Conversations with Cap 1/1
Oct. 24th, 2011 10:07 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bluesuedeshoesAuthor: BlueSuede
Title: Conversations with Cap
Rating: G
Pairings: Steve/OC
Summary: This was originally intended to be part of a short series but it didn't really make it past the one chapter. After seeing the film this summer, I came up with a character, Meg, who would help Steve transition into the modern world and convince him to join the Avengers. Meg was never fully developed in my mind, but I had considered the possibility that she was related to Peggy somehow.
Warnings: none, really. Minimal plot
Steve didn’t glance up when he heard someone enter the room, just continued pounding away at the punching bag in front of him. He figured Fury would be sending someone else to talk to him soon. After all, it had been almost 24 full hours since the last well-intentioned suit had been by. His jaw ticked. He wished Fury and all his lackeys would just leave him alone for a bit. What did the man expect him to do? Just automatically come to terms with the fact that he had leapt about 70 years into the future by accident? His mind flashed to Agent Carter…Peggy. His heart clenched at the thought of her perfectly curled brunette hair, her carefully applied red lipstick–always in tact no matter the situation, and her smart way of walking and talking. He was never going to see her again. He swallowed tightly as he thought once again how she had lived an entire life and he had missed it. He would never know if…well, he would never know anything about what his life should have been. He’d skipped his life. And this Nick Fury and his “Shield,” they wanted him to just brush it off and fight a new fight. How was he even supposed to get accustomed to the fact that he’d left in the middle of one war just to land himself in the middle of another?
He threw a right cross a little too hard at the bag and some of the sand burst through the seams, though the bag remained in tact–for the moment. He was so lost in thought he had forgotten that someone else was there for a moment. Until the person cleared her throat, the distinctly feminine sound surprising him out of his thoughts. He looked up and fumbled slightly at the sight of a distinctly attractive girl leaning in the doorway watching him. Blushing slightly his eyes fell to his feet. “Sorry Ma’am, I didn’t hear you walk in. Were you looking for someone?”
“Just you.”
At this he looked up, suddenly suspicious that she was someone else Nick Fury had sent to ‘snap him out of it.’ Her appearance confirmed it. Though her clothes were still futuristic like everyone else’s, they had a unquestionably 1940s feel to them, and even though her loose red hair couldn’t compete with Peggy’s–which never seemed to have a strand out of place–it framed her face a little bit like Peggy’s had, and she was wearing reddish-lipstick, something he hadn’t seen on a woman since he woke up in that fake hospital room.
He glared at her, resenting this new approach. He wiped the sweat off his brow before speaking. “With all due respect, ma’am, the costume was definitely not necessary. I’d appreciate it if you’d leave.” He swallowed nervously. “Please.”
At this she looked genuinely surprise, her lips half-mouthing the word ‘costume,’ in confusion. She glanced down at what she was wearing and then suddenly laughed, her fingertips suddenly touching her lips. Steve wasn’t sure what to do about this, but thought her deep blue eyes looked pretty when she laughed, even if he didn’t really like that she seemed to be laughing at him.
“I’m sorry, I guess I wasn’t expecting you to say something like that,” she said, giving another light chuckle. “I guess I am a little old-fashioned, aren’t I?” she shared a look of amusement with him which he did not return. She shook her head. “It’s not a costume, Captain Rogers. I guess I’d call it vintage.” She smiled at him, perfectly at ease. “They told me I’d like you if I met you. I guess I just didn’t think you’d win me over that fast.”
“They?” he repeated awkwardly.
“Mr. Fury and Mr. Stark.”
“Mr. Stark?” he asked in shock.
She raised a shapely eyebrow and then seemed to understand. “Oh I’m sorry…I meant Mr. Tony Stark. Howard Stark’s son,” she explained ruefully. Finally, she entered the room fully, pulling up the metal chair beside the boxing ring and sitting down in it. Steve watched as she crossed her shapely legs and smoothed her black pencil skirt. His eyes drifted automatically up to the form-fitting white top she wore that accentuated her broad shoulders. “Did you really know Howard Stark?” she asked eagerly, and he blushed for staring at her. She didn’t seem to have noticed, though, and was looking at him with round, curious eyes.
