Why Was I Wearing Boots in Bed?
"T-shirts were basically undershirts back before the war," Leslie told Maria. "Though workmen would strip down to their tees when they were working in hot conditions, to keep their good shirts from getting sweaty and stained."
"I know that I've seen pictures of sailors with T-shirts, all white of course," Maria agreed.
"Not very many tees had logos, but I guess the SSR did," Leslie said, nodding at the shirt Steve wore. He was still dressed in his escape outfit, khakis, boots and a white tee with the SSR eagle on it.
"The T-shirt was based on what Captain Rogers was wearing when he was found," Maria said.
"The clothes were kinda suspicious," Steve said.
"I thought it was the baseball game that tipped you off?" Maria said.
"That, the clothes the 'nurse' was wearing and the clothes I was wearing," Steve said. "If I'd woken up in my uniform or what I wore under my uniform, it would have made sense. If I'd woken up in underwear or pajamas, it would have made sense, but I had a shirt like my undershirt, khaki pants like my Army uniform and boots. Why was I wearing boots in bed?"
"I have no idea," Maria admitted.
"I would have been less suspicious if I'd been barefoot," Steve said.
"Would have been harder for you to run through the streets of New York, too," Maria joked.
"Wouldn't have been the first time," Steve and Leslie said together, then grinned at each other.
"He was barefoot when he chased down Dr. Erskine's killer," Leslie explained to Maria. "I've read your file," she added to Steve. "There were a few weeks between when you were found and when you woke up. I had time to collect all the files."
"And read them," Maria teased.
Leslie shrugged. "It's what I do."
"Um, 'bought the T-shirt'?" Steve prompted, trying to reroute the derailed conversation.
"Right. Nowadays, T-shirts come in many colors and are most often worn as outer garments, though undershirt tees still exist," Leslie said. "T-shirts are so popular, that most tourist attractions, concerts, movies, museums, special events, etc. sell commemorative T-shirts. 'Been there, done that, bought the T-shirt' is a slangy away of saying you've been through that before. Someone might say, oh, the pipes broke and flooded my basement. And someone who'd had a similar plumbing emergency might say…"
"Been there, done that, bought the T-shirt." Steve nodded understanding.
"And I really do have T-shirts for important occasions of the past 50 years," Leslie said with a sigh for her packrat nature. "Some I can't wear any more, but I can't bear to throw them away."
"What else have you written down?" Maria asked Steve.
Steve was about to answer when his stomach growled audibly.
Leslie smacked her forehead. "Of course, you're hungry, you just woke up! Let's stop standing around the kitchen and put the table and chairs to use."
She began rummaging through the kitchen to see what was available. The prospects were skimpy. Milk, butter and eggs in the refrigerator; a loaf of bread and some cereal in the cupboard. "At least someone had breakfast in mind," Leslie muttered, though it was nearing noon by this time.
Steve reached past Leslie to pluck a box out of the cupboard. He grinned to find Kellogg's Corn Flakes, a new box design but a familiar brand.
Leslie handed him a bowl and the milk. "Here, start with that. I'll scramble some eggs. That should hold us until we go grocery shopping."
At least there was a modest selection of pots and pans and dishes. There was a microwave and a toaster and a coffee maker with no coffee to go in it. Leslie gave Maria a look. The deputy director threw up her hands.
"We had the basic equipment delivered, but we had to scramble to get the rest set up this morning," she said. "We thought we'd keep the captain close to base for awhile. We didn't expect him to make a public appearance. We had to get him undercover quick and didn't have time to collect perishables. The concierge brought over his personal stash of breakfast food."
Leslie realized the butter was unwrapped with just a little removed and the cornflakes were already open. She should have been more wary of unsealed food, but then she wasn't a field agent.
"I'm taking someone else's food?" Steve asked with his mouth full. Then he swallowed the cereal and milk and repeated his question, wiping a bead of milk from the corner of his mouth.
"He'll be reimbursed," Maria promised. "I'll even put him in for a bonus for quick thinking."
Mollified, Steve began eating again. The women realized he must be starving, so Maria began making toast while Leslie whipped up a batch of scrambled eggs. "Four enough?" she asked.
"Yes, please. If it's not too much trouble."
With his hunger pangs appeased by corn flakes, Steve waited patiently for the eggs. "Why the big rush?" he asked. "Why does Director Fury want my … revival kept top secret?"
