Ch. 2
The next morning, Steve woke up with the oddest feeling. It was hope. He was actually looking forward to his week. He had real plans to do something social with someone who wouldn't look at him oddly if he referenced World War II or rationing.
He took a shower and got dressed, humming tunelessly to himself. He made himself some coffee and then made the mistake of looking at the morning's newspaper that had been delivered to his front door. There was nothing but bad news in the world, it seemed. He glanced down at the card that Stacy had given him and smiled. Their talk had been so unusual for him exactly because it had been so normal. It had been just two people trying to get to know each other.
In the past two years he had met a few women, but most came off as overly starstruck, much more interested in Captain America than Steve Rogers. Back in the 40s, when he was travelling with the showgirls drumming up business for the war bonds, he allowed himself a few flirtations based solely on his fleeting fame, but they were empty and hollow in the end. The women had only been attracted to the image, not who he really was.
Then, once he had gotten to know Peggy Carter, all other women just seemed to fade into the background. But fate had cheated him from even getting to dance with her, much less having any kind of future with her. After he woke up, he debated going to see her, but ultimately he didn't. He was resigned to let those memories just stay memories.
He tapped the card against the table and turned his mind back to the present. He desperately needed to get out of the apartment and meet people who were at least somewhat normal. He had gone on quite a few missions with Natasha Romanoff and she was a flawless operative, but she was hardly someone you would describe as warm and fuzzy. She was all business while on assignment, although she did make an effort to be helpful, especially when Steve felt lost or confused, which happened far more often than he liked.
Bruce had been kind as always, but he basically lived in one of Stark's labs. Steve could count on one hand the number of times Bruce had left the Tower to do anything social in the last year. Bruce was always willing to help Steve or talk to him when Steve stopped by, but it didn't escape Steve's notice the Bruce had never once sought him out.
And, Stark was, well, Stark.
The more Steve thought about, the better Saturday night sounded. It would be great to get out and be around people. Even in his pre-serum days, Steve had been a loner with only Bucky as his constant companion, but even loners needed to get out of the house once in a while.
00000
It was Saturday night and Steve looked nervously at the mirror. He fiddled with his tie. He felt ridiculous, getting ready to playact like it was seventy years ago. He had met Stark down in the lobby earlier and lied when he'd asked Steve if he was going out. Steve couldn't endure the thought of Stark teasing him, ridiculing him for trying to relive his past. He'd rather let Stark think of him as some pathetic shut-in rather than some loser desperately trying to cling to his past.
He plopped down on his couch and contemplated just forgetting the whole thing. Then, he remembered that girl's smile. He stood up. If he could face down machine gun fire, he could surely handle yet another awkward social situation.
He grabbed his leather motorcylce jacket and locked the front door, heading for the stairwell. He took the steps two at a time, allowing himself to fly down the stairs, eager in anticipation.
0000
He arrived at 6:30 p.m and parked his motorcycle near the entrance. The card had said that doors were open at 6:30 p.m. and that the concert started at 8:00 p.m. Once again, Steve hesitated. On the one hand, he didn't want to wait around in a bar for an hour and a half by himself, on the other, he didn't want to show up at eight and find out that Stacy and her friends had been there the whole time.
He went up to the line outside the bar, noticing that only about half the people were dressed in anything that could be remotely considered period clothing. He started to feel uncomfortable and wondered if he should just leave his jacket on and not check it. He waited in line and craned his neck to look for Stacy.
All of a sudden, he heard a voice behind him and a finger tap him on his shoulder. "Hi, mind if we cut in line?"
He turned and saw her, bundled in a long coat, standing with two other girls and two guys.
"Yeah, sure, hi," he said, beaming.
"Everyone, this is Steve," she said, motioning to him.
"Hi," he waved with a smile to the group.
"Pero, que guapo," said one of the girls to Stacy. She was taller than Stacy, maybe only a few inches shorter than Steve himself, with short brown hair.
"A lo mejor habla español," Stacy replied, warning evident in her tone.
"Pues, estoy segura que no, pero vamos a ver," she said to Stacy. "Hablas español*?" the girl asked Steve.
"Uh, what?" Steve said, confused.
"See, I told you," she retorted triumphantly to Stacy.
"Sorry," Stacy said to Steve with an apologetic smile. "This is my roommate, Monica." Monica waved. And this is my other roommate, Erica."
