Disclaimer: Just for fun, not for profit. Characters belong to Marvel. I'm just borrowing them for a bit.

Fresh Out of the Ice

Neverending darkness and bitter cold were gradually replaced by warmth and softness. In the distance, the faint drone of a radio announcer interrupted his nightmare of a red rictus leering at him as he watched Bucky tumble into the ravine for the umpteenth time. The announcer grew louder, the words more discernable and distinct. Steve opened his eyes. He found himself in a tidy green and white room, lying on a metal-framed bed. He sat up, frowning. The radio on the desk continued its familiar play by play of the baseball game. The door opened, and a woman walked in, her hair worn down in loose waves. There was something slightly off about her attire, her hairstyle…. She smiled at him, but he did not feel at ease.

"Good morning," she greeted him. "Or should I say afternoon?" He eyed her warily.

"Where am I?" he asked. Her smile did not flicker.

"You're in a recovery room in New York City," she informed him. He listened to the game on the radio a few minutes longer. He definitely recognized it.

"Where am I really?" he asked. Now, her smile faltered.

"I'm afraid I don't understand," she replied.

"The game," he said pointedly. "It's from May 1941. I know, because I was there." Her eyes widened, her expression frozen as her deception was revealed. Steve stood up slowly from the bed, squaring his shoulders. "Now, I'm going to ask you again. Where am I?"

"Captain Rogers," she began placatingly, but he wasn't about to play into her game if he didn't have the truth.

"Who are you?" he pressed. The door behind her opened, and two men in unfamiliar uniforms charged in, confirming his suspicion that he had been taken captive by hostile forces. With shove, he sent them sailing into the wall. He was not entirely shocked when the wall tore away. He jumped through the hole they had created and found himself in a larger room. A screen on one side displayed a picture of a familiar Brooklyn skyline. He turned slowly in a circle, taking in the strange sight, then spotted the exit.

"Captain Rogers, wait!" the brunette woman called after him, but he didn't have time for more deception. He charged through the doors and found himself in a corridor. Overhead, he could hear the woman's voice calling something called a code thirteen. He made his way out of the building and charged into the street. Strange-looking cars swerved to avoid him as he ran. Over his head, the sky was filled with bright colors, loud noises and flashing lights. The street sign said Broadway. It seemed familiar, but at the same time, very alien. He paused. Where the hell was he?

"At ease, soldier." He turned to see who had spoken and spotted a dark-skinned man clad in black, wearing a patch over his left eye. He strode towards him. "Look, I'm sorry about that little show back there, but we thought it best to break it to you slowly."

"Break what?" Steve repeated in angry confusion. The man blinked, though his gaze was not unsympathetic.

"You've been asleep, Cap," he answered. "For almost seventy years." Steve stared at him, then at the city around him, pieces falling into place in his head. He'd been asking the wrong question. It wasn't where was he, it was when. He was in a future he was completely unprepared for. A very loud, dazzlingly bright future, apparently. His gut lurched. Seventy years was very much longer than a week. "You gonna be okay?" the Black man asked.

"Yeah, yeah," Steve replied. "It's just… I had a date." In his mind's eye, he could see her waiting, scanning the doorways as the band played and the clock ticked away minutes and hours. He imagined her expression growing more desperate, her eyes filling with tears and disappointment…

"Walk with me, Captain," the Black man said, gesturing in Steve's peripheral vision. "Probably shouldn't hang out in the street." Steve hesitated a moment, then followed him to the sidewalk. The man with the eyepatch began strolling back in the direction of the building Steve had just fled from. "We have a lot to discuss." Steve followed him for a few steps, then stopped, frowning. The man paused and turned to look at him. "Are you coming?"

"On one condition," Steve replied. A pair of dark eyebrows rose expectantly at him. "No more shows, no more deceptions. I'm not a child. Just give it to me straight, whatever it is. I assume there's a reason you woke me up. If I can't trust you, then the answer is no." The man looked at him appraisingly with his one good eye.

"I suppose we haven't really given you any good reasons to trust us," he observed.

"I don't even know your name," Steve agreed. The man extended a dark hand to the still slightly overwhelmed super soldier.

"It's Fury," he declared in belated introduction. Steve grasped the offered hand, and his was shaken firmly.

"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Fury," he said automatically. Mr. Fury snorted.

"If we're using honorifics, technically it's General," he corrected. "But it's just Fury." Steve blinked at him, then nodded. He followed Fury back the way he had come, this time at a much slower pace, taking in the bright lights of the city he had grown up in, now nearly unrecognizable.

They returned to the building Steve had just escaped from. He followed Fury up to the top floor and down a long hallway. A man seated at a desk outside a set of double doors stood as they approached.

