Becca held a tin can carefully between her hands as the subway car jerked along its track. There was nothing particularly special about the can, but it had been wrapped in newspaper and tied with a strand of twine like a present. The special part was what lay inside the can. It wasn't bread, the can's original content, but something much, much more precious. She shifted the can from one hand to the other. Funny, she had borne the weight without problem since December. Yet, in her hands, the can felt weighed like lead.

There were risks with the plan she had formed, a lot of them, millions probably. Foremost amongst them was changing the world forever. She had been trying to avoid the butterfly effect. Well, this could be taking a swarm of butterflies and throwing them into the wind. But Becca was desperate.

Two months had gone by and here she remained, stuck in the 1940s. No one had come for her. Steve might not even know where to look, if – the big if – the Avengers had killed or captured Thanos. The library had no further books about time travel or Norse mythology for her to pick through. The possible J.A.C.K. lead had yet to pan out, and she was growing doubtful it ever would. Besides, while she had convinced Mr. Foster that there was a delay in publishing due to a number of the editors being drafted for the war, that excuse would only last her so long. Becca had needed a contingency plan. Which was why she was heading to Queen with her cell phone.

After much thought and nights agonizing, Becca had come up with a plan that hinged on a man she knew very little about. She would have to trust him, potentially the future of the world, which scared the bejeezus out of her. Steve had trusted him once though, and in the end, his trust was the deciding factor. And if – the second big if – her plan succeeded, maybe the Infinity Stones could be used to leap back and erase what she was planning to do.

The subway car came to a halt at the stop she needed. Becca got off and ascended to street level. She had visited this part of Queens three days back to ask a couple of questions. The streets were busy at this time of day, unsurprising as she was in an industrial area. She walked slowly until the building came into view. There she stopped. Last time she'd walked right past the building, not recognizing the old company logo. Now, the sight twisted her stomach in knots. Last chance. She could turn around.

But Becca couldn't turn away if there was even the slightest possibility of getting home. She strode forward, leaving all her second-guessing behind, and entered Stark Industries.

The receptionist looked quite bored when Becca entered, her eyes sliding toward the door and following Becca's path lazily. "Good morning," she drawled. "How can I help you?"

"I'd like to see Mr. Stark," said Becca.

The receptionist swallowed, looking much more alert. Becca had to wonder if other women came by often with business that was more extracurricular than academic. From what she'd heard, in his younger years, Howard had the same effect on most women as Tony did.

"I've got an invention I think will interest him."

The declaration seemed to put the receptionist at ease, although she hiked her eyebrows skeptically. Becca had a feeling the skepticism stemmed from her gender. "Do you have an appointment?"

"No, but I'm willing to wait."

"We have a patent department that assesses all incoming projects," the receptionist stated, sounding bored again. She set a form, clipboard, and pen in front of Becca. "Fill this out with your name, the name of your invention, and what it does. I'll take it to our patent department, and someone will be out to speak with you shortly if we're interested."

Becca hesitated over leaving a paper trail, but filling out the form was her only way forward. She hadn't really expected to waltz in and get a meeting with the head of the company right way.

"Okay, thanks."

In an empty lobby chair – another random item which was more comfortable in the future – Becca examined the form. Others had put their inventions down on the same form, so she filled out the next available slot. Name, that was easy enough.

Rebecca Read

Okay, what was she going to call her cell phone? Rebecca thought about what little she had seen of phones in the Forties and all the things that made them inconvenient.

cordless telephone

Figuring out what to write about her phone's uses was difficult. No one in the patent department would believe a device could do all the things her phone was able to do. Even if they did, that was too much information to be handing out to unknowns.

Small telephone which does not need a cord or telephone wire of any kind to make calls. Is still capable of reaching across the globe.

There. The description sounded impressive by today's technological standards without being overly detailed. Becca handed the formed to the receptionist and waited. She felt sick. Despite having skipped breakfast out of nerves, her mouth had that slick texture it got before she puked. God, she really hoped she wouldn't puke in the middle of the lobby. Becca realized she was chewing her lip. Mentally letting out a string of curses, she licked her teeth in case any lipstick got on them and reapplied the layer of bright red, her old-fashioned battle armor.

"Ms. Read?"

The man who called her name looked to be in his early forties, dark hair going grey, lanky. His accent sounded faintly Mediterranean. Greek maybe. Becca got to her feet. Was his smile indulgent? She might actually puke all over him if she had to swallow any of that bullshit right now.

"Yes, hi." Becca strolled over and shook his hand. Yup, she was fairly sure that was an indulgent smile. Her stomach lurched, and she barely contained a burp.

