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

New Faces

Steve opened his eyes and frowned up at the dark blur of an unfamiliar ceiling fan. As sleep loosened its grip on his mind, he felt a moment of disorientation before the events of the day before came flooding back. He sat up in the bed and pushed the covers back. As his feet hit the floor, he paused. The room was quiet around him. The digital clock on the nightstand made no noise. Even the fan overhead was mostly silent. The silence served to highlight the fact that he was more alone now than he had ever been before. The last time he had been staying in an apartment, he had been roommates with Bucky. But now Bucky was long dead, and everyone else that he cared about had lived out their lives while he was frozen in arctic ice. Heaving a sigh, he stood and made his way to the bathroom.

After attending to his body's early morning demands, he made his way to the kitchen. A beep and a click stopped him in his tracks, and he scanned the room for signs of a threat. The sound of running liquid came from the kitchen. He moved cautiously, keen senses on alert. The door was still securely locked, and it appeared he was alone in this apartment. He stepped warily into the kitchen. The suspicious noise was coming from the squat machine next to the sink. Brown liquid was dripping into the carafe below, and the smell of coffee filled the small space. Steve blinked at the coffee maker in bemusement. Pulling the carafe out, he inhaled deeply. At least coffee hadn't seemed to change much in seventy years. He opened the cupboard above the coffee maker, where Sharon had showed him the dishes were kept. He poured himself a large mug of coffee, then drained a third of it in one draught.

The doorbell wasn't completely unexpected, but he was still a little startled by the sound of it. He glanced at the clock as he opened the door.

"You're early," he noted as Sharon breezed past him into the little apartment, her manner businesslike. She nodded acknowledgement.

"We have a lot to get done today," she reminded him. "Have you eaten already?" Steve shook his head.

"I did have coffee," he offered helpfully.

"So, first things first. Breakfast. Would you prefer a sit-down, or should we just hit a drive-through?" Sharon asked. Steve frowned, not entirely sure what she was referring to.

"Ah, I do like to sit down to eat, when I can," he hedged, hoping his response was the answer she was looking for. He frowned reflexively. "They make them big enough for cars to drive through them now?"

"Not exactly." She half smiled, looking him up and down appraisingly.

"At least you're dressed and ready to go," she observed. Steve glanced down at the plain shirt and pants he had thrown on.

"This is an undershirt," he protested. "I'm not even wearing a coat." Sharon gave him a bemused smile.

"It's not cold out," she commented. He stared at her for a moment, processing the implications.

"So, this is… acceptable attire?" he asked, gesturing vaguely at his shirt. Sharon nodded.

"You look fine," she assured him, and jerked her head towards the door. "Let's go."

On the sidewalk just outside the building, she paused at a blue box. Depositing a coin into the slot, she pulled the door open and helped herself to a newspaper. Tucking the paper under her arm, she continued to the car parked at the curb half a block down. Steve stopped, staring at the box.

"Come on, Captain," she chided. "We have an appointment. And still-empty stomachs." Steve nodded slowly, following her at a distance while still staring at the newspaper box. "Earth to Captain Rogers, come in, Rogers." Steve pulled himself out of his thoughts with a shake of his head and lowered himself into the passenger seat.

"Sorry," he apologized. "It's just… I used to be a newsie, you know? Not sure about how I feel about being replaced by a metal box."

"You're not the first with that complaint," Sharon observed as she turned the key in the ignition. The car rumbled to life with a throaty purr, and she pulled away from the curb. "Seatbelt," she chirped in reminder. Steve hastily found the buckle and slipped it into the metal receiver with a click as Sharon maneuvered through the morning traffic. Steve settled back in his seat, taking in the strangely shaped cars in the street around them and the oddly dressed people on the sidewalk. The radio played an unfamiliar song with an unfamiliar beat. There were some things about the city that still seemed familiar, but much of it had changed. He felt a pang of homesickness that startled him. This was New York City, to be sure. But it wasn't his New York City. He glanced over at Sharon as she expertly pulled the car into a spot on the side of the street that he was surprised her vehicle fit into. She glanced over at him, catching his look of impressed astonishment, and the corners of her mouth twitched ever so slightly upwards.

