"That's life. Whichever way you turn, fate sticks out a foot to trip you." - Al Roberts (Tom McNeal, Detour, 1945)
He is all sharp angles and dark skies, the words spilling out of his thin lips bright lightning bolts tarnishing the soft interior of the assistant researcher in the lab. Something small and brittle inside of her burns and crumbles as an ember yearns out towards the younger man to shield him from the cold callousness of his superior. She does not, however, act upon this impulse and keeps her hands clasped behind her back. She feels the soft caress of her the black neoprene of her skirt and wonders if she should retreat for the sake of the researcher's pride, but again, decides against such ridiculous instincts and remains on the side.
"M – Miss Prince," Everett's hair is disheveled, poking at his wide forehead. He stalls for a brief moment, wondering if his superior would acknowledge the woman before them before realizing the consideration was beyond his capabilities and sighs. "Did you forget something?"
Diana knows human pride and the precipice upon which masculinity is tethered upon and offers the young man a small smile. "Yes," her knees bend and pick up the suitcase resting on the tiled floor. She strides toward a vacant spot on the laboratory bench and places the bag on top of it. With slender fingers, she unlatches the cases and procures one single, previously ignored file from one of its compartments. "One of the documents was stuck onto another, and I thought you would want all the information at once."
"Oh – oh!" Everett takes the single document. "You really didn't have to come back – it's fine, I doubt we would have – "
"I wanted to," Diana cuts him off. "It was no trouble, believe me," her eyes slide over to the older man hunched over a tablet. His fingers dance over the screen, shooting soft clicks into the otherwise, mostly silent room. She regards the assistant one more time.
"Has Mr. Stark already been relayed the documents?" she asks.
"No," Everett heads over to a special machine. As it swallows up the archaic parchment, a gentle hum begins to penetrate the air. Green lights flicker on and Diana is again displaced by the advancement of the peculiar machine. It copies not only the words but carbon signature, fingerprints, and chemical composition of the ancient document. "We have not heard from him since our first two initial video conferences. He seems to be indisposed," he pauses, stuck on his wording. "I mean, how could you not be? Anyway," he shakes himself from his momentary stupor. "One of his friends, Steve Rogers, personally dropped by the pick up the data on a flash drive."
"Which is a waste of time," the old man, previously hovering over the digital tablet mutters loudly. "There is the internet, does he know that? Or have we truly entrusted our lives into the hands of some cave man?" He is sharp, all angles and piercing verses, and Diana has to steal a breath for herself in order to sway the comparisons from completely conceptualizing themselves in her head.
"Steve Rogers," Diana repeats slowly.
"Captain America," Everett clarifies.
"The wrestler on the television with the colorful spandex suit version of the American flag."
The corners of her lips twitch as she thanks Rourke for his imaginative elaboration. If she ever meets this man, this – Rogers, she swears she will relay the commentary of the renowned professor.
"He has a small exhibit downstairs," Everett adds before she departs. Her hand freezes on the frame, preventing the scanners from signaling the door to slide close. "I – if you want to know more, he's interesting," his voice drops lower at the end of the sentence.
This time, Diana does smile. "Thank you," she decides that time is not of the essence for people like her and lets herself indulge in this small curiosity.
Second floor, left wing, the second room on the right – she easily sways through the crowd of visiting students and finds the designated section. First exhibit on the left. There is a mass of weathered faces and bright eyes, but she is far and tall enough to be able to steal a glimpse of the heading: CAPTAIN AMERICA: FIRST AVENGER.
Avenger.
She steps closer to the exhibit and makes out cut-out figure posing courageously in front of the squealing children and fawning women. He has a shield on his forearm, and eyes cast up from the bright flashes of the cameras and phones. Fortunately, her interest did not lie in his face and accomplishments. Instead, she is interested in the man behind the mask and spots the rectangular "note cards" aligned on the side of the exhibit. There are less people there, mostly adults, and they gracefully allow her to step in for a better look. She finds the name Steve Rogers, and is almost completely deterred from pursuing the reading any more. However, she gives it to this man, this superhero, the credit his real being deserves and labors on through the fine lines.
Captain America found his humbling beginning in Brooklyn, New York to an impoverished German-Irish family. Steve Rogers was the shadow of the famous Captain America, having already established a reputation in his alleyway fights protecting the Greater Good and least fortunate. His sidekick, James B –
A pleasant chirp tickles her ears and suddenly, she is back with the museum visitors. Her feet guide her towards a quieter corner as she digs into her skirt pocket for her phone. Her fingerprint addresses the security lock as the screen gives away to a notification: board dinner.