"Hello. I'm Nicolas Costakis. If you'll follow me, we can have a little talk about your cordless telephone." Mr. Costakis beckoned her to follow with a waggle of his fingers.

Definitely indulgent. More even than puking, Becca felt like growling in frustration. He could be skeptical without being a jerk about it. Instead, she summoned a cheerful expression and followed.

Becca had expected Stark Industries to be more open, lighter. The corridor cramped in around her, the paint a kind of dandelion-mustard yellow hybrid broken up by polished wood. Maybe she was subconsciously projecting how Stark Tower would be in the future. If she thought for a moment, most buildings seemed sturdier now. Wide open areas with large glass windows had yet to come into fashion in the business sector. No black and white. No feng shui.

Mr. Costakis might not have the faintest clue about feng shui, but his office did give the sense of being balanced. Not perfect order, but enough that Becca got the feeling everything had a place. Her place was seated in the chair across from his desk while Mr. Costakis folded his hands, ever smiling. He didn't even bother to sit down. Obviously, he didn't presume she'd be here long.

"So you say you invented a telephone that works without a wire?"

"Yes," replied Becca, feeling like a child trying to tell a parent that they'd discovered the Holy Grail.

"May I see it?"

Instinctively, Becca gripped the tin tighter. The fewer people who saw her cell phone, the better. Plus, Mr. Costakis wasn't acting like he believed her, so why should he get to see this futuristic piece of technology? Unfortunately, it was her only proof. She unwrapped the tin, took off the rubber band and paper she had used as a lid, and drew out her cell phone.

"Please be careful," she pleaded as she handed it over. Her phone, wedding ring, and clothes from the day of her arrival: they were all Becca had of home.

Mr. Costikas made a great show of being careful. "Heaver than it looks."

"There's a lot inside. But it's much less heavy than the telephones we have now." Not that Becca had ever picked up a telephone in this time period, but they looked heavier.

"This is true." He turned the phone upside-down. "Where do you speak into?"

"The bottom. You've got to turn it –" Becca reached out and rotated the phone for him. "Like that. The holes you talk into are very tiny."

"Mhm. And how would I make a call?"

Under no circumstances was Becca going to attempt to explain touch screens. "You see that button on the side?" She indicated the volume button. "You press up, the numbers go up. You press down, the numbers go down. The other buttons are for volume and turning it on and off."

Mr. Costikas indicated the camera on the back. "And this?"

"That's where the signal comes in."

"The signal, of course. And how does it run without a wire?"

"On battery. If I could…" When he returned the phone, Becca opened the back and took out the battery. "See?" She replaced the battery once he nodded.

"Well, it looks very professional," Mr. Costikas conceded. "Can I make a call with it right now?"

Becca winced. "No."

"No?"

"It only works with other cordless telephones."

"Ah. Do you have other cordless telephones?"

"No. I had others, but they were destroyed when my house burned down not too long ago. I'd need funding to make more, but I promise you, they worked. I tested them." Becca knew it sounded like she was making an excuse, but she had no choice. Her cell phone didn't work anymore. "All I'm asking is for five minutes with Mr. Stark. Think about it. If Stark Industries came out with phones this size that everyone could carry around and use whenever they wanted, it would revolutionize the telephone industry. Everyone would want one!"

Mr. Costikas stared at her a long moment. "You're married, Mrs. Read? I see you have a ring." Becca nodded, touching her wedding band. "And is your husband aware of this cordless telephone?"

"Yes." Playing the sympathy card couldn't hurt. Becca bowed her head solemnly. "Well, he was. He passed away in the fire. He always believed in my work."

"I'm sorry for your loss."

"Thank you."

"But… you were the one who invented this cordless telephone?"

His implication couldn't be missed. Oh, so not only did Mr. Costikas doubt the phone could work, he doubted a woman could invent such a thing. Of fucking course. Tears of frustration gathered in the corners of Becca's eyes.

"Why did you bring me back here if you didn't believe a cordless phone was possible?" she snapped, the words out of her mouth before she could think twice.

Mr. Costikas looked startled at her anger. "It's company policy. We can't turn anyone away if they claim to have invented something new."

"Is it also company policy to be condescending to people when they show you their work?"

"No, ma'am."

