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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"I'm sorry, too--I'm not sure I can help you. I don't really know the streets yet myself. What mansion are you looking for?"
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He can't exactly ask her if she's involved with a secret government organization. "Anyway, I apologize if I woke you."
....Darn it, he doesn't know how to hang up.
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"I'm Quorra, by the way!"
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There's a little smile on his face that he can't really help, because... Well, it's kind of nice both to find someone who doesn't automatically react to his title and sounds so genuinely happy to talk to a stranger. "I guess you're new to the city? You could say I am too. Well, I was born in Brooklyn, but. It's been a while."
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"Brooklyn? That's in New York City, right?" She grabs a pillow, fluffing it under her arms. "I've heard stories, but I've never been there."
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Here he thought everyone these days came to New York sooner or later. "Where are you from? I thought -" He cuts himself off with a sigh. It's not that surprising that he dialed so wrong, really.
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Because where she's actually from remains a secret. For now. "You thought what?"
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"I haven't been to any other places either--just this city and a few neighboring ones. But I'd like to see more. Like New York and Europe!" She sounds rather excited as her sentence trails on, but she needs to get used to living in a regular apartment for starters before she can go anywhere else. "But don't worry, I'm still getting used to dialing on phones, too."
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"Who's Sam? If you don't mind me asking." He looks both ways and jogs across the street, bumping into and denting a parking meter hidden in the shadows. Steve rubs his elbow and grimaces, mouthing an apology at the air.
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These days. Two words he's getting tired of using already. He bends the parking meter back into shape with a wrench and a squeal of metal, gets an alarmed look from a homeless man who promptly drops the flask he was drinking from, and continues on his way after Steve gives the man a friendly nod.
Since Quorra doesn't seem to object to personal questions the way most people do, Steve ventures to add, "You two must be very close. Have you known him long?"
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"But I trust him completely. I wouldn't be here without him."
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There was Alan and Lora, but Quorra didn't consider herself as close to them as she was to Sam. But she did have Sam, and that was the most important part. As long as she had him, she'd be okay. "But Sam is... Sam. I'm glad he's letting me stay with him."
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'I'm sorry' doesn't mean much in this kind of situation, he's learned. Someone being sorry for another person's loss, unless they know that loss themselves... He leans back and stares up at the empty sky, remembering the woods and the cold of the ground and the Howling Commandos asleep around him while he took the last watch before morning. That one was always his.
"I'm sorry," he says, with all the weight of loneliness in it. Silence again, and then, "If you wanted to leave him, you could?"
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She draws in a deep breath--she can't even imagine leaving Sam willingly, especially now. She nestles deeper into the couch, as if to assure herself that it would never happen. "I wouldn't want to. But yes, I could leave if I wanted."
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"So where are you from? Sounds like you're pretty new to California."
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"It's... a little complicated." She taps her fingers on the pillow, staring at it. They'd agreed to keep things about the Grid on the down-low for now, but she was rather enjoying this conversation. She liked this Steve. "But you could definitely say I'm new here."
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Probably an illegal - but she definitely doesn't sound like it. He hesitates, debating telling her about himself, about seventy years gone between saying one word and thinking the next, but decides to stay quiet. It's not like what happened to him isn't common knowledge, the subject of dozens of interview questions and hundreds of news stories and more than a few biography requests. But he's enjoying this conversation too, almost to his own surprise, and he's enjoying not being Captain America for a few minutes. Just Steve. It's with a good deal more cheer that he says, "When you do come to New York, I can show you a little diner in Brooklyn that's been there forever. One of those hole-in-the-wall places."
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That was... marginally safe. It would probably raise more questions, but she hated flat out lying, especially to people she liked. But at his offer, her face lights up, and he can probably hear the grin in her voice. "Really? That sounds exciting!"
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Her reaction to his invitation makes Steve laugh, and it feels good. He hasn't done a lot of it except to be polite or put reporters at ease in the past few months. He keeps the grin the laughter brings, enjoying that too. "It's not really, but the food is good and the prices are better. Veterans eat free. Besides, they like it when I come around."
Being there is almost like being home, if he doesn't overthink it.
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She pauses before asking, hesitantly: "Veteran? Does that mean you are one?"
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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?"
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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?"
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