"Well, shall we?" she asked, gesturing with her head towards the row of buildings across the sidewalk from them. Steve took a deep breath and opened his door, flinching slightly as a motorcycle roared past mere feet away. Traffic moved much faster than he was used to. Taking a few quick steps to the sidewalk, he followed Sharon through the door of the cheery diner she had selected for breakfast.

The inside didn't look terribly different from what he was used to. A handful of patrons were seated at tables scattered in the clean seating area, though not as many as were lined up at the counter. A smiling brunette in high heels and a purple dress came over with a pair of menus almost as soon as they settled down at the table.

"Welcome to Rita's," she greeted them brusquely. The name "Kaja" was pinned to her chest. "The breakfast special today is a prosciutto and provolone omelet, served with your choice of a warm quinoa and fruit salad or homestyle potatoes, and the wifi password is pancakes. Can I get you some coffee?"

"Yes, please," Sharon replied with a nod, turning her mug over. Steve imitated the move, though his brain was still processing the waitress' unfamiliar words. Picking up his menu, he scanned through the selection, finding several foods that he was unsure of, but more that he was already familiar with. The most baffling term did not seem to be present on the menu. After their coffee cups were full and Kaja had moved on to another table, Steve leaned in towards Sharon, keeping his voice hushed.

"What exactly is a wye-fye, and why does it require a password?" he whispered urgently. Lowering her menu, Sharon gave him a look of consternation.

"The password is so you can sign into the network and access the internet on your phone without using your data," she explained. "Wifi is short for wireless fidelity, which is basically the wireless local area network." Steve stared at her blankly.

"Internet?" he repeated, latching on to the first unfamiliar word. Sharon sat back; her lips pressed in a thoughtful line as she considered her response.

"How to explain…." She murmured slowly, then leaned forward. "So, imagine… a massive public library, with the entire accumulated knowledge of humanity, but rather than being printed in books, all the information is digital, erm, invisible, unless you have a device that can access and translate the information, like a computer or a tablet or a smartphone." She waved the little metal rectangle that he was starting to recognize as what phones had evolved to. Steve blinked at her in disbelief.

"All of that, in that little thing?" he marveled, his expression vaguely awestruck as he regarded the device in her palm. Sharon gave him a lopsided smile.

"Indeed," she confirmed. "Plus shopping, movies, music, discussion groups, and just about anything else you can imagine, scattered in between memes and cat videos." A wrinkle of confusion rolled across his handsome features, quickly transforming back into awed disbelief. Before he could ask her more questions, Kaja reappeared.

"Ready to order?" she asked brightly, smiling at them brightly, pen poised over her order pad.

"I'll have the special," Sharon told her. Steve frantically scanned through the menu for familiar items as Kaja asked Sharon clarifying questions, then turned her attention to him.

"And for you, sir?" she asked.

"Ah, I'll have the…." His gaze lit on something familiar halfway down the page. "Pancakes."

"Single, double or triple stack?" His stomach growled.

"Triple," he declared.

"And did you want sausage or bacon with that?" Kaja asked.

"Ah, can I have both?" he asked. Sharon let out a quiet puff of laughter.

"There'll be an upcharge," Kaja warned. Steve frowned slightly. The term was unfamiliar, but he had a guess what it meant.

"That's fine," Sharon interjected before he could reply. He raised his eyebrows at her. She tilted her head slightly with a wry smile as Kaja moved on to another table. "What? You're not paying for it." Steve winced faintly at the reminder that he didn't have a penny to his name.

"Thank you for breakfast," he said quietly, dropping his gaze to his coffee cup.

"You're welcome," Sharon responded serenely. "But I'm not paying for it, either. This is going on S.H.I.E.L.D.'s dime." Steve glanced back up at her, eyebrows raised. Her eyes twinkled at him over the edge of her coffee cup. He sat back, contemplating his own mug of dark elixir.

"Speaking of money…" he began, then paused to take a sip. Sharon waited for him to gather his thoughts, regarding him seriously. "We're going to the bank after this, correct?" She nodded, her eyebrows asking where his train of thought was going. Steve cleared his throat nervously. "Are, ah, banks more… reliable than they were back in the 1930's? I'm just not sure…" Sharon's expression relaxed.

