Disclaimer: Just for fun, not for profit. Steve Rogers and Sharon Carter are property of Marvel.

Old Names

Steve was up early the next morning, standing in the kitchen with a wrinkle of concentration between his eyebrows. Hesitantly, he reached out and pushed the button on the front of the coffee maker. For a few moments, he thought perhaps he had pushed the wrong button, but then it gurgled and hummed, and a stream of fragrant brown elixir began to trickle down into the carafe. With a satisfied smile, Steve palmed the quarter he had left on the counter and went through the door. A few minutes later, he returned, the day's newspaper in hand. Pouring himself a cup of coffee, he sat down at the table and began to peruse the day's headlines. His eyebrows nearly knit together at the first couple stories he skimmed through. One was a piece on debates about legislation attempting to address internet piracy, whatever that was. The next was discussing the contributions of Stark Industries to the city. This one held his attention longer. He did not recognize many of the terms or products mentioned in the article, but it seemed to be mostly positive. Howard's legacy still appeared to be holding strong. An opinion piece a couple pages later took a more critical view of the Stark heir, which caught Steve by surprise. He was used to Howard being behind the scenes, supplying them with weapons and equipment to give them an edge over the enemy. Apparently, Tony took a more… hands-on approach, using the inventions himself. Shaking his head with a bemused smile, he turned the page. His smile faded slightly as he read about reporters killed in Syria, and American soldiers killed in Afghanistan. Some of the names of countries were unfamiliar. Sitting back in the chair for a moment, he glanced around the apartment, and his attention fell on a globe on the bookshelf. Standing, he crossed the room and picked it up.

The knock on the door was unexpected. He glanced up as Sharon let herself in.

"Is this globe current?" he asked. Sharon paused, raising an eyebrow.

"Good morning to you too, " she said pointedly. Steve raised the globe slightly. Sharon sighed. "It's a couple years old, but the borders should be mostly accurate." Steve nodded absently, turning his full attention to the colorfully drawn countries on the globe in his hands. Sharon watched him silently for a moment. He paused, then looked over at her as if it had just registered that he had company.

"I'm sorry," he said contritely. "I made coffee. Would you like some?" He moved as if to place the globe back on the shelf, but Sharon gave him a small smile.

"I can get it," she assured him. Setting the stack of paperwork she had brought with her on the coffee table, she moved to the kitchen and poured the dark elixir into a mug. Steve finished his inspection of the globe, having committed the new geography to memory, and set it back on the shelf. His gaze fell to the folders resting on the table.

"Is that what I think it is?" he asked, picking up the folder on top. The tag on the side read, "Dugan, Timothy Alloysius Cadwaller."

"It is," Sharon confirmed, returning with her mug of coffee in hand. She paused, looking from him to the folder and back again. "You might want to be sitting down for this." Steve gave her a disconcerted look. He glanced at the overflowing folder in his hand, then at the thick stack still resting on the table.

"Do we have time to go through all of this?" he asked. Sharon took a sip of her coffee and nodded.

"They are supposed to come and install your cable today," she confirmed ruefully, a hint of irritation in her tone. "So… we're waiting for them." As if for emphasis, she seated herself at one end of the couch and settled in.

"Okay," Steve said slowly. If they had to wait, there would likely be time for her to explain to him exactly what cable she was referring to. "What time will they be here?" Sharon's lopsided smile seemed vaguely annoyed, but he didn't think it was directed at him.

"Sometime between nine and two," she informed him, crossing one leg over the other. He raised his eyebrows at her.

"That's a pretty wide window," he observed.

"It is," she agreed. "Good thing we have all this to keep us occupied." She glanced at the folder in his hand. With a sigh, Steve sat down on the other end of the couch, keeping a polite distance between them. He stared down at Dum Dum's closed file for a few moments. He already had his suspicions what he would find. It had been damn near seventy years, after all. For a moment of agonizing ambivalence, he hung suspended between curiosity and dread at what he might find. Taking a deep breath, he opened the folder.

The red "DECEASED" stamped across the file hit him like a punch in the gut. He closed his eyes briefly, recalling Dugan's Devil-May-Care grin and hearty laugh. He had just talked to the man a week ago. Shaking his head, he opened his eyes and forced himself to look back at the file. The date of death was just last year. Dugan had lived a long life. The file was thick with mission reports, certificates of commendation, performance evaluations, training certificates… even a few disciplinary notes. Steve read through a few. Despite himself, one side of his mouth twitched upward, imagining Dugan in the situations described. The knot of grief in his belly loosened ever so slightly as he bore witness to a long and acclaimed career. A tedious-looking form caught his eye. He paused and scanned through the list of names under the official-looking header.

"Dependents," he murmured to himself, and glanced over at Sharon, who was watching him carefully, her coffee cup cradled in both hands. "Dum Dum had kids?"

