April 2012
Everything seemed different from his old life, even the familiar was subtly different. He still can't quite believe the fact he had been frozen for decades. Coming back to New York was meant to be returning to his home, but it isn't, not this version of New York. After his unauthorised visit to Times Square, Steve Roger's life at SHIELD had settled into a routine of tests, physical training, doctors and education classes. Like Colonel Philips had threatened in 1942, Steve Rogers was a lab rat, an experiment living under a microscope. He wished he was back being a chorus girl. He did not complain, as he was housed in 'guest accommodation', which consisted of a small room with the luxury of an adjoining bathroom, about a million times better than his digs back in the 40's. He knows he's under surveillance 24/7, but the agents here only know the propaganda version of Captain America, the War Hero, not the real Steve Rogers. Life as a performing monkey had taught him public speaking, daily movement, choreography and dance practice (which was a secret he had not even told Bucky), acting and how to fool everyone that a skinny kid from Brooklyn was an American hero. Captain America was a mask, a performance and something Steve choose to hide behind as Fury wanted something from Steve and he hoped to God it wasn't to restart Project Rebirth.
His Captain America facade was no different, he had just added his approximation of Bucky's easy charm and wide, ain't-I-great-smile. He had to be on his game here, cause all they wanted was the Cap. No one now knew anything about the skinny kid from Brooklyn, who Erskine had selected as guinea pig, mainly because he was everything Schmidt wasn't.
Raised by his strict Catholic mother to be respectful to all and grateful for his lot in life. Before the Army he had first hand experience of illness, poverty and hunger. His mother had aways worked hard to provide for her only child. Steve had always had a second, sometimes third hand winter coat and decent shoes. The Roger's family home may have been a two room tenement, but there had been meals on the table twice a day; many during the late twenties and thirties had not been that lucky. Food had sometimes only been the staples of bread, potatoes and oatmeal.
Steve was always attentive, observant and polite to his handlers, but the whole fake hospital scene when he woke up still had him on edge. He was having a hard time trusting these SHIELD folks and could not bring himself to be grateful for his miracle survival at the moment. He had nothing to grab on to and anchor himself to his new life. Rather than sleeping, he lay down at night in the dark and lost himself in memories of those hard days before the war, after his Ma had passed. He had worked two jobs to afford his art classes and materials and for his share of the rent for a one room apartment with Bucky. Sleep never came. He was not worried, he had not slept much since the procedure, needing cat naps of one to three hours at most and not everyday; a real boon when planning operations and fighting on the front lines. He had gotten used to only sleeping deeply when back at base, like most soldiers.
After a week in Twenty-first century New York, Captain Rogers had lessons on modern communications, covering computers, operating systems and access to the internet as an educational resource. He's damn sure they'd keep close tabs on what he's allowed to read. In curiosity and creeping dread, he looks up his old neighbourhood. His childhood home, his old apartment block, the places he worked; where his old high school, the dance hall, the local cinemas, the neighbourhood deli and familiar shops are all gone. His church, St. Finbar's and the sunday school, are still there, just different. Then he then notices that Ebbet's Field has gone, which leads him to discover the whole sordid details about the Brooklyn Dodgers moving to the West Coat.
Bucky had been a die hard fan like his pa, a passion he had shared with his best friend. Money was always been tight, but the two boys had collected enough bottles, scrap metal and done enough odd jobs to go sit on the bleachers as true fans. The ball game, even when the Dodgers lost, had been better than any movie or radio show. The Dodgers now played in LA. He frowned as he could not muster many happy memories of his short time working 20 hour days making movies on the lot in sunny California. That place had been lonely, exhausting and bleak.
Life had taught him to perfect an emotionless poker face as a kid, to deflect all the hurtful comments from just about everyone, except his Ma and Bucky, as he squashed down the hurt for being a sickly, deformed and useless runt.
Steve's heart clenched and he had to suppress the urge to smash the laptop and trash his room. This brave new world, this bright future built after victory, tasted of ash and crushing of his dreams of a better life after the war. No Peggy, with the promise of a picture perfect future of marriage, kids and happiness after the defeat of the Nazi's. The constant weight of his fresh grief for all his friends turned into an acute and overwhelming pain. The tightening of his chest reminded him of his asthma and he closed his eyes and took slow deep breaths, which seemed to make his attempt at controlling his emotions slip through his grasp. Anger, hate and bitterness welled up, but this hardened soldier stepped himself with the resolve, he had woken for a reason. He could not take anything or anyone at face value. He had to hold to his promise to Abraham Erskine and first and foremost remain a good man.