Erica stuck out her hand to shake. She was at least a foot shorter than Steve, even in heels, and her dark hair was pinned up in an eleborate hairdo. "They get like that all the time. When they do, Josh and I just start up in Tagalog," she said with a wink.
"Nice to meet you," Steve said, not knowing what to say.
"This is Josh," Stacy said, motioning to one of the guys that had come with them.
"Hey, man," he said with a nod. He had a stereotypical zoot suit on, dark with white pinstripes. His black hair was so short that it resembled a military crew cut.
"And this is Michael," Stacy pointed to the second guy; he was taller than Steve and heavy-set, built like a football player. He wore a white fedora that matched his suit and contrasted against his dark skin.
"Nice to meet you," he said, extending his hand. "I am glad I won't be the only one left out of the conversations tonight."
"Aww, poor baby. I offered to teach you Spanish and I know Erica was going to teach you Tagalog," Monica said in a teasing tone.
"Well, let me finish grad school first before I try to tackle another language," Michael said dryly.
"So, how do you all know each other?" Steve asked.
"Well, Monica and I have been roommates since freshman year of college. I never would have made it through my Spanish classes without her. She moved here from Spain."
"Mis tíos, my aunt and uncle, they live here. I wanted to go to university abroad and that's how I ended up here," Monica said with a grin.
"Erica, she lived across the hall from us in college. And Josh and Michael, well, we all went to the same college group," Stacy explained.
"College group?" Steve asked.
"Oh, yeah, at our church."
"Oh," Steve said with a polite smile. He used to go to church every Sunday with his mother. Once she passed, it almost hurt too much to go, like it reminded him of her too much. He'd go on holidays or to weddings. Sometimes, Bucky would give him a hard time for not attending or he'd tell him the pastor was worried about him. He realized with a start that he hadn't been to church once since he awoke from the ice, not even on Christmas or Easter, preferring to spend those days on mission, so that his teammates with families could have some time off.
Steve saw that he was almost to the front of the line. "Do you already have your tickets?" he asked.
"Yeah, we got the cheapest ones," Stacy replied.
"Oh, okay," and he winced when he saw the prices. S.H.I.E.L.D. paid him an excellent salary, especially considering that housing and utilities were thrown in for free, but for a man who remembered paying a nickel for a cup of coffee, paying $35 to sit on a bar stool at the back of a crowded bar seemed steep.
He bought the ticket and followed the group into the club to the coat check area. One by one, everyone shed their jackets.
"You did a great job keeping to the period with your clothes," Stacy said.
"Thanks and you look . . . . great." He didn't know if it was the hair, her smile or the way she looked in her green dress, but he was struck by how much she reminded him of Rita Hayworth.
Let's be honest, it was the dress. It hugged every curve and he forced himself to look away to avoid staring.
"And you look amazing," Michael said, looking down at Erica.
"You have to say that. You're my boyfriend," she said.
"Doesn't change the fact," he said, spinning her around, her red dress flaring around her. He leaned down and kissed her.
"Ugghh, we get it; we get it; you're madly in love. Don't ruin it for the rest of us single people," Monica said in fake disgust before sticking out her tongue.
All of a sudden, Stacy felt her phone vibrate in her clutch purse. She took it out and her expression darkened.
"Bad news?" Steve asked.
"No," she smiled. "Let's go find our seats."
00000
As they moved across the bar, trying to figure out where their seats were, Stacy looked down at her phone.
"Has the target arrived?"
Stacy's fingers shook slightly. Yes, she wrote. She hesitated a moment and then hit the send button.
"Are you alright?" Steve asked.
"I'm fine," Stacy lied, a wide grin plastered on her face. "Let's get something to drink."
00000
Steve didn't bother ordering any drinks for himself. It was physically impossible for him to get drunk because of the super-serum and he would need to drink pitchers and pitchers of beer to even get tipsy. At $7 a glass, he wasn't about to waste his money.
He offered to buy the first round and found that it boosted his popularity with the group greatly. Stacy offered to go up to the bar to help him carry the drinks back.
"That was really sweet of you, offering to buy the first round," Stacy said as they started over to the bar.
"Well, I really appreciated you telling me about this concert," Steve said.
"Gotta spread the Big Bad Voodoo Daddy** love around," Stacy said with a grin. "So, do you live around here?"
"No, I live . . . . near the cafe," Steve couldn't bring himself to tell her where he lived. He loved this feeling of normalcy, of being just another face in the crowd. He hadn't realized how much he missed it. He didn't want to ruin it by revealing who he was.
