The Characters and the plot of this story belongs to Marvel Studios.

Meeting the Team (Part 3)
Steve Rogers (Captain America)

Previously...
Fury

I nod at her as an idea begins to form in my head. I spot the agent I have asked to take Stark on a tour and call him over. I speak quietly so that the conversation can only be heard by the two of us.

"Where is Mr. Rogers?"

"At the Gym Sir."

"Then that is Ms. Stark's first stop"

Steve Rogers

The punching bag violently swigs back and forth with every punch I throw at it.

50 years. I've been asleep for 50 whole years.

The anger boils back up, and I punch the bag with an additional force and I know it's only a matter of time before this one ends up broken and battered (like all the rest).

This has been my method of dealing with my emotions. I wake up, eat breakfast, go to the gym, ruin a punching bag, eat lunch, take a nap, ruin another punching bag, watch the news, get lost in my thoughts, eat dinner, ruin another punching bag (S.H.I.E.L.D can afford it) and go to sleep. The last time I've stepped out of this building was during my panic-stricken escape from the terrible role-play S.H.I.E.L.D had created. The last thing I remember before that was crashing into the Arctic after talking to Peggy.

Peggy. Howard. Bucky. I miss them all. They're all gone (probably). Now I'm here. I'm all alone.

I shiver. It's too cold in here. I asked Fury to turn down the air conditioning on the first day of my...awakening. Then, I asked him to turn on the heater, put it at full blast. However, ever since getting out of that ice (or going into it), I've only ever felt cold. My insides feel frozen, as if I never really came out of the frozen block. As if, I'm still stuck in there. In fact, I don't remember the last time I ever felt warmth, I don't even think I remember what warm feels like. A scream bubbles up my throat. I let it out as I give one final punch at the poor bag and the force of the punch frees the bag of its restraints and it goes flying into the air at the same time the door opens.

I about to call out a warning, but it's too late, as the punching bag hurls itself towards the person that just walked through the door. She ducks down just in time for the bag to go soaring above her head and it lands on the floor. I'm pretty sure her eyes go wide as the spins on her heels and stares at the battered bag for a few long seconds. I'm about to apologize to her, but then she turns back around to look at me, and for a minute I forget to breathe.

Her long, dark hair is pulled and clipped back, which gives me a clear view of her face. Her skin is fair and flawless, emphasizing her large, brown, doe-like eyes, which are staring at me in wonder. Without even pausing to think about how impolite my actions are, my eyes move down to spot a small button nose, and pink parted lips that look incredibly soft and tempting. My eyes continue to roam down of their own accord and assess her frame (She's wearing a pink dress that falls to her knees and moulds her frame perfectly). The only way to describe it is petite. She's small, she'd only be able to reach up to my chin, and her frame makes her look fragile and sensitive and I'm afraid I will crush her when I hold her. Wait. Hold her?

Control your thoughts Rogers.

I direct my eyes to her face to find her previously flawless complexion tainted with a cherry blush that has taken control over her cheeks and ears. When my eyes crash hers, she quickly looks away, turning her gaze to the wall and...talks to it.?

She turns to face me once more, and proceeds to walk towards where the punching bag had once hung. She looks at me with a hint of humour in her eyes.

"That's some punch. I've never seen someone punch a punching bag off its hook before, all the while making it look so bruised that I feel more sympathetic for the punching bag than I feel for your poor hand. Which reminds me by the way, how is your hand. I mean it must ache if you punched that hard, wouldn't it? Oh, and sorry if I interrupted a moment. Cause uh... you looked like you were having this huge moment and this is totally random stranger walks in the room, and you can't even yell at her cause you have no idea who the hell she is and...and you have no idea who I am and I just walk up to you and start rambling like some crazy person who...um... I should stop... I'm... I'm Elizabeth. Nice to meet you."

For the first time in a long time, I want to smile. She puts forth her hand and I reach out to grab it. When my hand touches hers however, I stifle a gasp.