"Well, yes," she said reassuringly. "And I think you'll be pleasantly surprised. We're not actually opening an account for you today, because my contact at the bank said you already have one." Steve gave her a startled look. She pulled out her phone and tapped on its screen a few times. After a moment, she nodded. "It was opened August 3rd, 1939, and still carried a modest balance when you went missing in action. You may have been frozen, Captain Rogers, but your assets were not."

"You know, just Steve is fine," he interjected. Sharon paused and inclined her head towards him.

"Okay, Steve," she amended. "You've had seventy years of compounding interest on your account. According to the statement they sent me, your current balance is, well, probably a good deal higher than you were expecting."

"Considering I wasn't expecting anything, that's not too hard," Steve observed, half to himself. With a slight smile, Sharon slid her phone across the table towards him. He looked down at the number displayed before him, his eyes widening slightly in disbelief. He let out a low whistle and looked up at Sharon. Her features did not betray any sign that this was a prank. "Guess I'm buying lunch," he ventured. Sharon grinned.

"If you really want to," she conceded. "But remember, things also cost a lot more than you're used to." Kaja returned and set their plates before them. Steve's eyes widened at the plate overflowing with food.

"Everything is more than I'm used to," he observed wryly. The pancakes filled the large plate completely, leaving no room for the meats, which were on a smaller plate to the side. Sharon nodded.

"So, we'll hit the bank, get you set up with a debit card and deposit your check from the Veteran's Administration before we head back to headquarters for your uniform fitting," she informed him. "Hopefully by the time we get back to your apartment, they will have gotten the cable installed." She took a bite of her breakfast, then noticed the perplexed wrinkle between his eyebrows. "Sorry… how far do I need to back up?"

"I think most of it I'll get figured out when we get there," Steve replied. "But you said something about… a check from the Veteran's Administration?" Sharon nodded.

"Yeah. Since you're still alive, and you were on contract with the Army, they owe you some back pay," she said matter-of-factly, taking another sip of her coffee. Steve stared at her incredulously. She half-smirked at him. "So maybe I will let you pay for lunch."

Business at the bank was still confusing, but Steve emerged with a much better understanding of debit cards, personal identification cards, automatic teller machines and compounding interest. As Sharon guided the car back into the stream of traffic, he kept staring at his receipt, and at the account balance printed at the bottom of it. Apparently, he was now… rich? Was this what rich felt like? He didn't even know what he would spend it on. Right now, it was little more than numbers on a piece of paper. There were no gold bars or thick rolls of paper bills. He did have a couple twenty-dollar bills, which looked very different than he remembered, and a small, flat plastic card with numbers on it. He frowned down at it.

"So, all of my money is on this card?" he asked hesitantly. The banker had explained a lot about how accounts worked now, but it was a lot. He was still trying to wrap his head around all of it.

"Kind of," Sharon replied with a tolerant smile. "It's linked to your account, so you can use it to make purchases or get cash out of an ATM." Steve contemplated the flat plastic for a long moment, committing the numbers to memory.

"How does it know it's me?" he asked suspiciously, as the thought occurred to him.

"Well, it doesn't," Sharon admitted. "That's why you have a PIN. So you don't want to lose it. Definitely don't give anyone your PIN, or the three-digit code on the back of the card. If it's lost or stolen, report it right away so the bank can cancel it before anyone can spend all your money." Steve eyed the card warily. He still wasn't sure how he felt about the bank, but having something so easily exploited seemed like a very bad idea. He tucked the card back into his wallet uneasily.

"You say everyone has these now?" he asked Sharon skeptically. She chuckled quietly.