"This is all I have left; do you understand?!" Becca spat, holding up her phone. Aggravation and desperation melted together, heating her skin. Blood pounded in her ears; her vision blurred at the edges. Mr. Costikas gaped at her. "This is all I have left! This phone! My phone! This is… I…"

Becca pressed her fingertips to her forehead and breathed. She needed to calm down. If she began ranting, she'd come across as a crazy person, and that would get her nowhere. While Mr. Cositkas stammered out apologies and awkwardly handed her a handkerchief, Becca rethought her tactics. Politeness hadn't worked. Yelling only seemed to make Mr. Costikas want to calm her enough that he could shoo her away. Much like the jeweler had tried to shoo her out the door on her first day, but she had found a way to get through to him. Well, if it ain't broke.

Her voice changed from a heated screech to cold steel. "Do you know who I am?"

"I – Pardon?"

Becca drew herself up. "I trust you have heard of the Rockefellers?"

One made up story, several not-so-subtle threats about bringing all hell down on Mr. Costikas' head for the way she'd been treated, and several indignant sniffs later, Becca managed to exact a promise to have a letter delivered to Mr. Stark. She thought Mr. Costikas would pass along the letter. He seemed sufficiently cowed by her haughty authority. Whether Mr. Stark would read the letter or respond was another matter, but she had done what she could.

On a sheet of clean paper, Becca described her cell phone. She also added how the phone could send pictures and written messages, making sure Mr. Costikas was busy fussing with papers on his desk and not watching her write. The additional uses should pique Mr. Stark's interest. She knew he dreamed big about technology's potential. At the end of the letter, she left her address. Hopefully, she'd get a reply.

Then, there was nothing to do but seal the letter in an envelope and say her goodbyes. Mr. Costikas seemed very glad to see her go. He had been too condescending for Becca to feel all that sorry for him.

Becca checked the mail every day. When the Goulds asked what she was looking for, Becca told them that she planned on making an investment in Stark Industries and was waiting on a reply from the company. From then on, they would inform her right away when she returned from work that no, no letter had arrived today. She had plenty of time to worry about her letter to Mr. Stark and the next course of action should a response not be forthcoming.

In an attempt to distract herself, Becca ended up visiting Steve more often than usual. He'd gotten sick again. With a bad cold or the flu, she wasn't quite sure. Regardless, Becca bundled him off to bed, a task made all too easy by Steve's tiny frame. He protested of course, but wouldn't physically fight her as she pushed him along.

Becca got a measure of satisfaction from getting even for those times in the future when she had come down with a tiny cough or other minor illness while Steve was home. He'd pick her up while she squirmed and settle her on the couch or in bed depending on how bad he deemed her illness.

"You'll get better faster if you rest," Becca informed him now, throwing one of his favorite lines back at him. Steve frowned in irritation, remaining defiantly seated on top of his blankets. "Otherwise you'll just run yourself into the ground."

"This'll go away soon. I'm sick like this every win –" Steve got out before have a sneezing fit.

Becca shook her head. Was this how she looked to Steve in the future? Frighteningly sick and frail, uncomprehending that the person trying to take care of them was responding to some primal urge to protect their loved one?

"Just do it for me. Please?"

To her relief, the plea worked. Steve kicked off his shoes, albeit unhappily, and crawled beneath his blanket, muttering under his breath. Becca caught the tail end about how he thought that this was no better than having Bucky around. Obviously, she was doing the right thing.

"I know you're stronger than you look," Becca promised him. "Running around while you're sick isn't going to prove anything. Except that you're a stubborn, reckless idiot sometimes, which I also already knew, by the way."

Steve seemed momentarily taken aback, and Becca used the opportunity to quickly duck out of the bedroom to wet a washcloth for his forehead and nab a chair from the kitchen. He hadn't moved when she returned.

"Thank you for staying in bed."

"Well." Steve grinned. "I'm only a stubborn, reckless idiot sometimes."

They passed the hours talking or playing pinochle and crazy eights with a battered deck of cards. Steve had sketches to work on. Once, Becca brought a library book – Mary Peters,the first of a popular family saga the librarian had recommended; no time travel or aliens – and she read while he sketched in comfortable silence, and it was almost like being home.

Four days later, Steve had improved drastically. Becca had allowed him to sit at the kitchen table wrapped in a blanket for the past two visits instead of whisking him into bed. She had been dropping by every day or so, but now that he was better, she figured that wasn't necessary. Not that any of these visits had been strictly necessary. Without her, Steve would have muddled through, but Becca much preferred being with him to being on her own. She tended to feel less depressed that way. And who knew, maybe her care had spared him some sick days. She liked to think so.

However, Becca suspected she'd paid a price and was coming down with whatever he'd had. Her nose was getting stuffed up, and she sneezed a lot. If she ran a fever, then she'd know for certain. In any case, she couldn't wait to go to sleep after returning from a long morning at work. But it was not meant to be.

