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One thing about contemporary society – because that’s when he was now, he wasn’t in the future, he was in the now – that never failed to surprise Steve Rogers, was just how quickly the general public could move on after a major disaster. It had only been nine months since Loki’s army had laid waste to much of downtown New York… and a large proportion of uptown as well, but the rubble had been cleared away and scaffolding covered every corner of every block. The harsh winter had given away to a promising spring and Steve couldn’t help but see the weather as a metaphor for the city’s journey over the last few months.
Steve had discovered the sidewalk café only two days before, when he had been wondering around the city appreciating the first warmth of the season. The artist in him couldn’t help but draw inspiration from the buildings shooting up all around him like the Daffodils breaking through the still frozen earth. It was his third visit to the café in as many days, but this time he had bought a friend, partially because he was beginning to feel like the loner, who people had to take pity on, and partially because he figured that Stan would appreciate the trip out.
Although, he had been defrosted for over a year, Steve still felt more at ease around the veterans in the old folk’s home he volunteered at than around the majority of SHIELD agents. Sure, Tony had helped him understand more about modern technology (and given him a crash course in popular culture), but that felt a little forced. He enjoyed target practice with Clint because the archer always put a lot of thought into their sessions, and he certainly appreciated the modern art classes Natasha took him too, but that didn’t mean that he hadn’t noticed their tendency to overcompensate when he was around. It was both endearing and quite patronizing.
Having Stan around was a valuable touchstone to his stolen future… in the past. The veteran was a somewhat irascible nonagenarian, and it was odd to think that the much older man was born three years later than him. Steve didn’t think things like that would ever make sense to him. Stan, like most senior citizens enjoyed regaling the youth of today with tales from his day – and being a vet, Stan enjoyed telling stories about the War. Steve, of course, made the perfect audience, even if he had to suppress a, Tony Stark inspired, smirk at the elderly man’s insistence that Captain America didn’t exist, that he was merely a propaganda tool used by the government in times of need. After all, as Stan had challenged him to disagree with many times, how else could you explain the super-soldier’s sudden reappearance after almost seventy years, right when New York needed a figurehead to rally behind?
It was probably a little narcissistic for Steve to enjoy hearing the old man’s opinions about him, but it wasn’t as though he could order him to stop. Plus, it was almost like research, to get a better picture about how the work worked. Or at least, that’s what he tried to convince himself.
“I’m not saying ‘he’ probably wasn’t based on real soldiers but it’s naïve of us to believe that one man could achieve all that the stories would have us believe he did,” the old man ranted and Steve shot him a half-smile, unsure of how he should react. “The thing is…” Stan paused and took a sip from his black coffee, “the thing is - that Captain America was a propaganda myth!” He poked Steve’s torso ferociously, and Steve opened his mouth a couple of times but could find no reply; his conscious simply wouldn’t allow him to lie to the older man. Thankfully, after another quick sip of his drink, Stan continued his tirade without pause for Steve’s response. “It was all comics and terrible moves – there was no Captain America, no impossible shield, and not Bootsy Barnes.” Steve smiled at that, he still missed Bucky, but the pain had faded to a dull ache over the year since he’d been awoken.
“I know,” he said to placate the older man, but allowed himself a small frown into his own coffee – it was a damn shame that people would never know what Bucky did for their country, but he knew full-well that his boyhood friend was not alone in that. “I know there was no Bootsy Barnes.” That, he reasoned was not a lie.
Stan continued to air his theories on Captain America, as Steve sank into his own memories. He had loved Peggy more than he had felt possible back in Brooklyn, but he had been defrosted two years too late to be reunited with her. He’d met her son, David, only a few months before, and he couldn’t help but feel the ache in his gut to meet a man who seemed at least thirty years his senior, and yet should have been his son. These days, he tended not to think about all he’d lost as much as what he’d gained, but it was pretty evident that he was still very much a man out of time.
“Are you listening to me, son?” Stan barked, not because he was especially annoyed but most likely because he was a little deaf and didn’t realize how loudly he was speaking.
“I, uh,” Steve fumbled over his words; he had no clue in which direction the conversation had progressed. “Sorry,” he said, and he genuinely meant it. It was hardly Stan’s fault that he’d bought up unwanted memories; the old man eyed him for a long moment before he continued.
“War is a horrible thing. My men and I fought against Nazi’s for the freedom of the world; the world would have been a completely different place if we’d just rolled over. Your generation can’t appreciate what that kind of warfare was like.” The irony of that statement was not lost on Steve, but that didn’t mean he had a good answer for it.
Thankfully, someone seemed to be smiling down on him and at that moment a waitress chose to interrupt them.