"Many people have several," she informed him. "But that's probably a discussion for another day." Leaning back in her seat, she unbuckled her seatbelt. "We're here." Steve looked out the window in surprise. He was surprised at the thrill of relief as he recognized that they were back at S.H.E.I.L.D. headquarters. The past day had been packed with unfamiliar and strange; even his new apartment didn't feel like home yet. Though it was only his second time returning here, there was something vaguely comforting about knowing what to expect on the other side of the door. He followed Sharon inside, nodding at the agents he passed in the hallway. They didn't head towards Fury's office today. Instead, he followed Sharon into an elevator on the other side of the building. Elevators nowadays were much quieter and smoother than he remembered them being. He watched the floor indicator buttons track their upward progress. The doors slid aside to reveal a short hallway punctuated with benches on either side. A slender woman with red hair was seated on one of them, her attention focused on the metal rectangle she was holding, her expression serious. Across from her, a dark-haired man with a mustache and goatee was studying one of the portraits adorning the wall with a skeptical eyebrow raised. Steve studied the man furtively. There was something vaguely familiar, or at least familial, about him.

"…and that's why my father always called him "Moondust," the man concluded with a grand sweep of his arm. The red-haired woman responded with a half-smile and an amused glint in her eyes. Her head swiveled towards Sharon and Steve as they exited the elevator and approached the pair. Her lithe figure straightened, shoulders shifting backward as Sharon and Steve drew nearer. The man glanced in the direction her attention had diverted, and froze for a moment. A half-second later, he clicked his tongue, and with smirk and swagger turned to fully face them, arms folding over his chest. "Well, if it isn't Rip Van Winkle," he announced. Steve raised his eyebrows at the man. He did understand that reference. Taking a step forward, he proffered his hand.

"Steve Rogers," he replied, calmly, the words half-correction, half-introduction. The man looked from Steve to the extended hand for a long moment, as if debating whether to shake it or not. Steve kept his hand extended, and finally the man took it.

"Tony Stark," he introduced himself, giving Steve's hand a firm pump, then dropping it. Steve raised his eyebrows as it finally clicked that this was Howard's son.

"Play nice now, Tony," Sharon warned. Pausing in front of him, she frowned. "What brings you here, anyway? I thought you weren't interested in being in the band."

"I'm not," Tony confirmed. "Not really into chorus and choreography. I see myself more of a lead singer type…"

"No argument from me there," Sharon murmured.

"…but I had a few thoughts to discuss with Fury. He might rethink that consultation position," he said with a cocky tilt of his head.

"Is he expecting you?" Sharon asked mildly. Tony paused and gave her a look akin to confusion. Sharon exchanged a glance with the red-haired woman, their amusement palpable. "Did you make an appointment?"

"He did not." All assembled turned to see Fury striding towards them. He gave Tony a look of admonishment. "So he will have to wait his turn." Tony's confusion turned to dismay, quickly masked with indignation. He opened his mouth to protest, but Fury raised a finger, and he subsided. "I have a situation in Nevada that requires my personal attention, and I don't have time to tag along on an ego trip. You can have ten minutes, after I have concluded my business here and before I have to leave again."

"I guess next time, I have my people contact your people," Tony replied. Fury nodded.

"Do that." He turned and focused his eye on the woman, who rose gracefully from her seat and approached him. His expression softened slightly. "Romanov," he greeted her with a nod. "Thank you for being here on short notice." His gaze shifted to Sharon and Steve, and he expanded his nod to include them, then turned and swept towards the door at the end of the hall. Romanov followed close behind. Sharon hesitated a moment, then fell into step behind them. Steve followed, his pace slowing somewhat as he recognized some of the portraits adorning the hall, though they were all older than he recalled. After a moment's pause, he hurried to catch up. Tony looked as if he wasn't certain whether he wanted to join them, but slipped into the conference room just after Steve, brushing past him.

"Fury, if you'll just hear me out…" he began. Fury gave him a hard look.

"You'll have your time, in due time," he reminded the billionaire. Moving behind the desk, he paused and looked off to his left. "Barton, did you at least use the door this time?"

"Where's the fun in that?" Steve glanced in that direction, startled, as a man dressed in black swaggered up to the large conference table and slapped two folders on it. He hadn't even realized there was somebody already in the room. "There's the intel you requested." Fury raised an eyebrow at him.

"And the second folder?" he asked mildly, picking it up. Barton shrugged.

"That's my report from New Mexico," he explained.

