This chapter takes place sometime in the spring after the alien invasion in New York.
Steve has been working for S.H.I.E.L.D. since then, mostly with Natasha. He has about a year until Winter Soldier.
Cassandra Cain (Wayne) is eighteen. She refuses to tell me what she was doing in New York City, she's a lot like Natasha that way.
I own neither the Batfamily nor the Avengers
New York is still a resilient city, Steve is pleased to note. Less than a year later the cafe is up and running as though it had never been nearly destroyed by an alien invasion.
Every table is occupied, he is dismayed to see. He's just come off three consecutive, rough missions and he'd barely been able to convince Agent Sitwell to give him a stop-over in New York on the way back to D.C. He didn't have long. A couple of the tables have empty chairs, one of them his usual table, the one with the best view of the skyline. One chair is empty, the other occupied by a young woman in her late teens or early twenties, reading. After a moment's hesitation, he approaches, aware of the fact that he is clutching his sketchbook in front of him like a shield. (not his shield, just a shield)
He stops a couple of steps away, really not wanting to loom over her, he knows he can be physically intimidating, he uses it to his advantage all the time in the field and when dealing with the politicians and bureaucrats, but he doesn't want to threaten a civilian. She looks up from her book and smiles at him.
Steve tenses slightly. Despite the smile, he feels like squirming under her gaze. There is something about her dark eyes that makes him feel as though she is seeing right through him into his very soul. Like a combination of Director Fury, Natasha, Peggy, and his mother, all put in one 5'5", 100-115 Lb. package. His instincts are screaming at him that this petite girl has the potential to be very dangerous.
"May I help you?" she is incredibly precise in the way she talks. She doesn't have an accent exactly, but Steve is pretty sure that English is not her first language. He smiles nervously back, trying to relax the muscles that have tensed even further under her scrutiny. He doesn't ignore the warning tingle of 'danger', but he resolves not to initiate conflict and hope he's just being paranoid as a result of too many covert missions.
"Um." He allows the stutter he has all but lost to re-emerge. (Not difficult outside of combat and official situations.) "I was hoping you would be alright with me sitting here." He gestures to the empty seat across from her, somehow knowing that his timid actions do not fool her. "All the other tables are full." He holds up his sketchbook. "I don't want to bother you, I just-"
"You may sit." She mercifully cuts off his ramblings and smiles again, softer this time, lifting her tea cup and taking a sip, the familiar aroma and gesture combining to remind Steve painfully of Peggy.
Physically, there is no resemblance between Peggy's soft brown (silver) curls and light blue eyes, and this girls jet black hair and eyes even darker. Peggy's fine English features and the Asian (Chinese he thinks) origins of…He doesn't know her name.
"I'm Steve." He introduces himself as he sits down, setting out his pencils and opening his sketchbook.
"Cassandra." Her smile has taken on a slightly mischievous cast, as if she is aware of his awkwardness and is amused by it.
Despite the superficial outer differences, she really does bear a strong resemblance to Peggy. There is an air about her, a confidence. Not arrogance, but a simple knowledge of her own capabilities and a no nonsense attitude. A sort of stillness that does not mean she is lazy, but rather as if she is merely resting until it is time to spring into action once more. The sparkle in her eye is the same too.
"Good book?" he asks. She reminds him so much of Peggy as she used to be that he can't bear to not talk to her. She holds the book up so he can see the cover. Prince Caspian, by C.S. Lewis.
"Very good." Her smile is small and sad now. "They are in a place that is both…familiar...and strange." The wistful way she says the words, despite her strange cadence, does not help with the way they twist something inside Steve.
"I know what that's like." He says quietly.
She nods. "It is hard. Being a soldier in-between battles."
He nods back, not questioning her understanding. "It's like looking at something you want with all your heart but know you can never have."
"There is…always another struggle. Rest, then more enemies." She continues, they are speaking in low tones, so that the people, the families and couples and simple people at the other tables around them will not overhear. Steve starts doodling on a blank page.
"It is not all bad," she adds. "Not if you find companions…friends, family."
He thinks of Peggy and Howard and Bucky and the Commandos and the Avengers and has to fight not to snap the pencil in two. There is a gentle touch as she rests her hand on his. He meets her eyes, too old for her face.
"They can show you how to…adjust?" her forehead crinkles on the last word. "That is correct, adjust?" He nods, mutely and she pats his hand before pulling back. "They can teach you how to live in-between."
She returns to her book and her tea and Steve absently receives his order of coffee from the waitress and sketches. And thinks.
He doesn't draw any of his usual subjects. Instead, he captures the look of concentration on Cassandra's face as she slowly reads her book, her lips sometimes moving as she sounds out words to herself. He finishes three quick sketches and gives her the best one before she leaves.