"Coulson, tell Agent 13 I want to see her in my office," Fury instructed. The man saluted. Steve followed Fury through the doors. The spacious office on the other side featured a dazzling view of the city below. A stylized eagle on the wall was surrounded by the words "Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division." Fury gestured to a chair on the other side of his desk, but Steve was still staring at the emblem on the wall. ""S.H.I.E.L.D." Fury pronounced. "Founded by Howard Stark and Strategic Scientific Reserve Agent Peggy Carter." Startled, Steve shot Fury an incredulous look.

"Peggy?" he repeated, glancing towards the door as if she might come walking through it at any moment. "Is she… here?" Fury raised his eyebrows at him.

"It's been nearly three decades since she retired," he said mildly. The door opened, and Steve turned swiftly in that direction, irrational hope rising in his chest. The blonde woman standing in the doorway was not Peggy. She stared with wide, dark eyes at Steve, then shifted her gaze to Fury.

"You wanted to see me, sir?" she ventured, confusion passing for a moment across her handsome features. Fury nodded.

"Come in, Agent," he said formally. "There's been a change in plans. Meet Steve Rogers. You're going to be his liaison to the 21st century." Agent 13 frowned slightly.

"Sir?" she asked carefully. Fury gestured expansively.

"Show him around. Get him settled into his apartment. Help him open up a bank account. Explain how the new technology works. That kind of thing. Captain Rogers has a lot of catching up to do." Fury leaned back in his chair, clasping his hands in front of him. Agent 13 was looking from Fury to Steve with a vaguely dismayed expression. Steve could tell she was not excited about her assignment. Rather than protesting, she nodded.

"Yes, sir," she said quietly. Fury slid a file across the table to her.

"This should be all the information you need," he informed her. "Anything else you require, please do not hesitate to contact Coulson. He has authorization to provide whatever you may need." She nodded, picking up the file and smoothly tucking it away. Taking a deep breath, she stood.

"Well, Captain Rogers, shall we?" she said brusquely. She was halfway to the door before Steve realized she meant for him to follow her. He glanced over at Fury, who had a half-smirk on his face, then launched himself out of the chair after her. He closed the distance between them in three long strides, then opened the door just as Agent 13 reached it. She stopped short, stiffening slightly. Steve gestured grandly through the open doorway with his free hand.

"After you…. Agent," he proclaimed. She raised an eyebrow at him, but stepped through the door with no comment. Feeling puzzled and abashed, Steve followed. "I'm sorry, would you prefer Thirteen?" She paused, glancing over at him with a raised eyebrow, and pulled open the next door.

"Sharon is also acceptable," she informed him, gesturing for him to precede her through the opening. He hesitated, fighting against well-ingrained habit and the memory of his mother's chiding, but stepped through obediently. He paused, somewhat bewildered, as he stared at the rows upon rows of sleek, alien-looking vehicles.

"Do these all belong to S.H.I.E.L.D.?" he asked, half to himself.

"S.H.I.E.L.D. employees," Sharon clarified, reaching into the purse hanging from her arm. "Most people own at least one car nowadays. Come on, I'm parked over here." Steve blinked, absorbing this information, then followed her. She raised her hand, and a black car ahead of them beeped, lights flashing. Steve paused a moment, looking the vehicle over with a frown before folding himself into the passenger seat. Sharon glanced at him askance. "Does my car not meet your expectations?" He scoffed softly, looking at the digital readouts and alien lights on the dashboard.

"I'm just a little disappointed they still have tires," he admitted. "I would have thought Stark would have them all flying by now." Sharon gave him a startled look.

"You've met Tony Stark already?" she said incredulously. "Wow, Fury didn't waste any time." Steve frowned.

"Who's Tony?" he asked in confusion. "Is he any relation to Howard?" Sharon's eyes widened slightly as she shifted into reverse and backed out of the parking space.

"Tony is Howard's son," she confirmed as she pulled forward. Steve ran a hand down his face.

"A son, wow," he said reflectively after a few moment's silence. "So, Howard finally settled down." He suppressed the urge to ask who Howard had settled down with. He wasn't quite ready to find out that Peggy had found solace in the arms of the handsome genius. He stared at unfamiliar buildings scattered among the nearly recognizable as they rolled by. "Sounds like Tony followed in his father's footsteps," he observed.

"I guess you could say that," Sharon replied, her lips curving into a slight smirk. Steve shook his head in disbelief, folding his arms over his chest.

"Howard must be very proud," he noted. Sharon glanced over at him, her expression softening.

"Their family had a… complicated dynamic," she reported diplomatically. "But Howard died when Tony was just seventeen." Steve's heart dropped into his stomach, and he took a deep breath.

"How?" he managed. "Was he ill? Was it sudden?"

"Car accident," Sharon replied. "Both Howard and his wife Maria were killed."

