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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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Wow.
It takes him a second to recover himself, and when he does he ducks his head into a nod and tries to hide the fact that he's blushing. He doesn't stare at women. He doesn't do that.
Still, she did throw someone through a window with about as much effort as -
.....As Thor throwing someone through a window. "Uh. Yes, actually. Steve. Steve Rogers. Captain America? Thor introduced us."
And now the people in the bar are giving him funny looks. He withdraws from the window and enters through the door, not sure how to greet the Asgardian. He settles on a little half-bow. "Sif, right? Er, Lady Sif."
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A pause, and she gestures back towards the bar. "Would you care for a drink, or will that delay you more than I have already?" Sif hadn't meant to throw the man into him and buying him a drink would be the least she could do for the moment.
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"Yes, thanks." The whole bar is still staring. He sighs internally and beams his best smile around the room before having a quiet word with the manager about the window. By the time he joins Sif, most of the patrons are pretending to be drinking and talking and completely not paying attention to the mythological alien and American Hero. He sits down on a barstool next to her and ducks his head in another little nod-slash-bow. "Are you here visiting Thor?"
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"The All-Father wished for news to be brought to his son. I am here on official business as well as pleasure." A status update on the state of the realms and Frigg's well-wishes. Constant running between Earth and Asgard was unnecessary, so Sif found herself playing monthly messenger when available.
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Some day he might figure out how to address Thor's friends and family without tripping over himself to do it.
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"I simply wished to enjoy myself before returning." What, exactly, that entails is something Sif isn't willing to disclose.
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You'd think he would remember their names. They were certainly unique enough, if not as simple as Thor and Sif or as prone to trying to destroy things in interesting ways as Loki.
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It was unlikely that they would go on an adventure without her, and unlikely that she would run into trouble here that would require them. But in the case of asking if she was drinking alone - "Jane and Darcy begun the night with me, yet had to take their leave."
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"Quite well. Her work takes up the time that Thor does not - great things are expected from her after the success of this... Foster Theory." Sif has never really bothered about the details of repairing the Bifrost so long as it was achieved. For Asgard's sake, for Thor, and for her brother's. And, she supposed, for Loki's - though that is something she'd rather not dwell upon; downing the rest of her drink with the thought.
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Steve feels obligated to chug his own drink once she starts in on hers - something about keeping pace with the women in your company - and the bartender replaces his drink without him even asking. Sif's as well. "I'm sure she's more than capable. Dr. Banner tried to explain it all to me once and I felt like he was speaking French. It's, uh- a language. Which I'm sure you probably knew already."
He can never tell how much needs explaining when it comes to aliens.