Chapter Summary: In which the future is...rather odd, but Steve's finding that there might just be a place for him there anyway.

Thanks to Rainne and Meri for hand-holding, sympathetic ears, and being patient enough to listen to a lot of whining when the chapter was giving me grief. You ladies are awesome. :) The rest of the notes are at the end. Thanks for reading!

I Like to Keep My Issues Strong, but It's Always Darkest Before the Dawn

- Shake it Out, Florence and the Machine

The internet is one of the best things about the future, Steve thinks. A wealth of information, from almost anywhere in the world, and it's right at his fingertips thanks to a few clicks of a keyboard. Sometimes the information isn't what he wants to see, but the world's never been an easy place to live in.

He'd set out that morning to see if the cemetery where his parents are buried is still in existence. He's 99.9% percent sure it is, it was a landmark even back in the 40s, but the urge to make sure that their final resting place hasn't been disturbed in the nearly seventy years he's been away needs to be verified before he dares to venture out there. Steve's not sure if he could handle it if he were to go to the cemetery only to find that it's now a vacant lot or brand new apartment buildings.

So much of Brooklyn is barely recognizable from before, and more than once Steve wonders if this isn't some dying fever dream of his. But his dreams are even stranger than that, he knows.

Welcome to reality.

To Steve's relief, he finds that the cemetery is still well maintained and in use, the century old graves sitting alongside new mausoleums. There's even a section on the website where he can put in the name and dates of the deceased to find the exact location of their gravesite. It's not like he'd ever forget where his parents are buried, that'd be impossible no matter how far he travels, but he likes the verification that what he remembers still exists.

And sure enough, there are the names of Sarah and Joseph Rogers, in small, neat, typeface on the screen: birth dates, death dates, and where they're located in that sprawling, hillside complex.

He's been putting this trip off long enough, Steve thinks.

It's early morning when he hops on the subway and makes his way south towards the cemetery. A couple of quick stops later - one to pick up a bouquet of flowers and another at the main cemetery office to get a map of the grounds - he finds himself hiking up a lush, green hillside to his parents' gravesites.

The graves are set back against a line of trees, leafy overhangs providing pleasant shade over them in the spring sunshine. Steve remembers the trees being smaller when his parents were buried, but even they didn't stop growing while he was asleep. They're simple graves, one a grey stone slab with no extra ornamentation whatsoever and the other the traditional white (since faded to a dusty washed out color) tile that marks his father as a veteran. But they're still next to each other, and Steve's glad to see that even now his parents' wishes are being carried out.

The weeds are slightly overgrown around the bases, and Steve carefully pulls them out of the way as he kneels down in front of them. "Hi, Ma. Hi, Da," he says, placing the bouquet down between the two graves. "I'm sorry I didn't visit sooner. Been away for a while." His lips curve, though he isn't remotely smiling. "Never thought you'd see me here, huh?"

It's quiet enough on the grounds that Steve can tell there's nobody near him. The only sounds that carry in his direction are the buzz of the lawn mower from the groundskeeper on another slope off in the distance. So he launches into his story, telling his parents just what he's been up to for the last few years...last seventy years, really.

Steve walks home from the cemetery, feeling emotionally wrung out. It's not an uncommon feeling for him these days, but the long walk helps to clear his head out a bit, or at least distract him enough from everything that's whirling around in his head.

He walks a lot these days.

He wanders down to the Brooklyn Bridge, and stops for a few minutes to sketch the cables, stones, and pylons that make up the structure in the small moleskine notebook he always carries in his pocket. Architectural drawings have always been some of his favorites, seeing the straight lines turn into shapes and patterns with simple movements of his pencil. Didn't have to worry about getting the colors right with them either, though Steve knows that's not an issue anymore.

But it's a warm day out - almost too warm for this time of year. This causes the tourists to come out in droves, crossing over the bridge's footpath like ants swarming a piece of bread. It's a little too much humanity for him at the moment, and he determines it's time to leave the bridge behind. So Steve slings his jacket over his shoulder and heads back to his apartment. It's a quick walk, and he's done it often enough by now that his feet lead him right where he needs to go without too much input from his brain.