"Here she is," said Mrs. Gould when Becca walked in the door.

Becca halted in her tracks. A stranger sat in the living room. He appeared too young to be a friend of the Goulds. A relative maybe? Although, he didn't look much like the Goulds with his watery green eyes and sallow skin. His glasses were on crooked. They, along with his mustaches of wild bristles, gave him a frazzled air.

Mrs. Gould introduced him. "Rebecca, this is Mr. Spencer from Stark Industries."

"Pleased to meet you," said Becca, holding out a hand. "I hope you haven't been waiting long."

Mr. Spencer had to set down his coffee before shaking her hand. "Not too long, Mrs. Read, but if we could be on our way? Mr. Stark would like to speak with you. And he requested you bring your cordless telephone."

"Of course. Just give me a moment to change."

Feeling positively giddy, Becca hurried into her bedroom. She pulled off her work uniform, tossing it on the bed to be dealt with later, and wiggled into her nicest dress. The dress had become too big on her, so she had to cinch a belt around the waist. Her cell phone had returned to the money belt on her leg for safe keeping. Carefully, she unpinned the belt and put her phone into the bread tin she had kept in the hopes something like this would happen.

After thanking the Goulds for their hospitality, Mr. Spencer directed Becca outside to his parked car. She asked him a couple of questions as he drove and found out that he was Mr. Stark's butler. Although from the harried look in his eye at the mention of Mr. Stark, Becca thought the occupation wouldn't stick much longer. She was a teeny bit disappointed that she'd come too early to meet the original Jarvis, but she would choose getting home over that opportunity any day.

Mr. Spencer parked the car in a lot beneath Stark Industries, a small lot by the standards of modern parking garages. The feeling of excitement had worn off, leaving nerves in its place. Having a sneezing spell so violent that they had to pause in their walk did little to set Becca at ease.

The office was empty when they reached it. Mr. Spencer glanced around anxiously; then asked her to wait while he fetched Mr. Stark. Becca waited, perching on an available seat and attempting in vain to blow her nose. His office was nice, much roomier than Mr. Costikas' office. And yet, the room had a barren quality, like Mr. Stark didn't come in often.

When Mr. Spencer reappeared, he asked Becca to follow him to one of the workshops. Now the workshop exuded the life Mr. Stark's office had lacked. Metal, glass, wires, gizmos, gadgets; the tools of an inventor were scattered everywhere. Machines sat along the walls with rows and rows of dials and lights like in all the movies with old-time technology. A group of workers clustered around a large metal construction in the corner, which spat out angry sparks. Three workers gathered around something set on a table, listening to a man who jabbed at several points on the table as he spoke at lightning speed.

Well dressed, same hair as Tony, same eyes, and being listened to attentively; it wasn't hard to guess the man was Mr. Stark. He finished up his directions over a vest with metal coils attached to the front before addressing Becca.

"Glad you could make it."

"So am I," said Becca, shaking his hand enthusiastically. "Thank you so much for meeting with me."

"I couldn't pass up an opportunity to meet a good-looking woman. And you kicked up quite a fuss from what I heard."

Even though Mr. Stark looked amused rather than angry, Becca flushed in embarrassment. "I'm sorry about that. I felt I was being treated unfairly."

"I'm sorry to hear that." Mr. Stark indicated the tin can in her hand. "Is that your cordless telephone? Looks an awful lot like a tin can."

Becca dumped the phone into her hand and offered it to him. Inspecting the phone closely, Mr. Stark wandered away from the trio working on the coil-vest.

"Will that be all, sir?" asked Mr. Spencer.

"Unless Mrs. Read would like something," said Mr. Stark breezily, half-paying attention. Becca shook her head, and Mr. Spencer strode off in a rush. "He'll be resigning soon. I'd give him another week. Can I open this?"

Becca needed a second before she realized Mr. Stark had abruptly changed topics. "Yeah. You just pull –"

Without waiting for finished instructions, Mr. Stark pried her phone open. He set the separate parts on a work table, examining each piece. "How does this work?"

"You turn it on, and that battery there powers the phone. Then, the phone works like a radio. It converts everything to waves, which go to phone towers, which other cordless phones can pick up on." And that was the extent of Becca's knowledge about how cell phones operated.

"Where's the transmitter?"

"The transmitter?"

"Yeah, the transmitter. There's no antenna."

"Oh. Um, the transmitter's in there. It's just very small."

"Huh." Mr. Stark lifted his head and called to one of the workers. "Donahue, bring me that magnifying glass, would ya?"