"He did," she confirmed. She took a slow sip of her coffee, and Steve turned his attention back to the file. "If memory serves," she continued, "one of them lives in Chappaqua, less than an hour away." Steve paused, glancing back at her incredulously. She raised a suggestive eyebrow. "I'm sure they would love a visit from Captain America, who fought beside dear old dad…." Steve's eyes widened.

"You think so?" he replied hopefully. Sharon shrugged.

"I don't see why not," she answered. "You might have to give me a day or two to set it up, but I can probably make it happen." Steve sat down on the arm of the couch abruptly, touched by the offer.

"That would… I would really appreciate that," Steve said softly. Sharon opened her mouth to reply, but was interrupted by a knock at the door. She glanced in surprise at the clock. It was barely past nine. Suspicious, she crossed to the door and peeked through the spyhole. After a moment, she opened the door just a crack.

"MXM Cable?" she asked suspiciously.

"Yes, ma'am." Steve heard the reply, though he couldn't see who was speaking. Sharon paused a few moments longer, then opened the door all the way.

"Guess we must be first stop today," she observed, gesturing for the gangly young man to come in.

"Yes, ma'am," he confirmed. He followed her into the living room, then paused as he saw Steve sitting on the couch. The glint of recognition turned into caught breath and wide, round eyes. Feeling the stunned stare, Steve looked up from Dugan's file. The man raised a hand, extended finger turning into a fist clenched in embarrassment and quickly withdrawn.

"Is it really? It's you…. You're…." he stammered. Steve stood politely and proffered his hand.

"Steve Rogers," he introduced himself. The man frowned slightly, eyes widening and pointed a disbelieving finger at him.

"Didn't you d-, uh, I mean, weren't you lost? I thought… my buddy Dex said you were back, but I, I didn't believe him," he stammered. Steve smiled slightly, starting to lower his extended hand, but suddenly found it clasped tightly in two extended fists. "It's such an honor to meet you, sir," he blurted, pumping Steve's arm up and down vigorously. "I'm a big fan, have been since you were a little boy. I mean, since I was. I mean… you know what I mean?"

"What's your name, son?" Steve asked, eyeing their joined hands, still pumping up and down like an oil derrick.

"Melvin, sir. Melvin Smalls." Behind Melvin, Sharon rolled her eyes, arms folded over her chest.

"You're killing me, Smalls," she murmured softly. Melvin stopped pumping Steve's hand, releasing it as if he suddenly realized he had been doing it for far too long, and guiltily hid his hands behind his back. He cleared his throat in embarrassment.

"I, ah, I better get to work," he said sheepishly, gesturing towards the equipment he had left by the door. "I'll have you hooked up and set in no time."

"Thank you, Melvin," Steve replied courteously. He still wasn't exactly clear on what cable was or what the end result of Melvin's work would be, but he would find out soon enough. He was more interested in the rest of the thick stack of files sitting on the coffee table. Settling back onto the couch, he picked up the next file, noticing the name "Falsworth" on the tab. The dread returned, heavy in the pit of his stomach. Deciding it was better to just rip the bandage off, he looked over at Sharon, who was watching Melvin appraisingly. Feeling his eyes on her, she turned her attention back to him.

"Everything okay?" she asked quietly.

"I want you to just give it to me straight," he told her. "Are any of the Howling Commandos still alive?"

"Aside from you…" she replied, "no." Her words were soft, her tone not unkind, but they still hit like a punch from Red Skull. Steve took in a shaky breath, then nodded and opened the file. "However," Sharon continued, "I do believe Jim Morita and Gabe Jones have family still alive." A small comfort. Frowning, Steve set Falsworth's file down and flipped through the rest of the paperwork she had brought.

"What's the rest of this?" he queried. Sharon looked uncomfortably at Melvin, crouched over by the television.

"Fury wanted to bring you up to speed on relevant events over the past seventy years, especially regarding what SHIELD has been up to," she explained, her voice barely above a whisper. "He sent a few files for you to review." Steve raised his eyebrows and nodded slowly.

"Looks like more than a few," he observed.

"Well, that should do it," Melvin announced, straightening up. "The box will need a few minutes to finish updating, and then you should have access to all 42 channels included in your package." Steve looked up and sat back on the couch.

"42… channels?" he repeated. Melvin nodded.

"Yeah, you don't have the premium channels," he noted, looking over the paperwork on his clipboard. "But if you ever want to upgrade, don't hesitate to call and we can get you set right up. It was a pleasure to meet you, sir." Melvin set more papers on the table, tossed Steve a jaunty salute, and then left. Steve looked at the thick stacks of paper that nearly covered the coffee table.

"Well," he said ruefully, "I guess I better get reading."