“What can I get you, Cap…” Steve looked up to see their waitress looking down at him, a warm smile across her features. She was blonde and pretty in what Natasha would have called the ‘young Midwestern’ way, and she might have been the reason that he kept coming back. They’d only had the briefest of interactions, but she had made it evident that she knew who he was from their first meeting, and had always called him Captain despite his insistence that she should call him Steve.
“I never made Captain, missy.” The waitress moved her eyes from Steve to Stan and smiled, although Steve noted it had lost some of its warmth.
“Sorry, what can I get you?” She smiled sweetly, but her eyes kept flicking back to Steve.
“I think I’ll try a latte,” Stan made his order and the waitress – Beth, she had told him to call her – wrote down his order diligently.
“One latte,” she confirmed, before turning her full attention to Steve. “How about you?” She asked, offering him a sunny grin. “We offer a seventy five percent discount for men who’ve saved my life,” she added in a softer tone, then looked shocked that she’d actually said it out loud. He smiled, and she blushed a lovely shade of pink.
“You’ll have to speak up,” Stan saved Steve the trouble of replying. “Did you say there was a discount for veterans?” She blinked for couple of moment, no doubt weighing her options; it was painfully obvious that any discount would be coming straight out of her own pocket.
“Yes I did, it’s a, uh, promotion we’re running today.” She smiled pleasantly, and Stan grinned a toothy smile.
“Excellent, make mine a large,” he slapped the back of his hand to Steve’s chest. “Looks like this one will be paying full price. He’s too busy with his drawings to worry about doing his civic duty.” Steve resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He was not a disrespectful man; however, the absurdity of his situation was not lost on him. Still, it wasn’t as though he could just forget about national security to calm the old man. Technically, it was bad enough that Beth
Stan was very much of the school who believed that a man could not earn his stripes without going to war – much the same as Steve had been back in his youth, and he had been probably been just as idealistic as the old man before the years had taken their toll. Sure, there was a part of Steve which wanted to show Stan the diverse collection of medals he had accumulated over the years, but he guessed it was easy to go to war when you weren’t quite human anymore.
“Steve,” Stan nudged him back to reality, “I’m sure the waitress has better things to do than wait for you to wake up.”
“Uh, I’m sorry,” he could feel the heat rising up his face and hated himself for it. Some people, (Tony), thought he only got tongue-tied around women, but the truth of the matter was that it didn’t take a lot for him to end up a fumbling wreck. Put him in a battle situation and he could call out orders as easy as breathing, but put him in a social setting and he often faltered. “I’ll just have a regular Americano, please.” The waitress raised an eyebrow at him, but didn’t comment.
“So that’s a venti Latte and a regular Americano.” She confirmed emphasizing his order and shooting an amused glance his way.
“Sounds about right,” Steve confirmed, offering her a smile which she reciprocated tenfold.
“I’ll be back in a jiff,” she sort-of bowed and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, before turning away.
“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to these fancy coffee shops popping up all over the place. In my day we drank coffee like sludge and were grateful for it,” Steve remembered Dum Dum’s own particular brand of coffee with a kind of horrified fondness. “Now, we’ve got coffee shops on every corner and a bunch of fat children who have nothing better to do than stare at their computers and their god damn cell phones.” Stan didn’t pause for breath, but Steve let his attention be drawn to his waitress as she rushed off to see to their order. “Rogers, are listening to me?”
“Sorry, I just…” he felt the hue creep across his cheekbones, and Stan smiled in a knowing way.
“Youth is wasted on the young. Ask for her phone number,” Steve opened his mouth but Stan added, “if you don’t, I will.” He laughed until he was rasping for air. Beth returned with their drinks, and a look of concern marring her usually sunny complexion.
“Are you alright, sir?” She asked politely, touching his shoulder, which only caused Stan to laugh even harder.
“He – uh,” Steve faltered, but Stan fixed him with a look that spurred him on. “I mean, would you like to get coffee with me sometime.” She smiled as she set his drink in front of him. It occurred to him that it probably wasn’t the best suggestion given where she worked. “Or, you know, we could go see a movie, or… I…” he was flustered, but she merely smiled.
“Steve, I would love to get a coffee with you.” She took out her pen and scribbled down her number. “I get off at eight,” she added as she handed over the page from her notepad with a smile so big that it looked like it might crack her face.
“I guess I’ll see you then.” He smiled in return, before she was forced to leave and serve a table several rows along.
“I assume you’re getting the check?” Stan smirked, “We can call it payment for services rendered.” Steve wasn’t entirely sure he understood that, but he figured his back pay was far more substantial than Stan’s social security so he let it slide. Besides, suddenly, the future didn’t seem that bad after all.