At least he was taking her seriously, unlike how Mr. Costikas had treated her. However, Becca knew they'd very quickly reach a point where she wouldn't be able to answer Mr. Stark's questions. She hovered over his shoulder as he adjusted the magnifying glass stand, speculating on what the parts inside might be.

"This must be your battery," Mr. Stark guessed, setting the battery aside. He paused over the SD card. "And this?"

After making sure no one appeared to be listening in, Becca confided, "It's an external memory card."

Mr. Stark's eyes lit up hungrily. "External memory. You mean this device can store information?"

"Yup. Pictures, different programs. Whatever you want basically."

"How?"

They'd finally hit the road block Becca had been dreading. No point in lying about science to a science genius. "I don't know."

"You don't know." The fire behind his gaze dimmed as Mr. Stark set down the SD card. "You didn't invent this."

A statement, not a question. "No."

"Who did?"

"Honestly, I don't know that either."

Mr. Stark folded his arms and leaned against the work table. "So, what, you find this lying on the sidewalk somewhere and try to sell it off?"

"No. This phone's mine. I bought it, and I know what it does because I've seen it work. I'd show you but the battery's dead, and I don't have the charger."

"Charger? Are you saying you can recharge the battery?"

"Yeah. There's a charger. One end goes into a wall socket, the other end goes here." Becca pointed out the slot. "It's more than just a wire though, and I don't know any more than that."

"Hmm."

A minute ticked by as Mr. Stark gave the pieces of her phone another glance. Becca's chest felt tight, and she felt a lot sicker. However, she knew her symptoms hadn't taken a turn for the worse. The short breaths and the increased pounding in her head stemmed from anxiety that he could throw her out at any second. She wished that she had taken the time to learn about how cell phones worked. The knowledge had been only one internet search away! But like basically everyone else, she'd taken her phone for granted.

At last, Mr. Stark said, "Do you know why I really asked you here? I could have thrown away your letter."

Becca shrugged. "Because you found the idea of a cordless phone intriguing?"

"Partly. I also figured with all you said this cordless telephone can do, you'd either have to be bonkers or telling the truth. But then you come here and admit that you didn't invent this device and you don't know exactly how it works. So why did you want to see me?"

"Because I need your help."

"With what? Telling you how this device works?"

"No." This was it. Her one shot. Was this how Steve had felt when he'd confessed to being Captain America? Because Becca could hardly breathe. "Do you believe that time travel is possible?"

Clearly, she'd thrown him for a loop. Mr. Stark's eyebrows rose. "I believe that anything is possible." He smiled at her, but Becca didn't think she'd lost him yet. She could see the spark of curiosity, tiny but definitely there. "Don't tell me this cordless phone is actually a time traveling device."

He hadn't said no. Becca was going to go ahead and take that as a good sign. She had hoped with how Stark Industries looked to the future and its reputation for "fringe" science, Mr. Stark secretly wanted to believe in time travel.

"No, but what if I told you that my phone is from the future?"

"Then, I'd ask for proof," Mr. Stark huffed. "No scientist worth a darn is going to accept anything like that as more than a theory unless he sees some results."

Becca nodded. She'd expected this. "I know about Project: Rebirth." The smile vanished from Mr. Stark's lips. "It's a project meant to revolutionize the war by using a serum to create super-soldiers. You're heading this project along with a scientist named Dr. Erskine. Somewhere in Brooklyn there is a pawn shop, which is actually a cover for the operation. I can even describe what that facility looks like vaguely. Um, lots of mint green. There's a kind of pod in the middle where the soldier goes. There a control panel of the floor, lots of big systems with lights on the wall."

Before she could summon up any other details, Mr. Stark held up a hand to stop her. "Come with me."

Becca scooped her dismembered phone into the bread tin before hurrying after Mr. Stark. He took them into his office and shut the door before rounding on her, all traces of friendliness gone.

"How do you know about Project: Rebirth?"

"Because I'm married to a super-soldier." Becca held up her left hand as though her wedding band's existence would be enough verification. "In the future. I'm from 2017."

"This is what happens when you take government contracts," Mr. Stark muttered to himself, running a hand through his hair in agitation. "Leaks." He looked up at her sharply. "Who are you working for? The Germans? The Japs?"

Okay, this method was obviously going nowhere. Time to reveal her second ace-in-the-hole.

"You're working on a flying car," Becca stated. "I'm not sure what model, but it's red. You're going to debut it at the science fair next month, but you're having problems with the car. It's only going to hover a few seconds before falling." That was a story from Bucky, and not Steve, who had gone to the recruiting station during the display.