Standing by the toaster, Maria looked troubled. She knew about the Avengers Initiative, but Captain America hadn't been figured into the equation last she'd heard. "I don't know," she admitted. "Fury likes to play his cards close to his vest."
Steve nodded, understanding the poker metaphor.
"He always has a plan for his assets," Maria continued.
"Assets?" Steve wondered, not liking the term much.
"But his plans generally involve protecting his assets as much as he can," Leslie put in. "He has to send people into danger, but he doesn't send them blindly. He makes sure they're taken care of, physically and mentally. So he might just be giving you time to adjust."
Maria nodded. She added two pieces of toast to the plate piled with Leslie's eggs and pushed the plate to Steve.
"If we make a public announcement that Captain America is alive, you'll be bombarded by news people, politicians, historians, the Army … everyone will want a piece of you. It will be less difficult to adjust, if you're just plain Steve Rogers for a while. Unless you want to jump into the spotlight?"
Steve made a face. "Had enough of the limelight with the USO," he agreed.
"So, if you can't be Captain America, born in 1918 on the Fourth of July — really?" Maria said, getting a nod and a shrug. "Then we have to give you a new identity, Captain Steve Rogers born, oh, 1981."
"It's not suspicious that I have Cap's name?"
"Lots of people have named their kids after you," Leslie answered. "All you have to say is, 'My dad was a big fan.'"
Steve grinned. Leslie liked this boyish look better than his sad, shell-shocked look.
"And nobody noticed me running like a madman through Times Square?"
"Of course, people have even tweeted photos," Maria started, then stopped at Leslie's frown.
"Forget about tweeting for a minute," Leslie said before Steve could ask. "They sent photos and messages to a lot of their friends."
"Not good photos, fortunately," Maria said. "We put out a story about a soldier who suffered a PTSD episode and ran from a military clinic. But he was talked down by his therapist and is now safely back where he belongs. His name, of course, has not been released because of medical privacy laws," she finished piously.
Leslie snorted.
"PTSD," Steve said. "That's the second time you've used that term. It's on my list." He tapped the little notebook beside his plate.
"PTSD stands for Post Traumatic Stress Disorder," Leslie said. "It's the current term for what you might know as shellshock or battle fatigue, because the disorder is not limited to soldiers. Crime victims and accident victims also can suffer from nightmares, flashbacks, depression and other symptoms."
Steve gave her a sober nod of understanding.
Maria Hill was not a fan of Fury's Avengers Initiative. She thought he'd been hanging out with Coulson too much. She didn't trust heroes, because they tended to get themselves killed — as, indeed, Captain America had. But she understood and empathized with soldiers. So she ignored Captain America and spoke to Captain Rogers.
"Captain, I was a Marine. I served in a war zone. I understand how hard it is to come home. And you've come so much farther than most. Everything is different when you get out. People have changed and not for the better. They're so much more chaotic, with no discipline and no team spirit. I've seen men, good strong men and women, too, who couldn't cope. Who drove their families away because they couldn't adapt to civilian life. Who took their own lives and, in the most tragic case, who took the lives of his wife and children before he turned the gun on himself."
"Are you trying to tell me I'm not so special?" Steve asked with a sad attempt at humor.
"No, I'm trying to say that you're not alone," Maria said vehemently. "There are people who can understand. There are people who have come home from war zones and found themselves alone in a changed world. There are people who have suffered terrible losses and professionals who help them. And there are people who are both. There is also a large body of evidence that talking about trauma does help. Being the strong silent type is not good mental health. Leslie is a good, sympathetic ear, but if she's not enough, we will find whoever you need. If you'd prefer to talk to a professional therapist, or a man, or a veteran, we can find that person and get them cleared to talk to Captain America. I can hardly comprehend the loss you have suffered, but we want to help you. Just tell us what you need."
Steve looked down at his hands, then met Maria's eyes.
"I don't know what I need. I've hardly been able to understand it. When Bucky told me we were going to the future, he meant to see the flying car at the Stark Expo. But that visit led me here, to the actual future, to the 21st century! Everyone I knew must be dead by now, or really old, and I can't … but it's just yesterday to me. Right now my big regret is that I made a date with Peggy and I stood her up. That's all I've managed to wrap my head around." His eyes were dry, but they could hear the tears in his voice.
Leslie wrapped her hand around the fist he clenched on the tabletop.