When he passes by the alley next to his building, he sees Barrett running out of there like a bat out of hell, dressed in a crisp white shirt and black trousers. Barrett nods in his direction as he stops and almost trips off the curb, looking up and down the street. "Going anywhere interesting?" Steve asks, hauling him back onto the sidewalk with a hand on his collar.

"I wish," he grumbles, shoving his hair out of his eyes. "Catering job. I get to dish out food to rich people all night. Just what I love to do."

"It's a paying job, though. And it can't be that terrible if you're actually doing it," Steve points out.

"Fair point." A total junker of a car pulls up to the curb, stopping in front of them with a slight squeaking sound. Steve couldn't say at all what model or make it is, but the dents and rust spots on the outside are apparent. "And that's my ride," Barrett says, though it's more of a foregone conclusion at this point. "I'll see you around, Steve."

"See ya." He watches the car pull away from the curb, clanking noises following in its wake. Steve stands there for another moment, trying to make his feet move and head into his building. The main door's only a few yards away; his stride is long enough that it'd only take him seconds to get there. But his body seems to have other ideas.

Instead, Steve turns down the alley and heads towards the little side door that's never locked to head up to Darcy's place. A few flights up and there's another door with an extremely out of date Christmas wreath still hung up on it, and this one he knocks on. "It's open!" someone calls out from inside, and he rolls his eyes as he heads in towards the living room.

"You know, you should really keep that locked," Steve says, spotting Jess hunched over and rummaging through a large box on the floor.

"Meh," she says, waving a dismissive hand.

"Never fear, Brooklyn is here!" Darcy calls out, and he looks over to see her laid out on the couch. She looks relaxed, but there's a mug of coffee clutched in her hands, and Steve would bet good money that it's not her first cup.

"What?"

"Never mind." She bends her legs up and waves at the other end of the couch, inviting him to take a seat.

"Didn't you have work today?" Steve asks, draping his jacket over the back and settling down. Even a super soldier's feet get tired sometimes, and he really did quite a bit of walking since the morning.

Darcy nods. "Half-day gig. So now I get to spend the rest of the day being lazy. That's something I'm good at."

It should be awkward, Steve thinks, since that eye-opening dream they'd shared. That Darcy finds him attractive, in more than just an aesthetic appreciation sort of a way, that's a true change in this new reality for him. But within five minutes of seeing each other in person once Darcy had returned that weekend they were right back to normal again - well, as normal as their friendship has ever been. Which isn't that normal at all, at least, not by any traditional gauge.

Since that weekend, however, It's a little easier for him to admit that he finds her attractive too in a not quite platonic way. It's not just a physical thing, though (although physically, Steve thinks Darcy's got everything going for her and then some). He just likes…well, her. Her personality, her attitude, the brightness that provides a decent counterpoint to his darker days, even when she's in a darker mood herself. But it's all about timing, this life, and there hasn't been a chance to actually say anything about it to her.

If he says anything at all. He's still not sure on that point. And while cowardly is something he's never been, Steve knows he still has the deplorable tendency to end up chewing on shoe leather when he talks to a pretty dame. And he can't risk screwing this chance up...when he takes the chance. If he takes the chance. His brain can't seem to make up its mind lately.

Darcy stretches her legs out, propping her feet on top of his knees. It's a small thing, hardly boundary pushing, and it's all too easy for her to make herself comfortable. Steve's certainly not complaining about it. He carefully touches a spot on her ankle, where there's a cluster of light brown birthmarks like a constellation, and looks up to find her smiling softly at him.

"Yes!" Jess nearly shouts, and they look over to find her pulling a handful of fabric out of one of the bags scattered in front of the coffee table.

"Am I missing something?" Steve asks, turning his eyes back to Darcy as his brow wrinkles up.

Darcy snorts into her coffee mug. "Jess raided a sample sale this morning."

"And what's a sample sale when it's at home?"

"Lots of designer clothes for a fraction of the price," Jess interjects, shaking out the camisole and holding it up to her chest. "It's all the stuff stores get sent so that they can decide whether or not they want to stock it, but it never makes it to the sales floor. So a lot of times they'll put on sales of all of the samples for their employees and others in the know."

Darcy's eyebrows arch over the top of her glasses. "See what happens when you have a roommate who works in the fashion biz?"