"I'm sorry to hear that," he said softly, pushing down the brief thrill of relief. That feeling quickly subsided as it occurred to him that this was the first of likely many conversations with this theme. It was beginning to sink in that seventy years had passed. It seemed like just yesterday, he had been surrounded by soldiers in the prime of their life. Yet today, how many of them were even still alive? He decided not to ask just yet. He turned his attention to the buildings rolling by. "The city sure has changed," he commented, half to himself.

"I suppose seventy years will do that," Sharon replied. He glanced over at her and caught a slightly softer expression on her face. It vanished a moment later as she glanced over to change lanes.

A few blocks later, Sharon deftly pulled the car up alongside the curb and parked.

"Okay," she said with a note of finality, unbuckling her seatbelt. "We're here." Curious and puzzled as to what exactly "here" was, Steve exited the car and stood on the sidewalk in front of an unassuming brownstone. Sharon marched up the steps, keys in hand. She glanced over her shoulder as Steve reached the step behind her. Opening the door, she moved her head in a gesture for him to follow her. She led him up seven flights of stairs and down a modestly lit hallway, then stopped abruptly in front of a door with 704 affixed to it. "S.H.I.E.L.D has a few contracts with places throughout the city. Places we can put people up if they need to disappear for awhile, or if agents need a place to stay on assignment. Once you get on your feet, you'll be encouraged to find a place of your own, but you can stay here as long as you need while you get your bearings. So, for now at least… welcome home." She pushed the door open with a grand gesture. Steve stepped through the doorway and looked around. To his right, a small kitchen featured a sleek silver refrigerator and beige countertops strewn with mysterious cubical appliances that glowed with strange lights. Ahead of them, he could see a blue sofa and matching chair. "It's furnished, so you don't have to worry about that," Sharon continued. She paused in the living room, hands on her hips as she looked around. "It's not exactly a luxury apartment, but as a stopgap, it's not terrible." Steve stared at her for a moment, then glanced at the large, black panel on the wall, the throw pillows on the couch, the bookshelf stacked with books, the large plant in the corner. He shook his head.

"I mean, the last place I called home was in Brooklyn, 1943," he noted ruefully. "After that, it was bunks and cots, tents and temporary lodgings. You may not consider it luxury, but…" His voice trailed off as Sharon pointed a small black rectangle at the panel on the wall. It illuminated with an image so colorful and clear, Steve stopped and stared. After a few moments, he blinked and shook his head. Sharon was watching him with a slightly amused glint in her eye.

"Looks like just basic channels right now, but tomorrow I can help you get cable set up," she offered. He gave her a disbelieving look of confusion. Turning with a soft chuckle, she took a step or two down the short hallway, gesturing for him to follow her. "Your bedroom is this way." He followed. At the end of the hall, he glimpsed a sink and a toilet through the half-closed door, but Sharon was veering off to the left. The spacious bedroom contained a bed twice as large as the one he had awakened in not so long ago, a dresser, and a desk with a chair. Sharon crossed to the far wall and slid a door aside to reveal a pair of button-down shirts. "Looks like they gave you a start on a wardrobe." Curious, Steve pulled open one of the dresser drawers. A stack of short sleeved shirts were folded neatly inside. Frowning, he held one up.

"Are you sure these are the right size?" he asked dubiously. It seemed a bit on the small side.

"It has a lot of stretch," she assured him. "If the clothes aren't to your liking, we can find some more to your taste." He raised his eyebrows, wrinkling his brow at the shirt.

"No, these are fine," he assured her. "It isn't 1940 anymore. Fashion has changed. Just like everything else." Refolding the shirt the way the military had taught him, he carefully replaced it in the drawer. Glancing over at Sharon, he caught the look of surprise just as she wiped it from her face, her pretty features shifting back to professionally neutral.

"And, of course, you'll have your uniforms," she continued. "But those will be at the Avengers headquarters." Steve blinked at her, frowning slightly.

"Avengers?" he repeated blankly. She nodded.

"The Avengers Initiative is the project that Fury will be talking to you about tomorrow," she explained enigmatically. "You'll have half a day to settle in." Steve nodded slowly. To his embarrassment, his stomach growled loudly, complaining about his seventy-year fast. Sharon's lips twitched upward on one side. "I suppose we should get you something to eat, too," she observed. Turning, she paced back to the kitchen. Steve followed to find her staring into the open refrigerator with a frown. "There is nothing in here except for a light beer and a bottle of Worcestershire sauce," she announced with a snort. "I'll have to file a complaint with our purchasing department. But in the meantime…" Her voice trailed off as she closed the refrigerator.

"I'll have to get some food," Steve supplied helpfully. He hesitated. "Where's the nearest bread line?" Sharon shook her head with a faint smile.

"Don't worry about that. This supply run is going to be funded by S.H.I.E.L.D.," she assured him. "And I try to never go grocery shopping on an empty stomach, so dinner will be, too. What kind of food are you in the mood for?"