Sheer disbelief crossed Mr. Stark's face. "That's my private project. No one's even seen…" Becca wanted to cheer. Bingo. She happily took a seat when Mr. Stark waved her towards one. He sat across from her. "Tell me."

So Becca told him her story, starting from when she had met Steve. Not everything. She used first names only and omitted details here and there, like how Steve was actually from this time and not hers. Sometimes Mr. Stark asked her questions or got up to pace around. Anyone who came to the door was turned away. He had a drink and then another. He offered her some, which Becca accepted. Scotch wasn't her favorite, but all the talking had made her thirsty. Around his fourth scotch, he insisted she call him Howard. Another good sign? Maybe. Hopefully. Even getting to finally tell her story had come as a relief.

"If it's true," said Howard following a long silence. "If it's all true, why would you come to me for help?"

Becca considered before answering. "Because I know your son."

Howard jumped as though she had smacked him. "My son? He's not –"

"A super soldier? No. But he is the smartest person I know when it comes to science. And a good person. It took me a while to see that behind all the asshole, but he is. Word was he's a chip off the old block."

"Huh." Howard mulled over his empty scotch glass. "What's his name?"

"I think it's better you find out when the time –" Becca sneezed. "When the time comes. But I will tell you that you're going to get an amazing butler eventually."

"Really? That'd be swell." While pouring another glass, he asked, "Do we win the war?"

Becca shook her head. "I'm not going to answer any questions like that. I'm trying to change history as little as possible, so that I don't accidently cause something terrible to happen. I've already risked a lot by talking to you."

"Because what you do might cause a chain reaction if you alter the course of events."

"Exactly. Which reminds me, please don't tell anyone about this. Or write anything down." Although she felt bad for the ruse knowing he'd be dead, she added, "Not until at least the next century."

"All right. You have my word. Not that I think anyone would believe me anyway." Howard squinted at her. "Hold on, does this mean I can't see your telephone again?"

With a grin, Becca acknowledged, "You really are a genius."

"Aw, just one more look?"

"Nope. Sorry."

Sighing in disappointment, Howard lounged back in his chair. "All right. Not sure if I believe you or if you're out of your mind, but our first step should be checking out the alley where you 'appeared.' See if there's anything there."

Becca beamed at him. She'd gotten one of the world's greatest scientific minds on her side! "I've already visited a couple times, but I didn't find anything."

"You might not have been looking in the right places. I've got a couple inventions that might help. I'll have to get them… Get some things in order… There's that project…" Howard drifted off into silence, and Becca let him think, hardly daring to breathe in case the noise disturbed him. Suddenly, he sat up. "I'll send Spencer for you on Tuesday, provided he's still around. Two. No, better make it three. That work for you?"

"Absolutely." Becca would have quit her job to make herself available if needed. "Thank you so, so much. I can't even begin to explain how much it means to have your help."

"I can imagine."

Tony was a chip off the old block all right. "I'll see you Tuesday then."

"Hey." Becca paused in the doorway, glancing back into Howard's speculative gaze. "If your husband's from the future, that means you're not really married yet, right?"

She huffed in amusement. "Goodbye, Howard."

A series of rhythmic knocks on the front door drew Steve up from the kitchen table where he'd been reading a book about battle tactics. Rebecca stood on the other side, a relief after she hadn't shown up on Saturday. Steve would have checked on her if he'd known where to go. His fretting had clearly been unnecessary, however, because Rebecca looked as happy as she had on the day they'd visited Saranac Inn. Only this time the sight of her glowing made his lips turn up a wide smile, mirroring hers.

"Hi. Sorry I didn't come on Saturday," she apologized. "I was feeling a little under the weather, and I didn't want to get you sick again."

Steve guiltily wondered if he'd gotten her sick in the first place. "That might've been my fault."

With a dismissive wave, Rebecca said, "Don't worry about it. I knew the risks and stuck around regardless. Anyway, Casablanca is playing over at the Bow Tie, and I thought you might like to go. Word on the street is it's very good. Might even become a classic."

"Sure."

Steve lifted his coat and cap from their hooks and pulled them on. From in a coat pocket, he drew out the key to lock the front door.

"Did you find another good book?" When Rebecca glanced at him questioningly, Steve clarified, "You're happier, like when you read that golf book."

"Oh." Rebecca clicked her tongue in understanding. "No book, but I did make a friend."

"Yeah? What's her name?"

"His name's Howard."

Steve's stomach plummeted. "Huh."

"Huh? Don't tell me you wanted to be my only friend," Rebecca joked, tugging teasingly at a corner of his coat.