"Hey." Jess tosses a bundle of gauzy white fabric at Darcy, and only the quick ducking of her head prevents it from landing in her coffee. "You benefit from it too, so shut up and try on your new outfit."

"If my lady demands it." Darcy swings her legs off of Steve's lap, puts the coffee on the table, and rolls off the couch. "Back in a sec."

Once Darcy's safely out of earshot, Jess turns to Steve, eyes wide and curly hair bobbing in the small ponytail she's pulled it up in. "You okay, man?" she asks. "You're looking a bit rough today."

So much for being subtle, Steve thinks with a mental grimace. "I'm okay," he eventually says. "Just having one of those days."

"Happens to the best of us." Jess shrugs and returns to her rummaging. "But hey, we're pretty good at providing cheap distraction and entertainment over here."

"I wouldn't say you're cheap," Steve blurts out, then snaps his mouth shut, realizing how the words that slipped out of his mouth just sounded. Jess looks up at him, eyebrows arched high and an amused smirk on her lips. "You know what I mean," Steve mumbles, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck that's now burning bright.

Jess just rolls her eyes and wings another bunch of fabric at him, which he snatches out of the air one-handed. "Try those on," she says, or rather demands, pointing imperiously in his direction.

He untangles the pants, a heavy, dark denim with a slimmer cut than he usually wears. They're finely made, and nicer than most of the clothes he's had throughout his entire life with the one exception being his old battle gear. Thoroughly futuristic. "Thank you, but I can't accept this," Steve says.

"Yes you can," Jess says. "I picked them up to bribe our trust fund baby of a landlord so that he'll fix our bathroom sink, but I think you can use them more than he can. Believe me, he's got plenty of designer shit for an out of work artist."

"It's too much," Steve insists, spreading the jeans out across his lap. "And I've got more than enough clothes to wear."

"Yeah?" She sits back on the rug, a threadbare ornate sort of thing that doesn't at all match with the rest of the decor, but somehow sort of fits the hodgepodge look of the living room. "Tell me then, when was the last time someone gave you a present?"

The old compass suddenly comes to mind, given to him by Bucky after the Howling Commandos' first mission with the cut out newspaper picture of Peggy inside the cover. The one that had somehow survived the wreck of the Valkyrie and is currently sitting on a shelf in his apartment. "It's been a while," he says, lips quirking up a bit at the corner.

Jess motions at him again. "See? Take the present and enjoy it."

"Thanks. That's really kind of you."

"My pleasure."

Darcy practically saunters back into the room just then, the gauzy white dress swishing around her knees. "What do you think?" she says, twirling in place on the rug. "It's a bit seventies, but I think it's fun."

"Looks good." Jess gets to her feet and tugs at the blousy, drapey bodice of the dress, straightening the fall of the top layer around her waistline. "Could probably be taken in a bit at the waist, but otherwise it's a good look for you."

"You sure?" Darcy pushes some of her hair back out of her face, and sends a wary look downwards at herself. "I feel a bit top heavy in it. It's not exactly hiding the girls, you know."

Jess shrugs, plucking at the delicate straps on Darcy's bare shoulders. "Yeah, but it's a summer dress, it's not designed to hide things. And it's flowy enough on the bottom that it'll counteract the top." Then, she spins Darcy around in Steve's direction. "What do you think?" she asks him.

Steve's quiet for a few moments, trying to get his thoughts in line. He's never seen her in a dress quite like this one - some sleek skirt outfits that she'd wear to work, sure, and the simple shirt dress she'd worn in the dreams a couple of times, but nothing quite as...ephemeral as this one. It's almost like a nightgown, he thinks. One that a woman would put on to sleep in during one of those steamy summer nights where she rolls around on the bed with sleeplessness due to the heat, the loose gown riding upwards with each movement.

"It's different," Steve blurts out, pushing his wandering thoughts way into the back of his head. "But it looks good," he finishes, nodding once as he crosses his arms over his chest.

Real smooth, Rogers.

"Thank you," Darcy says, apparently ignoring the awkwardness and dropping a quick curtsey instead. "Although not hesitating before you compliment a person would help you be a little more convincing."

Steve just shoots her a glare, which seems to have the opposite effect than intended as both girls break out into giggles. "Just sayin'," Darcy says in between fits of laughter. She leans against Jess' side as she does, as if she needs the prompt just to stay upright.