"New Mexico, thirteen months ago New Mexico?" Fury asked incredulously. Barton spread his hands nonchalantly. Fury shook his head and set the folder back down on the table. "I suppose I should be thankful you wrote it yourself this time, rather than letting Romanov do it for you." He settled down in a chair and looked up expectantly at them. Steve suppressed a grin at the fleeting guilty look between Romanov and Barton, like schoolchildren getting caught cheating by the teacher.

"Isn't that what she does, though?" Tony interjected. "She's a secretary, er, an assistant, isn't she? I've had her do plenty of paperwork for me. She's very good at it." Fury raised both eyebrows at him.

"Natasha Romanov is one of my most talented field agents," he informed the Stark heir. "I don't keep her around just for her clerical skills." Leaning forward, he slid the other folder across the table to her. "Speaking of which, you have your assignment. This is all the intel we have so far, but it's not much more than bread crumbs."

"I can make it work," Natasha said confidently, siding the folder closer and making it disappear under the table. Turning, she exited with a swish of red curls and a waft of light perfume. Fury pointed at Barton.

"You're with me, Clint," Fury announced. "If you need to pack anything, do it fast. Wheels up in twenty minutes." Barton tossed him a jaunty salute and followed Romanov out the door. From inside the depths of his voluminous black trench coat, Fury withdrew an envelope. He extended it towards Sharon. "These are the specs that DFA are waiting for. They'll get him outfitted after they get the required measurements." Sharon nodded and took the envelope, slipping it inside her jacket. Fury paused a moment and gave Steve a measuring look. "How are things so far in the 21st Century, Captain?"

"Different," Steve replied diplomatically. "Ah, I'm learning a lot." Fury nodded.

"Good. We'll talk more when I get back," the Black man declared. Taking that as a dismissal, Steve took a few quick steps to catch up with Sharon, who was nearly through the door already.

"Heading to DFA, huh?" he asked. She glanced at him and nodded.

"Design, Fabrication and Acquisitions," she clarified in response to his unspoken question. "They'll get you outfitted with a new uniform, new weapons…"

"New weapons?" Steve repeated. "What's wrong with my shield?"

"Well, nothing," Sharon replied. "But it's nice to have other options, isn't it?" Steve shrugged.

"I suppose," he admitted, "but there's something to be said for trusted and reliable…"

The rest of the afternoon was a blur. He had been expecting fabric tape measures and pins, but instead was requested to hold very still for several minutes, wondering what the hell scanning actually entailed, and then spent the next few hours having his attention pulled between several different screens as the designers enthusiastically created simulations of uniforms and weapons for his approval. The speed by which things happened now, with the assistance of computers, was a bit dizzying. By the time he climbed back into the passenger's seat in Sharon's car, he was surprised at how tired he was. He found himself missing Bucky, who would have been giddy at all the tech he had seen today, and thinking wistfully of his old uniform and trusty shield, the men who'd fought beside him through so many battles. He remained silent as Sharon got in beside him and guided the car back towards the apartment building that was his new home. She glanced sideways at him, but didn't say anything right away. They had gone several blocks before she broke the silence.

"Big day today," she observed. "I'm sure you have questions." Steve nodded thoughtfully.

"I'm sure I'll have more once it's had time to sink in," he agreed. "Right now, I'm just wondering… what happened to them. To Dum Dum, and Jim, and Gabe… Frenchie. It seems like we were fighting together just a couple weeks ago, but now…" He shook his head, staring out the window at the buildings rolling past the car. "I don't even know if they're still alive." Sharon didn't respond right away. Deftly, she backed into a spot along the curb and shifted into park. She sat meditatively for a moment.

"I can find those answers for you, if you like," she offered. Steve glanced at her, surprised and touched by the offer. He hesitated. Not knowing was difficult, but he almost dreaded finding out that they were all dead even more. It seemed cowardly to hide from the truth, though.

"I would like that," he decided softly. Sharon nodded.

"Well then. I'll see you tomorrow," she said with a faint smile. Nodding, Steve exited the car and headed into the building.

I apologize for the long hiatus. I will be posting more regularly again going forward. I've missed the story. Thanks for all of your comments and support!