"No, but –" For once, he managed to catch himself before rambling into something uncomfortable.

"Buuuuut?"

Steve shook his head, secretly bothered by the fact that Rebecca never lit up like this because they were friends. He doubted that Rebecca mentioned his name with the same quiet reverence. Resignation squared his shoulders along with anger and a touch of…

"You're not jealous, are you?" Rebecca asked.

Too quickly, Steve blurted, "No."

It just didn't seem fair that this Howard could brighten her day after they had met only once, while he so rarely could do the same. He wasn't jealous of Howard, who was probably tall and handsome and knew how to talk to dames. Steve clenched his hands into fists and stuffed them into his pockets. All right, he could admit he was a little jealous, but only as jealous as he was of the rest of the male population.

"Don't worry," Rebecca soothed, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. "You're still my bestie."

"Bestie?"

"Whoops. That's um, that's Montanan slang for 'best friend.'"

Strangely, the assertion didn't make Steve feel much better. "Out of two whole people, that's a real compliment." Rebecca's arm dropped away, and when he glanced up, she looked hurt. He had hurt her. "I'm sorry. It was a joke." And now Steve realized what a terrible joke it had been. He wished someone would tell him how come he always mucked up when talking to women. "I didn't mean anything by it."

Rebecca shrugged. "I know. It's – it's fine." The smile she gave him was tiny and dim compared to the one with which she'd greeted him.

"It's not fine," Steve argued, furious with himself on her behalf. "I should've known better than to say something dumb like that."

"It's really okay. Besides, you weren't wrong."

"That's not the point! I should've thought for a second before –"

"Okay." Rebecca arched an eyebrow. "I think you're getting kinda worked up, so maybe –"

"– saying something so gosh darn insensitive. You shouldn't –"

"– we need to – Did you just say 'gosh darn?'"

"– let me off –"

"Steve."

"– 'cause I'm –"

"Steve!"

Steve finally stopped, noticing as he did that his throat had contracted. He had almost worked himself into an asthma attack. As he gulped in deep breathes, Steve spotted a man watching them. He held the man's gaze, daring him to laugh. But Rebecca was the one to break into giggles, which turned into full-bodied laughter. Steve eyed her uncertainly, squaring his jaw. He didn't think she would laugh at him, but then, he didn't know what else she would be laughing about.

"You're too much, you know that?" said Rebecca, her voice barely audible through the hand pressed to her mouth. "If there's not a ready target available, you pick fights with yourself." She wiped away the tears of laughter on her cheeks. "What am I going to do with you? If we go to the movie theatre, you'll probably jump the guy at the concession stand for giving you a weird look."

From the sound of things, Rebecca found the amount he got into fights funny, not that he got into the fights in the first place. Steve figured that was all right.

"I wouldn't," he protested. "But if he looks at you strange..."

"Oh, shush." Steve grinned as Rebecca pushed him lightly. "Well, seeing as I'd like to enjoy my movie experience uninterrupted, I think we'd better let you vent first. Hmm…" A group of boys ran across their path, attempting to shove snow down each other's coats. Rebecca followed their progress with worrying interest. "Now there's an idea, even if your aim isn't the best."

Rebecca's idea fortunately didn't involve running around packing snow into their coats. It involved throwing the snow.

In a park not far from his apartment, Rebecca declared that they were going to have a snow fight and shepherded him off to make his snow fort. Steve got down on his hands and knees, feeling foolish amongst the children throwing snowballs and running around. Soon, however, he was too busy working to create a decent fort to feel silly. Some of the snow closer to the ground worked as packing snow, while the top layer was too light and fluffy.

A snowball burst against his neck. Rebecca had already completed her snow fort. "It's a fort! Not a work of art!" she called, ducking behind her uneven mound of snow as he threw a handful of snow back.

As soon as the snowballs started flying, a group of children ran over, wanting to join. Then, Rebecca aimed a well-placed snowball at a forlorn young couple on bench. They'd startled at the impact, but when she waved them over, they came. And they weren't the only ones. Rebecca threw a bunch of snowballs at people passing through the park, and while some hurried away in disgruntlement, more and more people joined in. With the war going on, it seemed he wasn't the only person who needed to let off steam.

The forts expanded; yells and snow filled the air. Steve got a cheer and clap on the shoulder from his neighbors when he hit a formidable member from Rebecca's team who'd braved the no man's land for ammo. He found Rebecca in the crowd. Face flushed with determination, she tossed him a wink. He got a funny feeling then, the kind he got sometimes when Bucky flashed a particularly cocky smile. But a snowball came whizzing towards him, and Steve had to duck behind the fort, the feeling lost in the commotion that followed.