"You're hilarious."

Jess straightens up, and waggles a finger in his direction. "Hey, don't you have something to go try on too?"

Shit, he'd forgotten about the pants. "I can try them on at home later," he says dismissively.

"Oh, hell no," Darcy says, coming around to the couch again and dropping herself on the opposite end of it. "If I had to give a fashion show then so do you. Fair's fair."

"You know where the bathroom is; you can get changed in there." Steve is convinced that the grin on Jess' face is one of pure evil as she looks at him. "And don't think I won't lock you in there until you try on the pants."

"I can break down the door. A lock won't stop me."

All right, maybe he's overreacting a little. But just a little bit.

Darcy cocks her head to the side, giving him a look that he can't quite decipher. "Come on," Darcy says, leaning forward to look him in the eyes. It takes all of the determination Steve's got to keep his eyes firmly above where the scoop neck of her dress dips down low, revealing an intriguing expanse of skin. "What have you got to lose?"

Steve's still for a minute, but then he sighs and stands up, draping the jeans over his shoulder. "I'm going to regret this in a few minutes," he says, heading off to the bathroom.

The pants are a bit on the snug side, tighter than he's used to wearing his trousers, but the fabric is heavy and well constructed, and it doesn't feel terrible against his skin. Steve supposes he should get used to it, as he's lost count of the amount of times he's seen Darcy and Jess wear them, let alone everybody on the street every day. Steve sighs, pushes his hair back with one hand, and tugs on the bottom of his button down, straightening the lines.

The jeans are, unfortunately, a little too snug to tuck his shirts in like he usually does. Which apparently also happens a lot more in the 21st century, so at least he won't look out of place.

Another deep breath and Steve exits the bathroom, making sure his feet don't stop until he's standing in the middle of the living room, arms held out under the girls' critical gazes.

"It's uh, it's a good look for you," Darcy says with a strange catch in her voice, leaning forward on the couch to get a better look. Steve can't quite think about what that means, however, as Jess is now heading over in his direction with a very intent look on her face.

"All right, let's check these things out," Jess says, pushing his arms out further so she can see the waist of the jeans. She's mercifully critical as she pokes and prods at how the pants fit on his body, and it reminds Steve more than a bit of when the USO had sent him out to Hollywood to film those awful movies. He's pretty sure his face is showing this distaste too, because the next time he glances over at Darcy her eyes are lit up and her hands are clapped over her mouth, like she needs the extra help in holding back the laughter. Steve arches an eyebrow at her, which just makes her grip her hands tighter and bend over, shoulders shaking with repressed mirth.

When Darcy is coherent enough to finally pull her hands away from her mouth, she looks up and says, "Regretting it yet?" A small smile dances around the corners of her lips.

Steve's mouth is open to respond, when Jess tugs at the collar to his shirt. "You got a t-shirt under there?" she asks, making Steve quickly lean away from the voice that's suddenly in his ear.

"Why?" Of course he's got an undershirt on, but that's not really any of her business.

"Because the plaid shirt is doing you no favors. It's not even, like, cool retro 90s plaid, but old man plaid."

"You really know how to make a guy feel good about himself, don't you?" Steve fires back as he tugs at the t-shirt peeking out of the top of his collar. Jess begins to reach for the rest of the buttons, but Steve brushes her hands away with another sigh and begins to undo the shirt.

"There's no excuse for bad fashion."

"Jess, be nice," Darcy calls back at her.

Steve shucks the button down off and tosses it towards the empty seat on the couch. "Happy now?" he asks.

"Much better." Jess takes two steps back, crossing her arms over her chest and giving him a critical look. "Though the shirt could stand to be fitted a little more to better show off your physique."

Steve just shakes his head and moves back over towards the couch, slumping down next to Darcy. "I think the pants are enough change for one day. How about let's save the shirt for next week?"

"You sure? I think I've got something else here that'll look really nice with your skin tone."

He's not using Darcy as a human shield, really he's not. But if she can provide a little bit of a buffer zone between the mad fashion designer and himself, well, he'd be a poor tactician if he didn't take advantage of that.

