It was cold and overcast, which was not surprising given that it was the middle of January. Still, he had made the effort to get out of bed with the promises the day held. Answers were his prime motivation, though some might call it basics. Regardless, Steve Rogers knew it was time to fill in the blanks, or rather, it was time to fill in that sixty or so years that he had missed due to his unfortunate meeting with some glaciers.
He had approached the topic cautiously, appealing his curiosity to Coulson, who had, unsurprisingly, taken to the idea with as much gusto as he did with any other projects. Within hours, Coulson had come back with the names of nearly thirty universities in the tri-state area that would be willing to house Captain America as he attempted to learn American History. Steve had felt uneasy with some of the bigger names on the list, knowing that New York University would probably draw more attention to himself or SHIELD than was really wanted right now. Instead, Steve settled on a community college not too far from Avengers tower that he could easily get to with his motorcycle.
He remembered the day he enrolled, choosing to do so in person. Steve had been hesitant to commit to the class until the Registrar had assured him that there were people of all ages and all walks of life that attended this college, let alone this class. Steve had smiled politely at that comment, knowing full well that the woman in front of him knew exactly who he was...
...and exactly how old he was for that matter. Still, her sentiment had worked and Steve enrolled, only partially surprised to find that they would under no circumstances accept his payment. A faint blush had lit his features, insistent upon paying, until they led him out of the Registrar's Office and politely walked him to his motorcycle. It wasn't until he returned to Avenger's Tower that he discovered Tony had volunteered to pay and even donated a little extra to the college for increased security. Steve had nodded his gratitude before excusing himself to his room.
He didn't come out for the rest of the night.
Here he was, a month later, as he toed at the snow encroaching on the school's sidewalk. His hands were stuffed into the pockets of his well worn, brown leather jacket. Steve had made sure his hair was tamed, parted and held in place with some gel. Coulson had suggested dressing down, offering the super soldier a pair of jeans, a hoodie, and a New York Yankees baseball cap to go with it. However, Coulson's hopes of keeping the Avenger's newest hero somewhat under the radar were completely annihilated as Steve insisted that he had been raised to dress with respect for those in a place of authority. An educator was definitely someone worthy of that respect. Besides, with the recent media coverage of Loki's attempted take over of Manhattan, it was unlikely Steve would not have been recognized by at least someone on campus.
Steve blinked up at the yellow bricks of the building, inhaling the crisp January air. He supposed he should at least step inside. After all, waiting out here on the sidewalk was probably drawing more attention to himself than he would in the classroom. With a final draw of breath, Steve lifted his chin slightly and stepped forward, looking every bit the soldier that he inherently was, as he made his way up the sidewalk and the steps towards the classrooms. With his long gait, it didn't take long for him to disappear inside the building, all hints of winter vanishing in the process.
The soft click of his dress shoes echoed through the somewhat quiet hallways of Bronx Community College, his soft blue gaze flickering to the small plaques above the doors noting their number. Mentally, he recited the number one-forty-four like a mantra, the pattern of it soothing his surprisingly tense nerves. However, Steve was soon distracted by the number for which he had been seeking. His footsteps slowed as he turned to the right and entered the quiet room.
As he had expected, it was devoid of students. Then again, he was nearly thirty minutes early with the full intent to avoid the students... at least, for this first class. He was surprised to find the professor of tonight's lecture to be setting up so early. Steve cleared his throat, pulling his hands from his pockets as he smiled politely, "Excuse me, is this where Twentieth Century American History is being held?"
He would have chuckled as the teacher spun on her heels, clearly startled by the intrusion. Steve offered her a more genuine smile, trying to force himself to relax as he waited for her response. Fortunately, he didn't have to wait long.
"You must be Steve," she began, taking a step forward and offering her hand, "I'm Cheryl Gibson."
Steve nodded once, taking her hand and shaking firmly as he spoke, "It's a pleasure to meet you. Yes, I'm Steve. Uh... Steve Rogers." He cleared his throat, dropping his gaze for a moment as he released her hand and self-consciously slid his hands back into the pockets of his jacket. "I realize I'm early, but I-"
"Steve," Cheryl interrupted gently, smiling softly as she spoke, "You don't have to apologize. Please make yourself comfortable and we'll start class at five, okay?"
A shock of sweet relief rushed over Steve as he lifted his gaze and nodded once. The "Yes, ma'am" that came from his lips was an automatic reaction that earned him a chuckle and he slid to the back corner of the classroom with a slow ease. He sat for a moment, shifting against the hard plastic chair of his desk and noted immediately that it was far too small and uncomfortable for his liking. He let his gaze wander, taking in the neat rows of desks and marveled at how small they appeared to him now. Then again, everything felt and looked smaller and confined with his serum enhanced physique. In fact, everything felt small and foreign now that he was living in the next century without anyone from his past to help keep him anchored.
With that, some of the carefully compartmentalized memories shook loose with vivid images of frigid conditions and skirmishes that left far too much blood in its wake. He could practically feel grenades exploding around him, the shrapnel and dirt enough to send him and his fellow soldiers sprawling. He could feel the thrum of his heart as his increasing anxiety began to make his ears ring, almost identical to the soundless ringing he so often experienced in the heat of battle. Steve's fingers tightened on his desk, face drawn as the bang of the classroom door caused him to jump in surprise. His face remained tight, fingers releasing the desk as his bright gaze immediately drank in the influx of students and Steve forced himself to relax.
Steve turned his gaze forward to ignore some of the surprised looks he received with his presence, his thoughts slowly returning to this moment with him. With each passing second, Steve took a moment to dwell on exactly how much he had sacrificed to become the man he was today. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew his actions were that of a hero. He knew that many would say that Steve Rogers was brave. Yet, to him, he felt that he was still that scrawny boy from Brooklyn and today, on this first day of class, was the bravest he had allowed himself to be in years.