Two feelings; both foreign; yet so welcoming I want to jump in the air and laugh. When my hand encompasses hers, a spark shoots up my arm eventually transforming to a warm honey like feeling that flows through me. Warmth. For the first time in 50 years, I feel warm. She must have felt it too, as her eyes go wide and she quickly recoils her hand away from mine and I miss the warmth as cool air fills the room. I realize that she had introduced herself and is currently waiting for me to the same.

"It's Steve ma'am, a pleasure to meet you. I apologize for the punching bag, did it hurt you?"

"Oh. Um no. No it didn't. But uhhh, you must be having one horrible day if you were prompted to punch the bag so hard it fell of the chain. Can a punching bag even do that? Or did Nick Fury just decide that he was done with paying for high class, tip-top, punching bags? Cause that would make much more sense."

She's a talker. She just spoke about 60 words in one whole breath. She probably notices my shock because she quickly (after taking a gulp of air) goes on to say,

"I'm sorry. I talk too much. It's a habit that I have trouble getting rid of. I talk excessively when I'm nervous though. Not that you make me nervous. It's just I was expecting something other than a blond, blued-eyed man who can literally hurt me with a pinkie, punching a bag so hard it fell off and went flying through the air. Which prompts me, how can you send a punching bag flying? I...um...I don't think that's... technically possible." Great, how do I get out of this one? Just tell her Rogers!

The clearing of a throat saves me as we both turn around and notice (for the first time) a S.H.I.E.L.D agent standing at the door looking a bit uncomfortable. Ever since I woke up, I've been trying to befriend at least one S.H.I.E.L.D agent but the ones I've met so far are all so vague and reserved, not even bothering to tell me their names. Elizabeth has been the only agent (Fury and Coulson don't count as agents) that has spoken more than a sentence with me.

Elizabeth apologetically smiles at the awkward red head that stands at the door, adjusting his glasses while shifting from foot to foot.

"Oh My God! Sorry bout that Mike. I totally forgot you were there. Not that I forgot you, I just got distracted with Steve and the punching bags and angry man and stuff. I'm sorry."

She turns to me,

"Mike is my personal tour guide. Fury assigned him to tour me around the place and the poor guy has to put up with all my chatter and words and still be polite and smile."

They say that eyes are the windows to a soul. She is the solid proof of that statement. Her eyes are a rich chocolate brown that fills with emotions that mix with the ever-present mirth.

"Oh. I'm sorry Ms...Elizabeth, I just got a call, they need my help in the tech department. Fury's orders. I'm sorry."

Disappointment fills the brown orbs but as quickly as it came; it disappears, replacing itself with understanding.

"No, No. That's fine. You go ahead and do your job. I'll just see myself out. Thank you for showing me around though Mike, I really appreciate it."

"Miss, I just took you to the gym. We didn't even start."

"Well, then, thank you for traveling four floors up in a small elevator while listening to me ramble, then trying to explain S.H.I.E.L.D to me and answering my 47 questions, all the while keeping an eye on me so that I don't get lost in this maze you called an office. I mean I used to think that the Tower was big, but this. This here is the most enormous thing I have ever seen. It's literally the size of a small city. How much did it cost to build this? Billions probably, I mean are these one side glasses? And all the tech. Tony would flip when he sees all this amazing tech. it's almost too real to be true."

She keeps rambling, not noticing that the agent (Mike) had slipped out of the room once she finished saying thank you (which was very rude of him). She stops mid sentence and looks at me with a sheepish smile.

"Guess I scared him away."

"Well, it was great meeting you Steve, I guess I'll see you sometime, if I ever come by."

She's saying goodbye. The thought fills me with dread. She can't say goodbye now, she just got here, I just had a few minutes of warmth, she can't leave now. An idea hits me.

"Wait! Why don't I show you around?"

"What. I mean I heard you. But...really?"

"Ya. I have nothing to do today. So I might as well take up the job of being your personal tour guide of S.H.I.E.L.D."