He nodded bashfully, looking a little bit to the side of her. Fortunately, she was friendly enough for the both of them. Like Peggy was, he thought sadly.
“What was he like?” she asked.
“Who?”
“Mr. Stark,” she laughed, seeing that his thoughts had drifted.
“Oh….” he frowned as he tried to find a way to describe Howard Stark. “He’s…I mean he was, um…slick,” he settled on the word finally, and to his surprise the girl laughed again.
“Hmmm…what an interesting adjective. What do you mean?”
He shrugged awkwardly. “I don’t know. His hair was always real slick and he had a slick mustache and slick clothes and he was–begging your pardon–pretty slick about girls, too.” He looked at her to make sure she wasn’t offended.
She clearly wasn’t. Her eyes were dancing with mirth.
“What is the other Mr. Stark like?” he asked curiously, not having met Tony Stark yet.
She grinned broadly. “From the sound of it? Like his father. Only more so.” She winked at him and he blushed.
“Oh.” He wondered if the girl and Mr. Stark had ever gone for ‘fondu.’
“I just realized I never gave you my name!” she said suddenly, standing up. She stuck out her hand to shake his smartly. “I’m Meg.”
“Nice to meet you, ma’am,” he said. “I’m Steve Rogers.”
“Otherwise known as ‘Captain America,’” she said, eyes keen as they studied his face. “I know.” Her eyes flickered to the punching bag behind him and then back to his eyes. “They tell me you’re some kind of hero.” She said it almost expectantly, like she wanted him to answer for the fact.
“I…I’m just a soldier, ma’am.”
She sighed, moving away from him and running her fingers over the punching bag, as if the sack of sand could tell her something about Steve Rogers, having felt the brunt of his fists. “Please don’t call me ‘ma’am.’ I’ll start to feel respectable. Just Meg. Or ‘Miss’ if you absolutely must.” She rolled her eyes, as if knowing that he would have trouble just calling her by her first name, but he could see the corner of her lips twitch in good humor. “So you’re just a soldier, huh?” she asked, circling around the bag and moving to the boxing ring to run her fingers along the rope.
He nodded. “Yes, ma’am–Meg.”
She laughed softly. “Best kind of hero there is, if you ask me. And I’m in a position to know,” she added, giving him a look.
He frowned. “What kind of position is that, Miss?”
She trailed her fingers down to the lower rope and seemed to be studying it as she spoke. “I work for Mr. Fury. I’ve met a lot of heroes.”
“Oh.” Here it came. Fury had clearly sent her to give him that same dumb pep talk. He waited politely, not wanting to be rude to her, but hoping she’d give a short version so he could send her away.
He waited for a while, but she didn’t say anything. Finally he had to break the silence. Shifting his feet slightly, he asked her, “What do you do for Mr. Fury?”
“Hmm?” she asked, looking up as though she’d forgotten he was in the room for a moment. “Oh, I’m his personal assistant. A glorified secretary, essentially. I more or less run his schedule, make sure everything falls into place. And I keep files on everyone he recruits.” She looked at him with a distant interest. “He wants you, you know. To recruit you, I mean.”
“I know.”
She smiled at his short response. “Why do I get the feeling you don’t want to be recruited?”
He gave her a rueful smile.
She sighed. “Why don’t you let me buy you a burger?” she asked.
He blinked at this abrupt offer. “What?”
“A burger,” she repeated. “Now don’t look at me like that. I know for a fact they had burgers in the 1940s.”
He shook himself. “It’s not that, I just don’t know why you want to buy me one.”
She shrugged, still smiling. “Because you slept for 70 years and missed a date with the girl of your dreams–oh yes, they told me–and if it weren’t for that stupid time leap, you’d probably be out with her right now. So I’m going to buy you a burger,” she said simply, as if it were the most natural remedy in the world. “Nothing ever seems quite as bad from the other side of a good cheeseburger.” She grinned at him. “C’mon,” she said, stretching her hand out to him. “We’ll get you a bit cleaned up, and I’ll catch you up on the last 70 years.”
He gave her a nervous smile and took the hand she offered, hers small and delicate in his larger one. As she tugged him out the door he marveled at how 70 years later, women were just as mysterious as ever.