"Wow. Swanky. Are you some type of investment banker or something?" she asked.
"No, um. Military." He hoped she didn't ask him any more questions. Lying to her made him uncomfortable.
"Cool. My grandfather was in the Army. He served in Korea," she said.
They reached the bar and Steve ordered and paid, leaving the bartender a generous tip. Drinks in hand, they made their way back to their seats.
"So, are your friends teachers, too?" Steve asked.
"Monica teaches third grade at my school. We were so lucky to find jobs at the same place. The job market has been really tough. Michael and Erica are getting their doctorates in biochem together. I'm glad they came out tonight. I feel like they live at the library. And Josh, he's a junior stock broker."
"And you three girls live together?"
"Yep, tiny little studio all crammed together. The good thing is that Erica practically lives at the library and Monica is probably the most popular person I've ever met, so she's out every other night. So, a lot of the time, I get the place to myself."
A chorus of shouts greeted them as they returned to the group with their drinks. Steve grinned. Some things never changed.
00000
Before he knew it, the concert had started. The music resembled 1940s swing music, but Steve definitely noted modern influences, especially in some of the lyrics. However, it felt familiar and comfortable. It was one of the first social outings he could remember feeling relaxed in.
Steve was relieved to see that the majority of people were not dancing, choosing instead to sway to the music. Steve might have been from the 40s, but his experience with swing dancing was nearly non-existent. He did notice that Stacy and her friends danced to nearly every song and knew all the lyrics, singing along. Micheal and Erica were a perfect team, despite their height differences, and were mesmerizing to watch. Josh alternated between dancing with Monica and Stacy and was quite good himself.
After several polite refusals, he finally gave into Stacy's haranguing and let her try to teach him to dance. He had a hard time paying attention to the steps, hyper-aware of how close she was, how it felt to hold her in his arms, even if only to learn how to dance. After the third time he stepped on her feet, she suggested that they take a break.
"Sorry about your foot," Steve said.
"Hey, no worries. The first time I tried to learn to dance I elbowed Josh in the face. I nearly broke his nose. There was blood everywhere."
Steve chuckled. That made him feel better about his own misguided attempts at dancing.
0000
Steve noticed that throughout the night, Josh would look over at him, eyes narrowed, teeth clenched. He hadn't said two words to Steve the whole night, even though Steve had tried again and again to engage him in small talk.
"Hey, Monica. Can I ask you a question?" Steve asked her during a lull in the music.
"Yeah, sure. Ask away."
"Did I do something to offend your friend, Josh?" It wouldn't be the first time Steve had offended someone. Natasha Romanoff gave him no end of grief for calling her "ma'am".
"Oh, yeah, he's probably just jealous. Ignore him. He'll get over it."
"Jealous?" Steve asked.
"Yeah, he and Stacy used to date and now she shows up with this cute new stranger. Also, he's used to being the fox in the henhouse," Monica said.
"What?"
"In our group of friends, there are a lot more girls than guys, so the guys get a lot of attention."
"Sounds like a good group," Steve replied.
"See, you would say that." She winked at him and wandered off to dance to the next song.
0000
They stayed until the last song, appropriately entitled, "So Long-Farewell-Goodbye". Then, the lights came back on, their harsh glare causing everyone to squint.
"Ugh. I am never wearing heels again," Stacy said, limping as she left the club.
"You say that every single weekend," Monica teased.
"Well, this time I mean it. One of you guys want to carry me home?" she asked, vaguely waving to the guys in the group. Steve was sorely tempted to say he would, but he knew she was joking. He noticed that Josh stiffened and pulled out his phone to ignore the group.
"If I didn't wear heels, I don't think I could reach you," Erica said wistfully to Michael.
"Honey, I'd lift you up," and with that, Michael lifted Erica off the ground.
"Put me down! Put me down!" Erica shouted, laughing so hard that she could barely breathe.
Josh looked up from his phone. "There's an all-night diner open around the corner. Anyone up for coffee?"
Stacy beamed. "I am always up for coffee."
"Girl, you are an addict. I swear. You better get decaf. I'm not having you bounce around the apartment all night," Monica said.
"I have precisely one vice, coffee. Let me enjoy it," Stacy said.
"One vice? For someone who teaches kindergarten, you'd think your counting would be better," Erica teased.
"Ahhh. The abuse I put up with from my so-called friends." Stacy turned to Steve. "Are you coming?"
"Sounds great," he said.