She beams at me. I feel the corners of my mouth pushing up in a smile. A smile. My first smile in 50 years.

Elizabeth

"So... how long have you worked for S.H.I.E.L.D?" I ask him as we walk through the empty corridors if the building.

I'm convinced that Steve is S.H.I.E.L.D's new project, used to entice villainous woman and men into a trap to promote peace. Because there is no possible way, that anybody could be that perfect.

He reminds me of a hero you would find in a 90's romantic movie. He's chivalrous; holding doors and taking the term 'ladies first' quite literally. He's polite and respectful, listening to my chatter with avid interest (something only Tony's ever done) and asking questions as if my wild rant interests him. And let's not get started on his looks...

He looks like he walked out of some celebrity magazine. He's tall; he towers over me exceptionally and is at least a head taller than I am. The man is made up of muscles and abs, the t-shirt that enunciates his broad shoulders and strong, but lean frame is all the proof I need to confirm my theory. His face looked like Leonardo da Vinci, Michelangelo, and Raphael all came together to create a masterpiece and the result was this man's face. When you add the chiselled jawline, the tousled golden hair, and the ocean blue eyes, he could make any girl faint. Hell, I almost did when I saw him for the first time.

In my careful assessment, I forgot that I had asked the agent a question. I look up to him once more and see him hesitating. I remember that the agents working in S.H.I.E.L.D were very confidential with matters on their jobs and I wonder if the same applies for Steve.

"I guess you can say I'm fairly new. I have a lot experience though, which is why Fury...um...hired me."

"Oh, were you like a secret agent or something. Were you part of the FBI?"

"No..."

"Oh my God! Do they give you cool suits and code names? Do you have the thing-a-majigers that can listen through walls? Wait. Are you married? Does your wife work for an opposing company, which is why you quit the FBI? Cause you don't want a repeat of what happened in Mr. And Mrs. Smith? Because if so, then I totally understand. Having your house blown up is really traumatic, especially if you and your wife have this intense shootout to try to assassinate each other"

I walk and talk, my crazy theories falling into place as my string of words constructs. I turn to look at Steve, and come face to face with the paleness of the baby blue wall. I turn around to see a stumped looking Steve, standing right behind me, his mouth slightly open.

An apology is forming in my mouth when his smiles the slightest of smiles (that astounds me. I wonder if I will die when he laughs) and amusement fills his oceans (eyes).

"I wasn't part of the FBI; my story is much more...complicated."

I sense an unwillingness to share so I think of a way to change the topic.

"What's our next stop? Wait, are you busy? Am I taking up your time? Cause I'm really thankful that you dealt with me for this long, if you have to go back to work, then I could leave."

"No. No." He quickly responds.

"The only reason I asked to show you around was because I had nothing much to do. And plus, I can spare some time for a lovely dame."

I giggle at his form of classification (dame) and feel a blush creep up my cheeks, I swear I've blushed more today than I ever have in my whole life!

We spent the day walking around S.H.I.E.L.D, playing with tech equipment, and mostly talking. Well, I did most of the talking; Steve was quiet and reserved, opting to speak when prompted. He talked about his best friend Bucky, his mom and about his immense infatuation over motorcycles. I shared about Stark Med Care (though I referred to it as the hospital I worked in), Charlie and Tony. Actually, I shared a lot about Tony, in fact, most of our conversation was about my older brother (if you consider me rambling on and on about my brother and him listening with rapt attention a conversation).

The elevator doors open and we ride in silence all the way down, the transparent glass of the mechanism allowing us to observe the small figures rushing about. I turn and notice Steve bluntly staring at me. It's unsettling, as if I'm an artefact on display, the way he scrutinizes me and I feel yet another flow of heat at my cheeks. I abruptly turn away from him and stare out the glass to meet the eyes (eye) of Nick Fury.