Luckily, it never quite gets that far. A loud noise rings out from the kitchen, a snippet of a music that seems to be designed to be as absolutely obnoxious as possible. It stops abruptly for a couple of seconds but then starts up again, even louder than before. The music makes Jess' face go still, and then morph into a look that can only be described as enraged. "Even on my fucking day off," she groans, then storms away into the kitchen to shut the ringing phone up.

Darcy turns to Steve then, eyes wide and slightly worried. "Now's the perfect opportunity to leave, if you wanna get out of here," she says softly, even though there's no way she'd be heard over the loud voice echoing out of the kitchen.

Steve exhales roughly, running a hand back through his hair. "You know," he says, eyes trained across the room but not really seeing anything, "I wouldn't mind being around some people today. At least for a little while."

Her hand clamps down on his shoulder, small and warm through the thin fabric of his t-shirt, and squeezes tightly. "Stay as long as you like."

Out of the corner of his eye, Steve can see the sun coming up, turning all of the skyscrapers in front of him into gleaming gold and silver pillars. The light catches on the cables of the bridges, the metal girders of the Manhattan to his right, and the old bricks of the Brooklyn on his left. Unusually for New York, everything is quiet and serene. No sounds of cars honking, shouting people, passing boats, or even the faint echoes of music off in the distance. All he can hear is the soft lapping of the waves against the boulders of the sea wall he's perched on, and the occasional call from a passing seagull.

He can see Darcy swimming around in the shallows right beyond the rocks, diving in and out of the small waves as her white dress gets plastered to her body. Her hair floats around her like seaweed as she flips to her back, eyes closed and face turned up towards the rising sun.

Peaceful.

Steve hasn't felt like this for a long, long time. It's almost unfamiliar, but his body recognizes the sensations. His muscles unwind, and he relaxes back against the rocks, taking in the Manhattan skyline once more.

"Welcome home," a familiar voice says next to him, and Steve looks to his left to see Bucky sitting there, smiling face looking out across the water as well. He looks comfortable, relaxed, like the horrors of war can't reach him here in this place.

Steve shrugs, turning back to the skyscrapers across the river once more. "It's not quite home," he says, even though he can't quite help the smile that spreads across his face. He tilts his chin at the buildings. "I'm pretty sure a bunch of those weren't there when we left the city."

"Well, yeah," Bucky agrees. "It's never going to be the same as it was. That time's over and done with, and now you've just gotta deal with it."

"Click your heels and say 'there's no place like home,' huh?"

"You know, you'd look fetching in a pair of ruby slippers."

"Stuff it, you jerk."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah."

Bucky looks down at Darcy, swimming back and forth in front of the rocks at their feet. She'd been a lifeguard as a teenager, Steve remembered her saying once, and even in dreams she still had her swimming skills, cutting through the water with easy efficiency. "You settling in okay?" Bucky asks.

Steve nods, stretching out his legs and propping his feet up on yet another boulder. "As okay as I can, I guess. The future's not so bad, when I think about it. Medicine's a lot better - not that I really need it thanks to the serum. There's such a thing as vegan banana-nut muffins with maple almond butter which are surprisingly good." He tips his head back, seeing some thin, wispy clouds scudding across the sky. "Internet. Don't even know where to begin to explain that one, but it's incredible. Might have even made a few friends, too. I didn't expect that."

Darcy scrambles up onto the rocks, her white dress clinging to her body as water drips off of it. She looks back at Steve, who arches his eyebrows questioningly at her. "Come on!" she calls back. "When the hell am I ever going to get a chance to do this again?" Steve just shakes his head and waves a hand at her. Darcy grins, then sets her stance, raises her arms, and executes a picture perfect dive off of the rocks. She hits the water with hardly a splash, diving deep under the surface.

Steve looks back at Bucky again, who shoots him an impish, shit-eating grin. "Okay, punk - with all that you've got in the here and now, why the hell would you want to go back?"

Steve's beginning to think that the only way people wake up these days is because of those damned tinny little beeps coming from their cellphones. Hasn't anyone heard of a proper alarm clock anymore? Eyes still closed, he winces and presses his ear into the arm of the couch, trying to block out the sound.