00000
The diner was one of those retro 50s places, where the waitresses wore short red and white pin-striped dresses. Steve chuckled. It seemed as though he was in for a night of manufactured nostalgia. The waitress seated them quickly and took their order, six decaf coffees.
They were in a large booth. On one side, Erica, Micheal and Josh sat together, on the other were Monica, Stacy and Steve. Steve caught Josh staring at him from across the table and then looking down at his phone. After a few minutes, he blanched and quickly put the phone away, giving Steve a nervous smile.
"So, biochem?" Steve said, looking at the happy couple across from him.
"Yep. Erica and I are going to cure cancer," Michael said confidently.
"Really? Wow," Steve said, suitably impressed.
Erica rolled her eyes. "That's what all biochem majors think."
"But you and me, we're going to do it," Michael said with a wink.
"I wish my adviser had your confidence," Erica replied.
"Give it time. Give it time," Michael said.
"Are you greeting tomorrow?" Josh asked Stacy.
"Yeah," Stacy said, stifling a yawn, "but at the 11 o'clock service. You guys want to meet at Starbucks at 10:30?"
Micheal and Erica nodded, but Monica shook her head.
"Sorry, I've got nursery duty at the 9 o'clock," she said.
"Oh, honey, I don't know how you do it. After a week with little kids, the last thing I want to do on Sunday is to be anywhere near someone under 18," Stacy said with a rueful grin.
"What can I say? I love the babies," Monica said.
They chatted for about a half hour more and Steve was surprised at how relaxed he felt, inserting himself into this group of strangers. Monica stood up, apologizing, but pointing out she'd need to get up early. Steve quickly snagged the check and paid for everyone, earning another round of thanks from the group.
00000
Steve was the first one out the door once the bill had been paid and he noticed that Josh ran up to walk next to him.
"Hey, I am so sorry about being such a jerk earlier. I just figured out who you are. I apologize; that was so not cool of me," he said to Steve.
"That's okay. But, can you do me a favor?" Steve asked.
"Yeah, sure."
"Please don't tell anyone. It's nice just being Steve for once," Steve said, hopeful that he'd agree.
"Oh, yeah, I can see that. I won't tell anyone."
"Thanks, buddy," Steve said, glad that he could breathe easy now.
The girls caught up to them with Michael and Erica walking arm in arm.
"We all took the subway here, did you?" Stacy asked Steve.
Steve shook his head, sorry that the evening had to end.
"So, how'd you get here?" Stacy asked.
Steve pointed to his motorcycle down the block.
"Wait, where's your helmet?" Erica asked***.
"Um . . . I don't have one," Steve said. He wasn't sure, but he was pretty certain he'd survive most motorcycle accidents due to the super-serum.
"Where are you even from? You can't ride around New York City without a helmet. The cops'll pull you over for sure," Stacy said, her voice rising in concern.
"Not to mention, you could die," Monica pointed out dryly.
"And you could die," Stacy reiterated, gesturing wildly.
Steve was oddly struck by their concern. He didn't want to break the moment by bringing up the unlikelihood of him getting hurt.
"I'll . . . I'll pick one up tomorrow," he replied to her. "Bye, it was nice to meet you all," he said to the group, waving as he turned to walk to his bike.
"You'd better. So, did you like the concert?" Stacy asked, leaving the group behind and following him to his motorcycle.
"Yeah, it was great," Steve replied.
"See, I told you! Are you up for another one? There's one next Saturday night. I got the card for you," Stacy said with a smile.
"Thanks," Steve said, taking it from her and tucking it into his pocket. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."
"See you next Saturday," she said with a wink, before turning and walking back to her friends.
He watched her leave. Next Saturday couldn't come quick enough.
It wasn't until he got home that he realized that he'd forgotten to get her number. Well, he thought, he'd just see her at the next concert.
Unfortunately, that's not what happened.
Author's notes -
*Rough translation-
How cute is he!
Maybe he speaks Spanish.
Well, I'm sure he doesn't, but let's see.
Do you speak Spanish?
**Big Bad Voodoo Daddy is a real band. No, I am in no way affiliated with them. I wish I were; they are awesome.
***Here's the thing. When I watched that last scene in Avengers, with all of the superheroes riding off, seeing Captain America without a helmet really bothered me. I mean, I can handle alien hordes, green rage monsters, and the glow sticks that rob you of your free will, but have a guy ride around on a motorcycle without a helmet on just broke my suspension of disbelief. And yes, I'm just kidding . . . mostly.