They ended up not going to the Triskelion's canteen, instead walking outside the building and down the street a couple of blocks, to a small coffee shop Miss Engman suggested. Steve was glad to see a little of the city while not running or on his motorcycle, and walking while talking was comfortable.
"So what have you seen of the city so far?" Miss Engman asked as they exited the building. In the sunlight, her dark hair had red tones to it, and she walked with a brisk pace. She was tall for a woman, he noticed, the top of her head at his cheek. People had grown taller since the 40's, he'd found. Her skin was lightly tanned, likely from walking to and from class in the summer sun. She looked… fit, he supposed. Like Agent Hill. Thinner than women from the 40's usually tried to be, but she wasn't as thin as the women he'd seen on modern television. Her face was nicely round, and her large brown eyes looked up at him,, waiting for an answer.
"Not much, only from the SHIELD barracks to the main building, plus some walking paths." Steve observed how much the traffic was picking up as it neared lunchtime, then remembered his manners. "Can I carry your bag for you?" he asked as he'd been taught.
"Hm? Oh, um, sure. If you want. Thank you." Miss Engman did not seem to be prepared for this, but she handed the backpack over to Steve.
He was surprised at how much it weighed. It wasn't heavy for him, but it felt like it would be uncomfortable to lug around all day. "What's in here, rocks?" he asked jokingly.
"Textbooks," Miss Engman smiled in return. They came to an intersection, and she pushed a button with an arrow on it, which responded, "Wait."
"No, you wait," she muttered, then looked at Steve as though embarrassed. "It can't hear me, I just talk to inanimate things sometimes. A lot."
"So do I," he responded, thinking of his cellular phone. He'd spent so much time trying to figure out what it even was, and when a call came through it still startled him.
"What was living without college like?" Miss Engman suddenly asked. "I mean, I know there were colleges, but did you ever want to go to one? And how far was it normal to go in school before you started working? High school? Eighth grade?"
"Usually, parents tried to get their kids through high school," Steve told her. "Only a few kids tried college, and not many families could afford it. I went to art school before I joined the Army. What is it like with college, then?"
"Stressful and expensive." Miss Engman grimaced. "You spend your whole time in school hearing how good grades will get you into college… and they will. But then, once you get to high school or even as early as middle school you have to start really shaping up, joining clubs, giving back to the community so you can put all your accomplishments on scholarships. And if you don't have time for a lot of clubs, like if you're working to save up for college, then you're taken out of the running for a lot of scholarships anyway. But I was lucky. I got a few good scholarships for G.W. University, and my mom had saved up money for my education."
"So how many clubs were you in?"
"A stupid amount." She sounded annoyed, and rolled her eyes before looking up at him. "I hated high school."
"Why?" He was surprised, not because he had liked school all that much, but because she sounded like someone who would.
"The people, mostly. I got along with most of the teachers, but I never understood people my age. I still don't always, I guess, but in college you get to choose your friends a lot more than in high school. I probably sound like a snob, but— and also, they don't teach you anything about survival in the real world!" She got more enthusiastic, bringing her hands up to express her thoughts. "They spent so much time on things I'm never going to need, like tons of math, and people should have known how to write a sentence by twelfth grade, but they never talked about things we'd really need, like taxes! I had no idea how to do taxes my first year out of high school, and I'm still scared of messing up. But I digress." She shook her head, and looked back up at him "Did you enjoy school?" she asked.
"I liked learning things," Steve said. "I know my mom worked hard so I could complete high school, so I tried my best and got good grades. She always knew I wanted to be a soldier, though. Even if I didn't qualify, she believed in me."
"So did you have more than one teacher per grade, or one per subject?" Miss Engman asked.
"One teacher per— hey!" a man in a suit who was on his phone had walked right in between them and bumped his way through. Steve looked back at him, and the man just kept walking and talking on his phone.
"Sorry," Miss Engman said. "People might be more rude now. But if he'd looked back, he would have apologized to you." She laughed up at him, "Then he would have run away."
"People haven't changed that much, actually," Steve said, thinking of all the times he'd been beaten-up for standing up to rude bullies.
"Here's the coffee shop, though you might actually want lunch now?" Miss Engman questioned.
"Anything sounds fine, ma'am. You call the shots." Steve was actually hungry, but he supposed a person with a normal metabolism might not be.
"OK, we'll get coffee and then… a vendor-produced meal." She waived at the carts lining the street on either side.
They ordered their coffee from Cafe Espresso, Steve's plain black, Miss Engman's "coffee-flavored sugar-milk". Steve was a little overwhelmed by the options thrown at him, so while he was looking through the board, Miss Engman paid.