Title: Conversations with Cap
Rating: G
Pairings: Steve/OC
Summary: This was originally intended to be part of a short series but it didn't really make it past the one chapter. After seeing the film this summer, I came up with a character, Meg, who would help Steve transition into the modern world and convince him to join the Avengers. Meg was never fully developed in my mind, but I had considered the possibility that she was related to Peggy somehow.
Warnings: none, really. Minimal plot
Steve didn’t glance up when he heard someone enter the room, just continued pounding away at the punching bag in front of him. He figured Fury would be sending someone else to talk to him soon. After all, it had been almost 24 full hours since the last well-intentioned suit had been by. His jaw ticked. He wished Fury and all his lackeys would just leave him alone for a bit. What did the man expect him to do? Just automatically come to terms with the fact that he had leapt about 70 years into the future by accident? His mind flashed to Agent Carter…Peggy. His heart clenched at the thought of her perfectly curled brunette hair, her carefully applied red lipstick–always in tact no matter the situation, and her smart way of walking and talking. He was never going to see her again. He swallowed tightly as he thought once again how she had lived an entire life and he had missed it. He would never know if…well, he would never know anything about what his life should have been. He’d skipped his life. And this Nick Fury and his “Shield,” they wanted him to just brush it off and fight a new fight. How was he even supposed to get accustomed to the fact that he’d left in the middle of one war just to land himself in the middle of another?
He threw a right cross a little too hard at the bag and some of the sand burst through the seams, though the bag remained in tact–for the moment. He was so lost in thought he had forgotten that someone else was there for a moment. Until the person cleared her throat, the distinctly feminine sound surprising him out of his thoughts. He looked up and fumbled slightly at the sight of a distinctly attractive girl leaning in the doorway watching him. Blushing slightly his eyes fell to his feet. “Sorry Ma’am, I didn’t hear you walk in. Were you looking for someone?”
“Just you.”
At this he looked up, suddenly suspicious that she was someone else Nick Fury had sent to ‘snap him out of it.’ Her appearance confirmed it. Though her clothes were still futuristic like everyone else’s, they had a unquestionably 1940s feel to them, and even though her loose red hair couldn’t compete with Peggy’s–which never seemed to have a strand out of place–it framed her face a little bit like Peggy’s had, and she was wearing reddish-lipstick, something he hadn’t seen on a woman since he woke up in that fake hospital room.
He glared at her, resenting this new approach. He wiped the sweat off his brow before speaking. “With all due respect, ma’am, the costume was definitely not necessary. I’d appreciate it if you’d leave.” He swallowed nervously. “Please.”
At this she looked genuinely surprise, her lips half-mouthing the word ‘costume,’ in confusion. She glanced down at what she was wearing and then suddenly laughed, her fingertips suddenly touching her lips. Steve wasn’t sure what to do about this, but thought her deep blue eyes looked pretty when she laughed, even if he didn’t really like that she seemed to be laughing at him.
“I’m sorry, I guess I wasn’t expecting you to say something like that,” she said, giving another light chuckle. “I guess I am a little old-fashioned, aren’t I?” she shared a look of amusement with him which he did not return. She shook her head. “It’s not a costume, Captain Rogers. I guess I’d call it vintage.” She smiled at him, perfectly at ease. “They told me I’d like you if I met you. I guess I just didn’t think you’d win me over that fast.”
“They?” he repeated awkwardly.
“Mr. Fury and Mr. Stark.”
“Mr. Stark?” he asked in shock.
She raised a shapely eyebrow and then seemed to understand. “Oh I’m sorry…I meant Mr. Tony Stark. Howard Stark’s son,” she explained ruefully. Finally, she entered the room fully, pulling up the metal chair beside the boxing ring and sitting down in it. Steve watched as she crossed her shapely legs and smoothed her black pencil skirt. His eyes drifted automatically up to the form-fitting white top she wore that accentuated her broad shoulders. “Did you really know Howard Stark?” she asked eagerly, and he blushed for staring at her. She didn’t seem to have noticed, though, and was looking at him with round, curious eyes.