"Well," Steve replied reflectively, staring pointedly at the clock on the wall, "the last time I ate was, oh, about seventy years ago, so I'm pretty open to anything edible." His stomach punctuated the statement helpfully with another growl. Sharon nodded, her expression thoughtful.

"Are you a steak and potatoes kind of guy?" she asked

"I don't even remember the last time I had a steak," Steve admitted. "That kind of thing was hard to come by." Sharon tilted her head back and looked at him speculatively.

"Your file said your metabolism was four times that of an average person's," she observed. Steve nodded earnestly.

"That is what they told me," he agreed.

"If that's true, you would need to eat about eight thousand calories every day," she pointed out. "That would be hard to do on C-rations." Steve shrugged, feeling a little embarrassed about his physiology.

"Kinda just got used to being hungry," he admitted. She quirked an eyebrow at him.

"Then I know exactly where we are going to go for dinner," she said decisively.

Steve trailed behind the blonde woman as they walked up the sidewalk. He still couldn't help but look around at the transformed city around him with wide eyes. The cars almost seemed like spaceships as they glided nearly noiselessly along the paved streets. Ahead of him, Sharon stopped and opened a door, gesturing for him to precede him through. He took a few steps through the door, then stopped as he encountered a line of people waiting. Sharon caught up with him a moment later. He frowned as he surveyed the room. The room was littered with tables of people enjoying food, and many of them seemed to be congregating around the serving stations loaded with food. He didn't think he had ever seen so much food in one place. He gave Sharon a puzzled look.

"What kind of place is this?" he asked. One corner of her mouth twitched upwards.

"This is a buffet," she explained. "It's all you can eat. Whatever looks good, take as much as you want. You can go back as many times as you like." Steve's eyes widened.

"As many times as I want?" he repeated incredulously. Sharon nodded, her smile widening.

"That is what all you can eat means," she reiterated. The crease between Steve's eyebrows reappeared as he ruminated on breadlines and wartime rations.

"That sounds expensive," he commented. Sharon chuckled softly and shook her head.

"Not particularly, no," she contradicted him. "There's a lot of food, but it isn't exactly fine dining. Besides, you don't have to pay for it, so… don't worry about it." Steve gave her a disconcerted look. "Consider it part of your daily stipend," she advised. Steve nodded, his face relaxing, although his brow did not smooth entirely.

Half an hour later, the concerned wrinkle in his brow was conspicuously absent as he sat down across from Sharon for the fourth time, setting down two plates piled high with food. She eyed the piles of foodstuffs on his plate askance.

"Would you like some?" Steve offered generously, pushing the plate towards her. She smiled slightly and shook her head.

"No, thank you. I'm full." She looked down at her plate, her fork abandoned alongside a half-eaten piece of apple crisp.

"These are amazing." Steve commented, just before taking a bite out of a small chunk of breaded chicken. He chewed contemplatively, frowning at the breaded meat. "What are they called, again?"

"Chicken nuggets," Sharon reminded him. Steve nodded seriously.

"Delicious," he pronounced, chewing and swallowing another mouthful of poultry. "What part of the chicken are they, exactly?" Sharon blinked, caught off-guard by the question.

"Um, I'm not really sure. The leftover parts, I think," she answered honestly. Steve continued to chew his mouthful of food, unfazed by her revelation. Growing up during the Great Depression had rendered him mostly immune to revulsion at the thought of eating all parts of the animal. "I'm partial to honey mustard," she declared, "but they're also good dipped in barbecue sauce or Ranch dressing." He blinked at her.

"Ranch dressing?" he repeated blankly. She raised her eyebrows at him.

"I guess we'll have to add that to the list, too," she observed with amusement.

"There's a list?" Steve mumbled around a mouthful of food in surprise, then felt his face grow hot as he recalled his manners. Quickly chewing and swallowing, he washed everything down with a swig of water. "You have a list?" he repeated.

"Just a mental one, thus far," she confirmed. "It may yet become an actual list." Pulling a sheaf of papers out of her purse, she ruffled through them, frowning slightly. Steve slowed down in his eating, regarding her with some slight consternation. "Speaking of lists, I do have a list of what we need to get done tomorrow. I'll pick you up at your apartment at eight. We'll get some breakfast, then we have an appointment at the bank. Then it's back to headquarters to get you outfitted and debriefed on the Avengers Initiative. You'll get to meet the rest of the team." Steve chewed thoughtfully for a moment.

"Sounds exciting," he noted. Well, the bank part didn't. But now that his belly was full and he was beginning to wrap his head around the reality that he was living in the future, he was starting to get excited. Sharon smiled at him tolerantly. He set down his fork. "I think I'm actually full." He couldn't keep all the surprise out of his tone.

"Well, then," Sharon replied, standing, "I guess it's safe to go grocery shopping."