She glances back at Captain America's resilient figure one more time before she vacates the premises of the museum. It would appear that Captain America had taken an interest in her as well. Despite the soulless gaze, Diana is confident that she knows those blue eyes. She had seen them before.
And she marvels as she sees them again, shifting anxiously from side-to-side; darting at exits, doors, passing faces – Captain America, she thinks, is a paranoid man under all the bravado. She wonders if she should make an acquaintance with him, but decides he was such a man that she name being associated with.
"Enjoying the evening, Miss Prince?" Diana's back straightens as she slowly turns to fix the unsuspecting woman with a pleasant smile. Her bright red hair is a flame among the suits of black.
"Yes, I am, Miss?"
"Potts," the redhead fills in. "Pepper Potts, but you can just call me Pepper. It's wonderful to meet you, I was convinced that you wouldn't come tonight." Pepper's eyes are resting on her, but Diana does not miss the glance that she throws at the hero in the corner.
"I would never miss an opportunity to support a charity," Diana easily replies. "Especially during times like this."
"Yes," Pepper admits. "It was all Tony's idea actually, but he's," her body swivels to face the crowd in front of them.
"Recovering?" Diana supplies. She nods at the woman's tangled hands. "I understand – he deserves it," she waves at the people in front of them. "Saving the world can take a lot out of any man, even if he is Iron Man."
"Yes, well," Pepper shakes her head and lets out a small laugh. "Thank you, Miss Prince. I do thank you for contribution and hope you enjoy the rest of the evening." She steps back but stays in place.
"I think he would like it better if you called him by his first name, Steve," she inserts before letting her lithe form disperse into the crowd of attendees.
"Steve?" Diana repeats.
"Yes, ma'am?" Diana freezes for a millisecond as she takes in her new encounter. Captain America, her brain logs for her. Steve Rogers.
"Please, Diana is fine," she extends out a hand and is only slightly surprised by his gallantry to firmly accept it with a shake. Knowing his history, she wonders if she should be affronted by his manners – were women not acknowledged more forwardly back then? Or had he acclimated already to the times? She pushes these musings out of her head as she decides to appreciate the equality in his actions.
"Steve Rogers," the blue-eyed man holds her gaze but breaks it every few seconds. "I apologize if I scared you, ma' – Diana," he corrects. "I was just looking for Pepper and I saw her with you but now –"
"She is not," Diana casts off a quick searching glance through the mass of guests. But just as she is about to terminate the conversation with him, the lights are suddenly extinguished and replaced by one solitary spotlight fixed on the base of the grand entrance staircase. There, Pepper Potts stands alone with a small microphone attached to the neckline of her verdant gown.
"Welcome, everyone," she graces the attentive crowd with a smile. "First of all, I want to thank you all for coming to this gala tonight – it means a lot to Stark Industries and I, especially, to see that the world is still willing to come together to help others out in such dark times. Tony," she says. "Regretfully cannot be here tonight. He wanted to come, believe me," she continues. "But I thought it would be best for him to rest after he helped save the world." The crowd is merciful and laughs at that note. "Again, I thank you all for coming and to please just simply enjoy tonight's activities." And with that, the lights return dimmed, and the orchestra resumes its music. The attendants have all vacated the center, designated dance floor and a few couples and strangers pair up to immerse themselves in the music. Diana is about to step back until both she and Steve spot a frazzled Pepper Potts making her way towards then. To the passing eye, her strides read easy but quick – however, Steve and Diana know better and stand ready to receive her.
"I just received a notification from JARVIS – there has been a minor burglary at the museum. I know you're –"
Steve places a palm on Pepper's bare shoulder and gives it a squeeze. "I'll look into it, just text me the address and I'll head over right away –"
"N- no, wait," Pepper glances over at Diana. "It's not too serious, and I'm afraid of the sentiment that would drive to the public if they see Captain America out again so soon after the invasion, so could you, would you mind?"
"No theatrics," Steve acknowledges. "I'll go as is then. You'll get no unwanted publicity if I go as Steve Rogers. No one has ever really paid him much attention before."
"Until now," Diana slowly elucidates. She turns to fully face her two companions. She is reaching for something, and her mind is berating her for being so reckless, but she remembers the blue eyes in the picture and beams at the two. "Everyone knows your history, Captain," she reasons. "But who is Diana? That, they do not know," she looks at Pepper. "If you want to preserve peace, then I can go. It is only minor, right?"
Steve steps forward. "No –" his gaze isn't shy anymore. "No, definitely no – you're just a civilian –"
"Who is a nobody but that will be fine," Pepper meets Diana's alighted dark eyes. "You can take the lead, if you don't mind, but Steve will still be with you in the background. If anything goes wrong, it's him in charge then –"
"Pepper –"
"- and by that I mean if you see any sign of danger, you are gone. You leave the building, leave Steve, and seek out safety, okay?" Pepper grasps her arm. "Okay?"
