work with them."
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Deep breath. "As for why here, I don't know, I'm afraid. I mean - we're not strangers to any of the things you're talking about. But why here, specifically? When you don't have any clear reason for it?"
He spreads his hands, looking apologetic. "You'd be better off asking Dr. Foster."
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Olivia manages a smile at that last part. "I'd be happy to talk to her, if she doesn't mind. Or anyone else who might be able to explain this. I don't know how much good it'll do when I don't understand any of the science behind it, but it's worth a try, right? And if not... I guess I can try again. I found the right universe before, so I have to be able to do it again."
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A wince, then - "Only problem is, I think Dr. Foster is in Asgard at the moment."
From what he heard, Odin wasn't thrilled at the idea, but Frigg had insisted.
His life, Steve reflects, is occasionally a strange place.
"I'm sure you want to get home, and I understand, but the only way to be sure she gets a message is to... Well, to go there. And I don't know if the All-father would be happy about unannounced guests. I mean, there's Heimdall, but... From what I understand, Loki can sometimes interfere with what he sees. She should be back by the end of the week. Um- are there any questions I can answer for you?"
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"O...kay. I think I can wait." She doesn't want to, but whatever Walternate had the other Olivia doing... she's already done it. One more week can't make it that much worse. She hopes.
"And... you're welcome to tell me I don't have clearance to know any of this, and that's fine, but... what is SHIELD? What do they do? And you mentioned Avengers, earlier?"
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Except for the bit about SHIELD, this is all more or less public knowledge, he thinks. "Sometimes they send us on individual missions if the situation calls for a certain type or degree of force. You could call us the sword, I suppose."
There's a polite knock on the door and a young woman dressed in what looks like a French maid costume enters carrying a tray. Steve very carefully keeps his eyes on her face, his earlier discomfort returning perforce. "Thank you, Abby."
She winks at him as she sets the tray on the coffee table and saunters out of the room. Steve keeps his eye on the lintel of the door until it closes. He clears his throat, fumbling with his cup and the tea pot and trying to pour them both water. Most of it ends up on the tray. "Sorry, where was I?"
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"Here," she says mildly, shifting forward and reaching out to take the tea pot out of his hands before he makes more of a mess. "I'll pour, you talk. So you're the last line of defense. Against what, though? Back at home, it's mostly... well, mad scientists we have to worry about. And agents from the other side. And over there... their whole world was falling apart, holes in reality and too many natural disasters to be natural... But I guess your problems here probably aren't that obvious."
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Thankfully then it's back to business, but when she talks about the other world, Steve's heart gives a painful little squeeze. No one's home should be torn apart that way. It sounds like... well, it sounds like a nightmare.
"We have our share of mad scientists," he says. "The things they come up with. Aliens."
He picks up his tea with a quiet thank you, frowning down at it. "Unnatural disasters, irradiated animals turned into monsters, and the usual suspects - um. The kinds of enemies people like Tony and Thor make, mostly. Though I guess I've got a few of my own."
Steve takes a long sip and enjoys the flavor of real, hand-blended Earl Gray. It tastes familiar, reminds him of the bunkers and his old life. It's one of the few things he doesn't mind Tony spending a little extra on. He flashes Olivia another crooked grin. "Back in my day mad scientists were pretty much the worst of it."
Back in his day. Steve shakes his head and takes another sip.
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"In your day," she echoes with a faint frown. "How old are you?"
If she had to guess, she'd say he's younger than she is, and certainly younger than Stark. Given the things she's seen... preventing ageing can't be more difficult than turning people into monsters or joining their consciousnesses or plenty of things she knows are perfectly possible - by comparison, making someone appear a fraction of their actual age seems like it must be simple - but it's more than just his appearance. He seems young. Too young for that particular phrase to sound anything but strange coming from him.
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Well, it doesn't matter.
"...Uh, technically, ninety-three." He focuses on his cup instead of looking at Olivia. "I was born in 1918, but... Well, I was asleep for a long time."
'Asleep'. He prefers to think of it that way. Not frozen. Not trapped in stasis below the surface of the ice, his altered body keeping him alive like a generator set on high. He shivers. "They found me about a year ago. As far as my own timeline goes, I'm still twenty-six."
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