Eventually, Rebecca indicated that they should leave to catch the next showing of the picture she wanted to see. The game continued on without them while they headed for the welcome warmth of the cinema, which they reached in the nick of time.

Casablanca might have been a good film. It might have been a dynamite film. But Steve had trouble paying attention, and not through any fault of the makers of Casablanca. First, he noticed a couple kissing two rows in front of him, which made him shift uncomfortably in his seat. Then, he glanced around and realized how many couples were in the theatre. More than usual, he thought. Steve snuck a furtive glace at Rebecca. She was utterly focused on the screen. If she enjoyed the cinema, maybe she'd come back. Maybe he should suggest they come again. Or maybe she'd want to go with Howard. He imagined Rebecca sitting beside a man who looked not unlike Bucky, dressed sharp with his arm around her and a wolfish grin on his face. He didn't like the image.

Rebecca's whispered voice in his ear startled him. "Are you gonna eat any of the popcorn?"

"Uh, no. Here." Steve gave her the box.

"Thanks."

As she munched contentedly on the popcorn, Steve resumed stewing over Howard. Rebecca was no country mouse, but she was sweet and kind underneath. There were plenty of gorillas in New York who might try and take advantage of a woman all alone. Where had Rebecca met Howard? And how? He wished he'd thought to ask.

The questions stacked up so that by the time the picture had end, Steve was bursting with them. He gave a lukewarm answer when Rebecca asked for his opinion and made himself wait through her detailed analysis, which took them all the way onto the bus.

"Okay, what's on your mind?" Rebecca asked once she was seated. "You've got that look."

With the overwhelming number of questions crowding his mind, Steve needed a moment to settle on one. "Where'd you meet Howard?"

Rebecca tilted her head. The question had been unexpected. "In Queens. I was looking for help with a problem."

"What problem?"

"Um, my alarm clock broke. It started running backwards instead of forwards."

To Steve, that sounded like a strange way to make a friend. "And he fixed it?"

"He's promised to try, so I'm hopeful. He's very smart."

"He is?"

"Yeah. And he's got a lot of resources."

"Like tools?"

"Mhmm. And money."

Steve's grip on the bus bench tightened as his image of Howard grew increasingly, infuriatingly closer to the ideal man. "And how much do you know about him?"

"I –" Rebecca's eyes widened as though she had just solved a riddle. "You're worried about me. Oh, now I get it. You'd think after living – Well. You don't need to worry. Howard's not going to do anything bad. And if he did, I think I know a guard dog who would be all too happy to defend me." She chucked Steve under his chin. "I've heard he bites pretty bad."

Steve bared his teeth agreeably, and Rebecca laughed.

"You'll let me know if he bothers you?" he checked.

Rebecca nodded, which reassured him. "You'll have to get in line, though. Trust me, I have no problem punching a guy's lights out."

"That's fair. I can wait."

"What? You mean you're not going to pass up an opportunity for a fight? I'm shocked."

"Maybe someday I will," Steve said with a shrug.

"No," Rebecca sighed. "No, you won't." She looked off out the window, her amused expression drooping.

Steve frowned, not liking that he'd made her sad for the second time that day. "Do you want me to? Stop fighting, I mean."

Rebecca jerked her head back toward him, mouth parting in surprise. "You've never asked me that."

"Well, I'm asking now."

Fiddling with her purse strap, Rebecca thought. She was thinking hard, too, because she chewed on the corner of her lip, which she only did when distracted. Steve hadn't expected her to take the question so seriously. She had confided to him that she wished he was more careful, so he figured she'd know the answer pretty quick. And yet, he waited, watching her think.

"There aren't enough people willing to stand up for what's right," stated Rebecca, enunciating each word with cautious care. "I think the world needs good men willing to fight. I think you could do it less often maybe, but I wouldn't ask you to stop." She hesitated a second, but then nodded. "You're true to yourself. I like that about you." She squinted out the window. "I think I have to change buses soon. Do you know which stop I get off at to pick up a bus to Brooklyn West?"

"Uh, yeah. You can get off at the next stop."

While Rebecca fussed over getting herself together, Steve eyed her pensively and wondered. Because after all that thought, she hadn't answered his question.

Author's Note:

Like Becca, I was a little sad to discover this was before Jarvis' time, but at least there's Howard. I'll do my best with him, though I don't have anything near his capacity to understand science. But there will be science-ing next chapter when the visit the alley. And Steve will continue to be definitely not jealous. See you then!