He stares at me and then his gaze goes to Steve, who has moved closer towards me, but kept his eyes locked on his careful task (assessing me). The look Fury has on his face is perturbing; it's a look I've seen on my brother's face right before he blows something up in his lab, it's the look that indicates that he's up to something, and that its probably gonna be great, or end up in shatters. Right now, the famous 'Tony Stark brews trouble' look is plastered on Fury's face and it worries me. However, I smile at him and wave and as if he didn't see me, he walks away. The elevator doors open.

That's when I spot it. It shines like a rich coloured emerald among thousands of diamonds, my heart beats as my eyes scan the familiar sight in front of me and I break into a smile so hard, it hurts.

"OH MY GOD! THE ICE CREAM TRUCK" I scream so loudly, Steve jumps and flinches and a few agents passing by stares at me, one even going far enough to spill his coffee.

Steve

"OH MY GOD! THE ICE CREAM TRUCK" I jump up on instinct but relax almost immediately and send the agents passing by an apologetic look.

I turn to Elizabeth, the smile on her face is so big, and the happiness radiating from her is so contagious I smile back. She turns to me, and I am once again struck by her beauty.

"Let's go Steve! The ice cream truck doesn't wait forever! I haven't had an ice cream from the truck in ages. Please please please, let's go!"

She grabs my hand and drags me towards the large doors that introduce the S.H.I.E.L.D headquarters. I get the odd feeling that I'm being watched and turn to see a smug Fury who gives me a nod. Before I can give myself time to process the fact that Nick Fury was spying on me, I feel a warm breeze tickle my face.

The last time I was out here, (my 'I melted from a 50 year thaw' panic attack) I was too scared and perplexed to see any good, any beauty in the world around me. Now as I walk beside a woman who is skipping (quite literally) towards the ice cream truck (I know what an ice cream truck is. I've had agents come over and explain almost everything that I've missed) with a bright grin, her long hair bouncing as she walks along the sidewalk, I look around in wonder and awe.

From what I've learned about her from her extremely fascinating ramblings, is that she is a surgeon who works at a hospital (Stark Med Care) in Malibu. Her best friend's name is Charlie and she's always wanted a kitten but couldn't get one because her father was allergic to cats (this reminded me of Howard, who was also allergic to cats.) During her rambling, her brother, Tony, came up often. It was clear through the way she spoke about him, that he plays a valuable role in her life. She talked about him with utmost pride and love and it reminded me of Bucky.

We both walk across the street and I look in fascination at the automotives and buildings, but she has eyes only for the brightly coloured truck that is parked in the secluded area (which is really wired, why would a ice cream truck be parked in front of a secret agency headquarters?).

She knocks on the window and a man pokes his head out, he grumpily tells her something and whatever it was, it wipes the childish excitement right off her face. She turns to me and pouts, and I hint a bit of disappointment.

"Well who would have guessed? I mean, I should have guessed, it just didn't make any sense if I think about now as to why there would be an ice cream truck parked in front of S.H.I.E.L.D. The truck is just a cover. Darn it, I really wanted ice cream from the truck. There just this different savour from buying an ice cream cone from an ice cream truck."

"Hey, you know what? The next time I see you, I'll buy you an ice cream cone from the truck. It'll be my treat." I say, hoping to make her feel better.

She giggles once more, but this time her smile seems more bitter than sweet.

"Ya. If there's a next time, then you can buy me an extra large cone of chocolate ice cream. But um... I think I should be heading home now. I'm leaving for Malibu tomorrow and I need to pack."

I smile sadly, understanding her bitter smile; this is good-bye.

"Thank you. For um...showing me around. I had a great time."

"No. Thank you, I... hadn't had the leisure of a nice talk in a long, long time."

"Bye Steve."

Good day, Elizabeth"

She gives me a final smile and turns to walk away. I rub my hands together, noticing for the first time how chilly the wind was.

I know that Steve was asleep for 70 years, but for the purpose of this fanfiction and for a future scene I hope to write, I needed to change it so that the period of his 'icy state' was 20 years less.