usavatar | I WAS MADE TO HIT IN AMERICAAAA

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?"

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Steve bites back another laugh. He doesn't want her to think he's mocking her. But her inexperience with different kinds of food is just another hatchmark on the side of the weird, and her not knowing what a diner is - well, maybe she's from another planet, like Thor. It's not unreasonable to think that there are other aliens out there, more discreet than the Asgardian.

And then there's that question. He nods, remembers she can't see it, and says, "Yeah. I served during the second World War." A pause. "Do you know about it?"

"The Second World War?" She does some quick calculations--that was several decades ago to Users, but Steve sounded fairly young, certainly no older than Sam. It seems she wasn't the only one hiding things.

But then she answers, a hint of curiosity in her voice. "Yes. I've read a fairly large number of books on it. You... participated?"

Edited 2011-08-28 07:30 (UTC)

He huffs amusement. So much for not telling her about himself. "Yeah. I raised money stumping for war bonds, and went overseas to do some work behind enemy lines." Symbol he may be, but Johann Schmidt, the factories, the Valkyrie- all of that's still classified. "One of the missions I was on went bad, and..."

Steve sighs, the cheerfulness withering. "I was in stasis for a long time. Since 1943."

Pausing, she sits in silence for a few moments. She doesn't disbelieve him; she's simply taking in the gravity of it. "That's a very long time."

She won't bring it up, but she knows the complexity of Users aging and growing old. It stood to reason very few of the people Steve once knew were... still around. And that was something she could understand. She's got a lot to learn, and she might be forever curious, but she knows not to tread these grounds without warning.

So she continues with something also relatable but not nearly as dire. "Everything about this world is as new to you as it is to me then, too."

"Yeah." He smiles a little bit, glancing toward the cell phone against his ear. "You can say that again."

Well. Not that he knows how new to her everything is, but it's pretty easy to tell she's a stranger to plenty. He hesitates, then thinks what the heck. It's worth saying. "You should know, I have a coworker who's from another planet. I mean, I hope you won't take this the wrong way, but if you're an alien or something like that, I won't tell anyone."

"Alien?" she asks, briefly thinking over all the alien related literature--fiction and nonfiction--that she's read, before she laughs. But it's not a mocking laugh so much as happy and full of wonderment. "Do you really know one? I didn't think they actually existed. Do they blend in with Users--ah, people? They must, if they're a coworker, right?"

And it begins: a constant stream of questions. It's been a while since she's unleashed this kind of arsenal, but she can't help it. Her curiosity is virtually unstoppable, and probably a welcome change to the conversation regarding both of their rather depressing histories. "I'm not an alien myself, though, just so you know. Not technically, anyway."

"I know a few, actually. Thor's friends come to visit sometimes- they're from Asgaard, which I guess isn't myth as much as another planet. I didn't think they existed either. They look like humans, but uh. They also kind of stand out. They like really big weapons and clothes that no one wears and they tend to smash things when they're around. I mean, they don't do it to be nasty, but it tends to happen anyway. Kind of what we do - the uh, the Avengers?"

She doesn't know him, so chances are she doesn't know about the Avengers either - which would really be something, given how high profile the entire project has gotten. "We more stop the smashing than make it happen."

"Thor? Asgard? That's Norse Mythology, isn't it? I've read a lot of stories about all kinds of myths," she explains, briefly thinking over the various legends she's come across. "They actually exist, but they're aliens?" Any attempt to keep her curiosity subtle? Gone.

"Avengers," she repeats. She fights back a grin because that sounds... what was the word Sam used? Cool? "Do you avenge things? Is the name self explanatory?"

"Yeah, it is." He sounds a little incredulous himself, but he can't really help it. "And yeah, they are. I mean, I don't know if any other myths are actually aliens, just so you know."

He wouldn't want her to think that because Thor is real and an alien that all mythological beings are necessarily aliens too. "And... You know, I'm not really sure why they picked that name. I kind of came into things a little late. We protect people. Fight for them when they can't fight for themselves."

"Wow," she breathes. She's prided herself on being a very scientific sort of person, but she's also very trusting and very open minded. "They actually exist. I never imagined even one pantheon would."

She flops over on the couch, staring at the ceiling, still hugging the pillow to her chest. "It's still a good name, I think. For what sounds like a good cause." And Quorra knows all about protecting people. It's like a hobby of hers.

"It is. A good cause, I mean." He closes his eyes, stretches- and the bench's back cracks as he leans hard against it. "-Darn it."

Steve gets up and lifts the bench under a streetlight one-handed to see how bad the damage is. Not too, but it should probably still be replaced. "What do you do? I mean, what kind of job."

Quorra heard the crack, and her brows furrowed. "What was that noise?"

And then she freezes. She didn't really have a job at the moment. They were still working on setting up a legal background so she could come to work at Encom with Sam, but it was taking longer than they anticipated. "I don't have a job," she says cautiously. "Not right now."

"Oh I just... broke a bench. It happens." He winces, setting it back down and deciding he should probably get back to the mansion at some point tonight. He makes a mental note of his starting place - he should be able to find his way back here to let someone know it needs fixing - and continues on his way. "What kind do you want? I was never much good at anything, before this."