Steve was miffed, and vowed to pay for lunch, but Miss Engman laughed, "It's just coffee, don't worry about it!"
They walked down the row of vendors outside, until Steve mentioned he'd never had a corn dog. Miss Engman told him that that was practically un-American, and so he bought them each one from the vendor. Meals in hand, they walked to a small courtyard park where many others were enjoying their lunch, and they sat at a table for two.
Miss Engman was pretty quiet while eating, occasionally pausing to smile at him or raise her eyebrows in a conspiratorial way. Steve found himself wondering about her "mutation," but he didn't know if she'd want to share that much information yet. He decided to go for it, anyway, because she'd said he could ask questions about her as well.
Checking to make sure no one could hear him, he leaned in and asked, "So when you say 'superpowers,' what do you mean?"
She calmly put down her coffee and also leaned closer, "Well, sometimes it manifests physically… Like I've seen a guy with retractable spikes all over, or people with claws or gills. Other times, like with me, they are hidden. I'm an empath, which means I can read others' emotions and control them to an extent."
Steve sat up straighter, and wondered if she'd tried it on him. Thinking back, he didn't suspect manipulation, but she had probably read his emotions when they met. "Did you…?"
"Only when you opened the door to the meeting room, and when that guy bumped you earlier. It's a reflex, but I usually try to keep it in check to give people privacy and to prevent being overwhelmed." She looked like she was trying to read his emotions just from his looks now, staring into his eyes, and appearing concerned. "I really don't manipulate people unless there's a dangerous situation I can help with. Please believe me."
"I… do," Steve decided. "So that's why you're so highly recommended for me."
"Yeah. That, and I'm really good at seeing patterns." Steve raised an eyebrow and she explained, "Once I get to know someone reasonably well, I can usually tell what they're going to do or say. It's not mind-reading, but it almost seems like it sometimes. But it's really not, I have an expert's opinion on it."
"Meaning…" Steve lead.
"An actual mind-reader. A telepath. Whose name I won't reveal, because he helps kids and people like me to find a safe place in the world."
"OK," Steve allowed. "Any other powers?"
She gestured for him to lean in again, and he did. Taking the lid off her coffee cup, she said, "Make sure no one's watching."
They both looked around casually, and then she hunched over the cup again, motioning Steve to do the same.
"It's a good thing you can block the view of the table," she said as she started moving her hand over the steaming liquid. She flattened her palm and nothing happened, but then, with a gesture like an octopus swimming, she lifted her hand and the coffee followed her movement. Steve felt his eyes widen as she lowered it back into the paper cup and replaced the lid.
"Also, I can heal people if I have water to drink afterward. That's the whole list." She looked at him for more reaction.
"Well, at least you can defend yourself." Steve knew she might still think he was going to feel fear, but honestly, she wasn't the worst he'd seen. He told her that, "… not even close. Compared to the guy I fought for the Cube, you're a dreamboat."
"Aw, Captain Rogers, you make me blush," she was joking along with him, and for a moment it felt like they hadn't met this morning in order for her to determine his field readiness.
Until it did.
"What's wrong?" she asked in response to his expression, which he felt was probably… strange.
"Nothing. I mean…" Steve was trying to work it out. "This doesn't feel like an appointment."
"It's not, it's just lunch."
"You're psychoanalyzing me."
"Not right now. Or rather, all the time."
"Which one?" He was genuinely confused now.
"Both. I'm not consciously judging your behavior, but if you did something outside the social norm, then I would notice it and analyze that."
"It sounds like I could do this job."
"You probably could, but I'm the one they called in. Also, you can't psychoanalyze yourself." Her eyes were twinkling at him as she took a drink of her coffee, now almost gone. "At least not effectively. And you also are analyzing me. We all analyze others both consciously and subconsciously. It's part of communication."
"So this is what you're studying. In college." Steve felt incredulous that there could be fields of study devoted to such simple topics. Maybe it's not as simple as it sounds?
"Yeah, that and my General Education courses. I mean, if you want, I can tell you about the basics of meteorology or geology, or —"
"How do you report about me to SHIELD?" Steve immediately regretting his rude interruption.
She didn't seem phased by it. "This isn't that kind of meeting, Captain. I'm not evaluating you right now, as I said. We're just getting to know each other. Really, the purpose of this is for you to gather information about me, and whether you want to work with me or not. If you decide that you do want this, then we can figure out where to go from there." She paused, looked away, then smiled back at him, "I'm really winging this. I have no idea what I'm doing. All I know is that Agent Hill called me in on a recommendation, and I accepted."
"So why are you doing this?" Steve asked.