"Okay," Diana agrees, then looks at the man before her. He refuses to meet her gaze, but after a moment of mulling it over, he looks up and nods. "Okay. I'll be in the shadows, got it."
"Thank you," Pepper squeezes Diana's arm and Steve's hand. "Good luck and stay safe, you two." She watches as they reciprocate with a nod and both quickly vacate the event room. Once they hit the elevator the main lobby, Steve leads them over the coat check and switches out his black jacket for his brown leather. He looks over at Diana and assesses her clothes. She is in a sleek, midnight blue jumpsuit with tall black heels. She easily puts a few inches over his already towering figure and he quickly looks away when she raises an appraising eyebrow at him.
"Are you sure you can…?" his voice trails as she shoulders on a long black trench coat and pulls out her phone.
"Pepper texted me," she ignores his previous question, instead more concerned on how the woman had her contact. "It's the American Museum of Natural History. Your car or mine?" she throws patiently.
Steve blanches, "M- mine?" he reaches out into his pocket and takes out the keys to his motorcycle. "Yeah, mine," he leads the way to the parking valet who has already pulled out his ride from the side. Unlike the other cars, his was small enough to store nearby. He thanks the worker and gives the helmet to Diana. "I hope you don't mind."
Diana stares at the helmet, but regardless puts it on as Steve swings his leg over the motorcycle and starts the engine. He goes taut for a few seconds as Diana's long arms slide around his torso. "Ready?" he says. He does not hear her reply, but shoots off into the night as he feels the cool helmet move against his back.
…
When he drives the noise of the world disappears as he steers himself and the motorcycle towards an unforeseen destination in the jungles of New York City. The bright yellow taxis and large, obnoxious neon signs all become a backdrop in his pursuit as his mind forms a tunnel vision of motor commands and actions. His body melts into the roaring bike and its as if he is back in his time, his world, of roller rinks and dames with classic curls. But tonight, he does not form that same sublime focus. Tonight, there is a stranger embracing him and a burglary to investigate in the museum he had just visited.
He guides the bike through one last sharp turn and stops just a corner street shy from the museum. He stops by the sidewalk and kicks the peg of the bike down. He balances both his body and the motorcycle for Diana's convenience as she gets off the bike. He knows her, just like he suspects she knows him, but still refrains from commenting on the past. Instead, he takes his key out and follows the languid saunter of the strange woman.
There is something old about her, something that screams of archaic Parisian grace and gruff London bars. He stays to the shadows as she evades the front entrance and breaches the museum through the back with a previously hidden keycard. She throws the door open wide enough to allow Steve time to slip in without tailgating her heels.
The museum is dark, the only light coming from the fixtures casting dark shadows against the bones and wax figures decorating the museum. She moves past them without heed and reaches the door that he had followed the assistant through. This time, Diana is obtrusive to the silence with her heels, but they do not hinder her grace as she walks up the steps and enters the hallway of the lab. It is mostly quiet in the corridor aside from the lights and soft mull of street noise coming from one of the labs. Diana strides towards the lab that Steve had just been in and steps through the broken glass of the sliding door.
Steve remains in the shadows as he waits for her signal. He instincts gnaw at him to check on her after a minute has elapsed, but before he can make the decision to broach the crime scene, her dark head of large curls pops through the broken door. "Come in," she says, and Steve follows. He enters the lab, and realizes that the burglary might have been more complex than Pepper had let on.
His eyes sweep the lab. To the naked eye, it seems untouched, but Steve has mapped out the room during his visit and spots the telltale signs of someone having rummaged through the cabinets and computer. Diana heads over the switch and flips it up. White lights pour from above and bathe the room in the same sterile brightness that Steve had initially seen it in.
"Do not touch anything," Diana says slowly, walking towards him. "I have already notified Pepper about the situation. She has called investigators from the company to come in and do a full examination of the room. She would like us to remain her just in case the person returns."
Steve looks up from the bottles of chemicals perfectly aligned on a shelf. "What were you doing here earlier today?" he asks. He watches her hand freeze from pulling on her trench coat.
She turns to him with a feline serenity. "Delivering the documents that Stark had sent you to collect."
Steve pauses as the sound of engines come to a halt outside of the museum. "Do you think that's what they came here to steal?"
Diana stills against the broad window's view of the city. "I suspect that it is what they have stolen," she gives. "But I also think there is more to this than meets the eye, Steve Rogers."