Maybe he can help her get a job, a kind of thank-you for the late night conversation.

"You broke it? Are you okay?" She doesn't question that it's a common occurrence; breaking things... happened sometimes.

She mulls over his question. She isn't really sure what she wants, mostly because she's never really... done this before. "I'm trying to get something at Encom," she offers. Encom was a big company, and thus, a reasonable place for anyone to hope to get a job.

"Yeah! Yeah, I'm fine, I just... Things aren't really built for the kind of pressure I put on them. Things outside of the mansion, at least. What's Encom?"

...Sixty-ninth. Finally. He knows exactly where he is now, or rather where he needs to get in relation to where he is. God bless grid planning.

"Pressure? Do you use more force than necessary?"

She sits up again, crossing her legs. "It's a company," she starts. She's not as surprised as she might be that he doesn't know what it is--he's just as new to current events as she is. "A technological and computer based one."

"No, n- I don't mean to. It's kind of a consequence of..." How does he even explain? "I'm a lot stronger than I look. I kind of forget on occasion."

Well, no, not forget - he just doesn't take into account that not all inanimate objects are built to hold up to superhuman strength.

That's one thing he really appreciates about having Tony around. "Ah. It's not related to Stark Industries is it?"

Because if that's the case, he definitely could get her a job.

"Oh," she says, "so it's accidental." Questioning super strength doesn't even cross her mind.

"Stark Industries? No, I don't think so. Encom is very much its own company." She can't recall if she's ever come across the name Stark Industries before. Castor's more likely to know something about it than her at any rate.

"Yeah." He shrugs, even though she can't see it. He feels like he should explain. He's not even sure how. "I was part of this..." Can he even say this? It's classified. Very, very classified. "It was called the Strategic Scientific Reserve."

That much at least is in the history books. And... heck, the old newspapers used to call him America's superior soldier. "I was part of a super soldier program in World War Two."

Steve feels a little twinge of the anger he felt in the weeks after being pulled out of the ice, and it redoubles the way so many emotions since the procedure do. He remembers, vaguely, when he didn't quite feel the way he does now, when passion was a support but never quite hammered him forward the way it does now. Or, well. It didn't quite feel like a hammer to the psyche, at least.

"Stark Industries is owned by Tony Stark, one of the other Avengers," he says, for her sake. "Iron Man is his..." Not really a code name if everyone knows who you are. "It's what people call him."

The Strategic Scientific Reserve doesn't sound terribly memorable, but she's probably just forgotten it, if she read it in passing. It's the latter part of his explanation that really pings her, combined with his apparent extra strength.

"Super soldier program? Does that mean you're a super soldier?" Her tone is calm, quiet, and heavy. Super soldier implies exactly what it sounds like: a soldier, but better. Different from the rest, but almost the same. It's a bit familiar. The circumstances were clearly not alike, but it strikes close to home.

"I'm afraid I haven't heard of him either," she confesses of Tony Stark, although she's wondering if it's one of the things she should know. If Stark Industries is a prominent company, most people would have probably heard of it.

"That's what they tell me," he says, matching her voice. After a second he says, "I never wanted to fight."

It's almost defensive, like he has to explain why he went and did it, has to explain that what Erskine wanted wasn't just someone better equipped to kill. "I wanted to stop people from hurting each other. That's why Erskine picked me. That's what he said. That's why he picked me for the program, I mean."

He has to remember she has no idea about him, his history. He's stumbling a bit over the sharing part, when he's assumed for so long that most people know at least a little. "He was the one in charge - anyway, it wasn't meant to hurt anyone. It was to keep more lives from being lost."

"Did it save lives?" she asks, unable to stop herself. Saving others--it'd always been a priority of hers. But then she backpedals, worried she's gone too far. "You don't have to answer, I'm sorry."

Quorra draws in a breath, thinking over her words carefully. She recognizes the sound of his tone, knows what it means. "Sometimes we do things we don't want to out of need," she starts, tentatively. She can tell Steve is a good person, and she doesn't like hearing him this way. "For the sake of others. To stop them from hurting each other. I don't think there's anything wrong with that."

"I did," he says, and it's still quiet, but there's a note of pride in it. "He did. He told me I was a good man, but."

The truth is, he's always tried to be the man that Erskine saw. The truth is, he's always thought Erskine was the better man, for everything that happened to him and everything he still believed that people could be. Steve smiles up at the neon haze overhead, outlining the buildings. "I don't think there's anything wrong with it either."

"I'm sure he was right," she says gently but also a bit sternly. "It saved people. From the sound of it, that means you've saved people, too. It needed both of you."

She idly traces the edge of the pillow. "Were there others? Like you?"

He laughs, thinking for a second there she sounded a lot like Peggy. "There weren't. Well, not like me. But I wasn't by myself, there's no way I could have done everything alone."

He doesn't think about the gunman in the procedure room, doesn't think about Erskine on the floor tapping his finger against Steve's chest, one last reminder. Instead he focuses on the Commandos, Peggy and Phillips and Howard. "I was part of a team. Some of the best men and women I've ever known."

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