"I really just want to help. I'll probably end up being more like a friend than any kind of therapist. That's why I said if you want a more professional person, I'll understand." She started collecting her empty corndog container and her coffee cup, and Steve did the same and stood with her.
"So, are you bored yet?" she asked, as they turned back toward the Triskelion.
"Not at all," Steve answered. "This is more than I've talked to anyone since I woke up."
"What have you been doing? I know it's only been about what? A week? But you must have found something to pass the time."
Steve let out a somewhat bitter-tasting laugh, "Really, just medical appointments, scientific experiments, and a couple briefings on current events. In my free time I use the gym and try to catch up." He looked down at Miss Engman, who was frowning.
"How many experiments would you say?" she asked.
"Oh, I don't know. A few every day. They're trying to reproduce the serum, and also figure out how I didn't age in the ice." Steve looked at her stern expression. "What about you? You're going to college, and you said something earlier about a boyfriend?"
"Hm?" She appeared to be coming back from a distance. "Oh, yeah. Darren. He's great, the best man in the world. No offense." He half smiled to let her know he wasn't offended, and she smiled back. "He's graduated already, and he works with his dad's company sometimes, doing computer stuff and inventing things, and he works with SHIELD when he feels like it. He's a genius, seriously. But also just really kind and nice, most of the time."
"Most of the time?" Steve wondered if she wasn't too smitten with a rotten guy.
"He's always kind to me. He just gets snarky sometimes when other people won't believe his ideas, or when they ask him for basic tech support. And when I say 'snarky' I mean, he's nice to their faces, but complains about them to me after he's fixed everything." She looked up at him, smiling a different smile now, "He's really the best."
"Sounds like a winner." Steve didn't know how to talk to dames, though Miss Engman was helping him along more than most. They were almost back at the Triskelion anyway, and Miss Engman seemed comfortable with silence, which Steve found surprising and refreshing. He began thinking about the rest of his day, wondering if there were any more tests he'd have to take.
"Here's my ride."
He was pulled back to the present by Miss Engman stopping in front of a small, dull-green car that looked, well, shabbier than the flashy cars in the guest parking lot. It was sitting under the shade of a tree. Under the tree lay a large, black dog. Steve thought it looked more like a wolf he'd seen in Europe, and it stood upon Miss Engman's approach and looked at him menacingly. It had the strangest blue eyes, and Steve wondered if it was blind. Miss Engman continued unlocking her car as the dog started coming towards them, loping with its head down, teeth slightly bared.
Definitely not blind, then.
Steve was about to grab Miss Engman's arm to put himself between her and the dog, when it loped up and got between them, still glaring.
"Here, Jet. Oh," she glanced from the dog to Steve. "Jet, be nice. Look," she stepped back to Steve, patting him on the upper arm, "see? Nice human. Not a threat."
The dog sniffed at Steve's pant leg disdainfully before hopping into the car. It sat in the passenger seat, pointedly not looking at either of them.
"Sorry, that's Jet." She looked at the dog, then back to Steve apologetically. "He's a great friend. Very protective. We go everywhere together."
"Part wolf?" Steve asked. He was honestly curious.
"Um, no, but something wild I suppose." Miss Engman smiled, then took her backpack from him. "It was great meeting you, Captain Rogers."
"Thanks, it was a pleasure, ma'am." Steve wondered who he'd tell if he wanted her to be his therapist-person-thing.
"Just Eleanore, please. Or Elle, if you're comfortable with that. Have a great day, Captain Rogers, and I'll maybe see you later!" she swept into the car, hitting the dog with her pack, probably on purpose as she laughed at its expression of disgust.
Steve watched her drive away. The window was down, and he thought he heard her say, "We have to work on your people skills," to the dog before she was on the main road.
Inwardly grinning, Steve headed back into the Triskelion's main reception area, where he strode up to the front desk.
"Captain Rogers, how can I help you?" the question came not from the receptionist, but from Agent Hill, who had seemingly appeared from thin air to stand behind him.
Steve turned to face her, "My answer is yes. I'd like to work with Miss Engman."
"Excellent," Agent Hill's face didn't waiver. "I'll alert her to get in touch with you within the next couple of days."
"Captain Rogers!" a voice sounded across the main room, causing Steve to flinch. He'd come to know it all too well, along with some others over the past few days.
A puffy, short man with wispy white hair panted up to his side. "Captain Rogers, there you are! We've been wanting to run a few more tests on you today, if you're available?"
"Well, it seems you're in good hands. Good day, Captain." And with that, Agent Hill abandoned him to the scientists and doctors, who claimed his time for the rest of the afternoon.