The beeping doesn't let up though, much to his displeasure. But the crowning achievement is the sharp elbow that drives into his gut with more pressure than necessary, right before the beeping goes blessedly silent. Steve forces his eyes open, confused for a moment before remembering where he is. Right, he's still at Darcy's apartment - they'd watched movies on the couch well into the evening, silly films that didn't require much thought to be enjoyed. At some point food had been ordered in from somewhere, and the roommates had trickled back in the hopes of free food. But then they were alone again, leaving Steve and Darcy on their own to watch movies late into the night.

Darcy had fallen asleep first, somewhere in the middle of a madcap scene involving speeding cars and possibly a musical number or two (all of the movies began to blend together after a while, he must admit), her head tipping over to rest on his shoulder. It didn't take long for Steve to follow her into sleep, feeling relaxed and mellow from an evening of doing pretty much nothing. Somehow they must have gotten twisted around in the night, leading Steve to become Darcy's body pillow. At least, that's what he supposes considering that it's Darcy's surprisingly bony elbow that's currently jabbing into his gut as she reaches for the cell phone on the coffee table.

"Go back to sleep," Steve mutters as his head rolls on the arm rest.

"Yeah," Darcy replies. "I just wanna check what the alert was first." He feels the couch shift again, and then Darcy settling back against him. He really should move, he thinks, but frankly he's too comfortable to really give a damn at the moment. "Oh, great," she groans.

That forces Steve's eyes open, and he blearily focuses on Darcy, perched on the edge of the couch right by his hip. The white sundress is long gone, traded out for a pair of yoga pants and a tank top. Her cell phone is clutched in her hands, and the look she's giving it is fierce. "What is it?"

She rolls her eyes. "Jess is in the middle of another fight in a club with Johnny Storm, and this time it's made Google alerts." Darcy just shakes her head and slumps back over, burying her face in Steve's shoulder. "Whatever. I don't care. Not worth waking up for." She stretches out along his side, and when Steve drops his arm around her shoulders it doesn't at all feel like he's taking liberties. It feels entirely comfortable instead, and he easily slips back into sleep.

The next time Darcy's phone goes off Steve can feel the vibrations of it against his chest, alien and strange, and it jerks him awake all too quickly. "The hell?"

Darcy groans again and props the phone up, sliding a thumb across the screen. A few seconds later her eyes bug out and her mouth drops open. "Oh, shit."

"What is it now?"

"Well…" she winces, staring hard at the little screen. "I don't think Jess is under arrest, but somehow a lot of them have been hauled to the cop shop - including Johnny - and money may need to change hands. I think. The text message loses some coherency towards the end there." Darcy pushes herself upright, rolling her shoulders with a grimace. Then she looks down at Steve again, a suddenly thoughtful look on her face. "Wanna go meet your evil twin?" she asks.

It's not until dawn that Darcy, Jess, and Steve are finally able to go home after a very, very long night, crammed into the back seat of a yellow cab as it hurtles over the Brooklyn Bridge. Steve and Darcy are each slouched against a window, while Jess is sitting ramrod straight between them, anger and righteous fury being the only things that are keeping her upright at the moment. For a while, the only sounds are from the driver's radio station and the cars passing in the opposite direction.

Eventually, Steve can't take the silence anymore, so he blurts out, "Well, that was interesting."

Jess just moans, slumping over and burying her face in her hands.

A/n: While I kept the cemetery Steve's parents are buried in nameless here, my headcanon has them buried in Green-Wood cemetery, especially after the flashback scene in CA:TWS pretty much opened up the great possibility for it. This may not be the most historically accurate place for his parents' to be buried, but as I love the visual of Steve walking through that specific place - and if you ever get a chance to go there in person I highly recommend it, even if it's just for a short walk - I'm hand-waving it away.

Also, in regards to the sample sales - I used to work in the buying department of a now defunct department store (many, many moons ago...back in the time before iPhones…) and that's pretty much exactly how we ran the sample sales there. Other stores and companies may run their sales differently, but in this instance it was a case of write what you know.

And now...one chapter to go. It's a little nerve wracking, and not even written yet, but at least I know exactly where it's going and what's going to happen in there. And then, onto the next story in the series which deals with the events of The Avengers. So I'm gonna go over here and be nervous and bite my nails about that while you guys sit back and hopefully enjoy this chapter. Thanks for reading - and if you liked the chapter let me know!

If you want, you can find updates and sneak previews of this and other stories on my tumblr at aenariasbookshelf dot tumblr dot com.