A week after the Chitauri invasion - or, as the news was calling it, the Battle of New York - Steve Rogers felt as lost as he had since he'd woken up in a fake hospital room.
No, he felt even more lost now, because at least the invasion had given him something to do, a purpose, that linked him with his new time.
He'd never admit aloud that sometimes, he wished the invasion was still ongoing. At least he knew what to do in a war.
Steve paced the apartment Nick Fury had said he could use, knowing he should go out into the world, explore, and see what had changed and, maybe somewhat depressingly, what hadn't.
As it often did during moments like these, moments when he felt at odds with life, his gaze strayed to the stack of briefing packets he'd been given, and the one folder he'd looked at so often he'd memorized it.
The file on Peggy Carter seemed to taunt him, with its red-stamped RETIRED label and a notation of her current address and phone number, as if daring him to contact her.
As he always did, Steve hesitated. It was good to know Peggy was still alive - and of course she'd live into her 90s. If nothing else, she was too stubborn to die.
But that didn't mean she was in good health, nor that she'd welcome a call or a visit from him if she were.
Still, she'd been a friend with the potential to be something more. He thought of her as his girl, and surely that merited a call or a visit?
A knock on his door interrupted his thoughts, and Steve turned to answer it, not certain whether he was grateful for the intrusion or not.
Steve opened the door and found himself facing a man who might be in his late forties, or maybe a little older to judge by the graying at his temples. The man wore a suit and tie, and something about the formality of his dress felt familiar, even comforting.
"Captain Rogers?" The man offered him a tentative smile.
"Yes, Mr. -?" Steve prompted.
"Bruce Wayne." The man didn't offer his hand, instead turning something in his hand so Steve could see it.
It was a tablet - or Steve thought that's what Tony Stark had called it - a handheld computer somewhat larger than a stenographer's tablet, which might be where it got its name. The man shifted it in his hand, and Steve read the words in white on a blue background.
A FRIEND SENT ME. SHE LIKES TO WEAR ARMOR AND CARRY A SWORD AND SHIELD.
There was only one person those words could refer to, and Steve flicked his startled gaze back up to meet Bruce Wayne's eyes.
Wayne nodded, and gave him a questioning look. But what could he be questioning? Then Steve got it.
"Mr. Wayne," he said. "We haven't met, have we?"
"No," Wayne answered and tapped his tablet. "I'm here on, well, a humanitarian mission of sorts."
"Humanitarian?" Steve repeated. "I don't understand."
FRIEND'S CONCERNED FOR YOU, SAYS YOU'RE BEING WATCHED. SENT ME TO MAKE SURE APARTMENT ISN'T UNDER ELECTRONIC SURVEILLANCE.
Steve frowned at that, in turn raising an eyebrow to prompt Wayne to explain.
"I'm sure you've been busy since you … woke up," Wayne said, "and not just fighting off an alien invasion."
"Not as much as you might think," Steve muttered.
"Really?" Wayne's surprise appeared to be genuine. "Then if you have a few minutes, may I come in and tell you why I'm here?"
"Sure." Steve stepped aside, and Wayne moved easily past him. Wayne set his tablet on the table, then withdrew a small electronic device from a pocket and paced the apartment.
"I don't know if you know this, but after the war, there was a lot of merchandise with your name and image on it," Wayne said as he waved the device - presumably a scanner of some kind - up and down each wall and over all the light and electrical fixtures.
"Trading cards," Steve said. "Even during the war, there were trading cards."
"Among other things," Wayne agreed. "And you're entitled to some of the profits from the sale of them. Since you were MIA, presumed killed in action, that money went into … well, that's the thing. I have no idea where that money went."
Wayne finished his circuit of the apartment, pocketed the scanner, and picked up his tablet, meeting Steve's gaze briefly before tapping another message.
Steve cleared his throat and picked up the conversation. "Even ignoring that you don't have a need to know where the money went, Captain America is a government creation, and a government employee. Wouldn't the government - the Army, specifically - be entitled to that money?"
"If the merchandise only had Captain America's image on it, then yes," Wayne said. "But if your face - Steve Rogers' face - is displayed, then you're entitled to some of it. At least according to my lawyers."
Wayne turned the tablet again.
APARTMENT CLEAN OF ACTIVE SURVEILLANCE. SUSPECT PASSIVE SURVEILLANCE IN APARTMENT NEXT DOOR.
Steve wasn't even certain what passive surveillance might be. So he asked the only question he could, "What should I do about it?"
Wayne started tapping on the tablet again, even as he spoke. "Hire your own lawyer - in fact, two. One for the intellectual property issue, because that's real specialized stuff."
"And the other?" Steve asked.
"A JAG lawyer - sorry, Judge Advocate General's Corps - lawyer, to handle the military ramifications of your return to life. Things like back pay and such."
Wayne showed Steve the tablet once more.
MUTUAL FRIEND HAS MORE INFO. WAITING AT PATRIOT CAFÉ. I'LL MAKE SURE YOU'RE NOT FOLLOWED.
"That's very helpful, thanks," Steve said. Then the question he'd been burning to ask slipped out. "Why are you doing this?"
Wayne closed the tablet and met Steve's gaze without flinching. "Because some of the best memories I have of my father were when he told me stories about you and the Howling Commandos, and if he were alive, he'd do everything he could to make sure you're settled into this strange new world you find yourself in. It's my honor to do what he can't."
Even if Diana had somehow prompted Wayne's visit, Steve thought, his words now were sincere.
"I'm grateful," Steve said. "And I'm sorry for your loss."
"It was a long time ago," Wayne said. He pulled a card from his pocket and offered it to Steve. "If you need anything, call me."
Steve took the card. "Thank you."
With a nod, Wayne let himself out of the apartment. Steve blew out a breath as the door closed behind the other man and studied the card he'd been given.
WAYNE ENTERPRISES
Bruce Wayne, President and CEO
An address and telephone number were engraved beneath those words, and on the back, a different, handwritten telephone number with the words, "Call any time," in nearly-illegible script.
Steve tucked the card into his wallet, thinking. If someone really were monitoring him from the apartment next door, it wouldn't look good for him to leave immediately after the conversation he'd had with Bruce Wayne. They'd expect him to - or at least understand if he tried to - verify the information he'd been given.
Steve pulled the cell phone Tony Stark had given him from his pocket and touched the icon that would connect him to Howard's son.
"What's up, Capsicle?" Tony's voice came through immediately. "Having trouble turning on the lights?"
"The technology really isn't that different from before," Steve said, mostly because he knew it would get a rise out of the other man - and it did, to judge by the spluttering sound that came through the phone.
"Not that different? Why -"
"Tony." Steve injected a hint of command into his tone, and Tony subsided. "I'm calling because I just had a visit from Bruce Wayne."
"Wayne?" Tony sounded outraged. "What did that upstart want with you?"
"Upstart? No, I don't want to know." Steve really wanted to know, but it wasn't his purpose right now. "He came to offer a bit of advice - something about hiring intellectual property lawyers and a JAG lawyer to handle things for me."
There was a pause before Tony said, "Huh. I hadn't thought about it, but that actually makes sense."
"So he's on the up and up?" Steve asked.
"Yeah, he's legit. But if you go with his lawyers instead of mine, I'm gonna be hurt."
Steve couldn't help smiling. "I think I can find my own lawyers, but thanks."
"Anytime. Hey, you need help vetting the lawyer, ask JARVIS."
"I'll manage, Tony. Thanks again."
Steve ended the call and checked the time. It was nearly eleven, so stopping at a café on the way to the library wouldn't look too suspicious.
He tugged on a jacket and left his apartment, locking it behind him.