He nodded bashfully, looking a little bit to the side of her. Fortunately, she was friendly enough for the both of them. Like Peggy was, he thought sadly.
“What was he like?” she asked.
“Who?”
“Mr. Stark,” she laughed, seeing that his thoughts had drifted.
“Oh….” he frowned as he tried to find a way to describe Howard Stark. “He’s…I mean he was, um…slick,” he settled on the word finally, and to his surprise the girl laughed again.
“Hmmm…what an interesting adjective. What do you mean?”
He shrugged awkwardly. “I don’t know. His hair was always real slick and he had a slick mustache and slick clothes and he was–begging your pardon–pretty slick about girls, too.” He looked at her to make sure she wasn’t offended.
She clearly wasn’t. Her eyes were dancing with mirth.
“What is the other Mr. Stark like?” he asked curiously, not having met Tony Stark yet.
She grinned broadly. “From the sound of it? Like his father. Only more so.” She winked at him and he blushed.
“Oh.” He wondered if the girl and Mr. Stark had ever gone for ‘fondu.’
“I just realized I never gave you my name!” she said suddenly, standing up. She stuck out her hand to shake his smartly. “I’m Meg.”
“Nice to meet you, ma’am,” he said. “I’m Steve Rogers.”
“Otherwise known as ‘Captain America,’” she said, eyes keen as they studied his face. “I know.” Her eyes flickered to the punching bag behind him and then back to his eyes. “They tell me you’re some kind of hero.” She said it almost expectantly, like she wanted him to answer for the fact.
“I…I’m just a soldier, ma’am.”
She sighed, moving away from him and running her fingers over the punching bag, as if the sack of sand could tell her something about Steve Rogers, having felt the brunt of his fists. “Please don’t call me ‘ma’am.’ I’ll start to feel respectable. Just Meg. Or ‘Miss’ if you absolutely must.” She rolled her eyes, as if knowing that he would have trouble just calling her by her first name, but he could see the corner of her lips twitch in good humor. “So you’re just a soldier, huh?” she asked, circling around the bag and moving to the boxing ring to run her fingers along the rope.
He nodded. “Yes, ma’am–Meg.”
She laughed softly. “Best kind of hero there is, if you ask me. And I’m in a position to know,” she added, giving him a look.
He frowned. “What kind of position is that, Miss?”
She trailed her fingers down to the lower rope and seemed to be studying it as she spoke. “I work for Mr. Fury. I’ve met a lot of heroes.”
“Oh.” Here it came. Fury had clearly sent her to give him that same dumb pep talk. He waited politely, not wanting to be rude to her, but hoping she’d give a short version so he could send her away.
He waited for a while, but she didn’t say anything. Finally he had to break the silence. Shifting his feet slightly, he asked her, “What do you do for Mr. Fury?”
“Hmm?” she asked, looking up as though she’d forgotten he was in the room for a moment. “Oh, I’m his personal assistant. A glorified secretary, essentially. I more or less run his schedule, make sure everything falls into place. And I keep files on everyone he recruits.” She looked at him with a distant interest. “He wants you, you know. To recruit you, I mean.”
“I know.”
She smiled at his short response. “Why do I get the feeling you don’t want to be recruited?”
He gave her a rueful smile.
She sighed. “Why don’t you let me buy you a burger?” she asked.
He blinked at this abrupt offer. “What?”
“A burger,” she repeated. “Now don’t look at me like that. I know for a fact they had burgers in the 1940s.”
He shook himself. “It’s not that, I just don’t know why you want to buy me one.”
She shrugged, still smiling. “Because you slept for 70 years and missed a date with the girl of your dreams–oh yes, they told me–and if it weren’t for that stupid time leap, you’d probably be out with her right now. So I’m going to buy you a burger,” she said simply, as if it were the most natural remedy in the world. “Nothing ever seems quite as bad from the other side of a good cheeseburger.” She grinned at him. “C’mon,” she said, stretching her hand out to him. “We’ll get you a bit cleaned up, and I’ll catch you up on the last 70 years.”
He gave her a nervous smile and took the hand she offered, hers small and delicate in his larger one. As she tugged him out the door he marveled at how 70 years later, women were just as mysterious as ever.