"We'll start with the easy things," she said. "We'll start with buying groceries and clothes and working today's electronic devices. Give you time to settle, to adjust. Then we'll get into the harder questions."
"Like what happened to all my friends," Steve said. "And whether we won the war."
"We'll do some research on your friends," Leslie lied like a pro. She had all the answers at her fingertips, but her orders were to delay any history lessons. And she had to agree. She thought Steve needed a little time first. Doctors stabilized patients before performing surgery. Steve needed to be grounded in the 21st century before finding out about Peggy Carter and the Commandos.
"As for the war," Maria said briskly. "In brief, Hydra and the Nazis failed. The Allies won, but weren't as vindictive as the winners were in World War I. Germany and Japan are allies of the U.S. and good trading partners now. Italy, too. Britain and France are still our friends. The Soviet Union has dissolved, but Russia is still powerful and is our friend sometimes and adversary sometimes, it depends on the day of the week."
Steve snorted, because that described the USSR in his day, too.
"We still have wars, mostly in Asia and the Middle East, but we haven't had a global conflict since your war ended. That's just the short version, OK?"
"Thank you," Steve said in a faint, choked voice.
"I'm sorry for your loss, Cap." Maria's sympathetic tone gave the conventional words more emphasis. "None of us can go back in time. We can only go forward."
Steve gripped the hand she offered, then Maria Hill said goodbye, again promised to get him whatever he needed and went back to work. She had a tech to reprimand and a nurse and a concierge to commend.
Leslie busied herself washing the skillet while Steve sat with his head in his hands. After a few moments, he took a deep steadying breath, then stood up and began drying the skillet. When he reached for his breakfast plate, Leslie directed him to put it in the dishwasher.
"I don't like to put cooking pans and mixing bowls in the dishwasher, but it sterilizes plates nicely."
"It's only one plate, one bowl and a knife, fork and spoon," Steve protested.
"You may wash by hand if you prefer," Leslie said indulgently. "It's not bad when you live alone." But she showed him how to load the dishwasher and how to put the soap in.
"Never ever use this soap," she said, pointing to the liquid dishwashing soap. "This is for the sink. It foams up too much for the dishwasher. You'll get a comical but annoying flood of bubbles."
While they finished cleaning up the kitchen, Leslie considered Steve's needs. They needed groceries right away and they needed to get Steve some more clothes.
"I can't believe this is what you were wearing when you woke up," Leslie said. "Who goes to bed with his boots on?"
"I know. It was strange," Steve said. "It was like I'd just laid down for a nap. But the last I remembered was the crash."
"I don't know what they were thinking." Leslie had her hand s on her hips, shaking her head. "And who picked that T-shirt for you. It's two sizes too small. Isn't it too tight?"
Steve looked down at his outfit. "Um, I like my T-shirts tight," he confessed. "Before the serum, all my clothes were too big, too sloppy. I feel … neater this way," he almost pleaded.
Leslie patted his arm. "If that's the way you like them, then it's fine. There's a lot of leeway in fashion these days. And I'm sure no woman who sees you will mind. You fill out that shirt very nicely, Steven."
Steve blushed at the praise. "I forget," he confessed. "I'm still surprised to look in a mirror and not see the little guy."
Leslie punched him friendly like. "I'll tell you something, pal. Even when you were a little guy, you would have been taller than I am."
It was obviously true. Steve laughed. "I wish I'd known you then."
"I'm glad to know you now," Leslie replied. "Now, we need to go out and eat and pick up groceries for tomorrow. Before we start our expedition into the wilds of the 21st century, I want to give you a quick intro to modern telecommunications, in case we get separated. Then a crash course in finance, because prices today will be shocking."
"Will we actually set foot outside today?" Steve teased. "Or will we have corn flakes for dinner and breakfast?"
"No, we will brave New York City!" Leslie declared pompously. "When we go out, the first thing we will do is go to a bank, where I will teach you how to get money out of the wall," she said impishly.
"The wall?"
A/N: Looking back at Steve's wake up scene at the end of CA: TFA, I realized he's wearing an SSR T-shirt, a pair of khaki pants and boots. Why boots? For a practical concern, maybe Chris balked at doing another barefoot run through the streets. It couldn't have been comfortable. And you can't clean up Times Square like you can a 1940s-set back lot. But from a SHIELD point of view, why would they put boots on him?