A/N: Sorry about the weird site issue yesterday, folks. If you weren't able to access the new chapters, try again now. I think the problem is fixed. If they won't open for you, let me know and I'll try to repost them. I'm also cross-posting the story to Ao3, so you should be able to catch up there soon. Aaaand off we go.

Once he's given the museum a mountain of anecdotes and information on Bucky Barnes to pick through, the next subject they tackle is Steve himself. Particularly, growing up.

"First of all, while I get why you wanted to go with the 'wholesome all American boy' angle - I do. Just-... wow." Rogers leans back in his chair and shakes his head. "You skipped my entire arrest record." He snorts a small laugh at his own expense. "I get that it'd take up a whole wall. I mean… that thing could've doubled as a set of encyclopedias."
He'd gotten picked up for a little of everything, back then. Fighting, protesting the 'wrong' causes, shooting off his mouth to the wrong people, trespassing, even 'harboring a criminal' once… That whole thing had been a huge mess and Bucky'd given him hell about it for weeks after.
The Captain's chin raises just a little defiantly when he continues, feeling suddenly defensive. Steve Rogers may have been something of a delinquent, but he had his reasons. "I didn't raise hell just for fun, y'know. Just... Somebody had to stand up." Mrs. Rogers had always told him that, even as she iced his bruises.
"My mama raised me to do what was right, and what's right ain't always what's popular. You always gotta stand up for the right thing."

"You…" Hanson's brain stumbles over this information, eyes going wide and his jaw falling open. He's not even listening to Rogers' justifications. This simply does not compute. "You had an arrest record?!"

Steve's eyebrow climbs incredulously.
"... Of course I did." He stares back at the curator. "Got into a fist-fight at least once a week, and sometimes they pressed charges, even if I didn't get a single lick in. And I got picked up at… Christ, I don't know how many demonstrations. They started calling me 'the sign mick' at the police station after a while. Got to know me real well-"
Hanson's eyes are the size of saucers and he looks like he'd faint dead away if a stiff breeze caught him right now. Steve blinks. "...What? You act like this is some kind'a crazy news-"
He stops mid-sentence and whistles lowly through his teeth when realization sets in. "They scrubbed it all out when the serum worked…" he mutters distractedly, "They scrubbed my entire fucking record clean like I was some kinda goddamned boy scout… I can't decide if I'm flattered or offended."

Doug's jaw has got to be scraping the floor. Not only has Rogers got an impressive sounding rap sheet -oh, no- he also swears like a sailor when he gets worked up over something. ...And picks up quite the Brooklyn accent too.
Elocution lessons, Hanson realizes. Of course they'd have trained their golden-boy until he could talk like a politician. He makes a frantic mental note to come back to this later, when his stomach has stopped trying to dig its way to China by dropping through his shoes.

"I'm… I'm not sure we want to put an unverifiable criminal record into your exhibit, Captain…" the curator murmurs faintly, trying very hard to make his voice stop squeaking like that.

Rogers eyes him appraisingly. Finally he nods.
"I guess…" he shrugs. "Can you at least cut it out with the 'well-behaved goody-goody' thing everybody's pushing about me, though? It's a little creepy… I mean, I was a rowdy little bastard as a kid, and I'll own that. I sure as hell wasn't any good at just sittin' around doin' whatever I was told.
Bucky could-" he hangs up on the name for half a second, but pushes past the leaden weight it dredges up in his chest and continues as if he doesn't feel a thing, "Buck could tell you what a pain in the ass I was."
A deep grounding breath and then he shifts gears.
"While we're on the subject, I didn't say half the garbage people seem to think I did. ...How about we just fix that for now and call it good?"

"Right ...that sounds great…" Doug makes himself remember how to breathe, opening a fresh document on the screen in front of him. "So, uh... what statements are wrongly attributed to you? Let's start there."

"Aw loads of stuff." Steve sighs. "For starters, I don't hate Jews. Some'a the kids we played with when I was able to go out were jews. Nice guys, but they had big mouths - like us. I thought we'd get killed a couple times getting into it with the bigger kids. We got in so much trouble together. ...Isaac and Aaron Himmelfeld, I think their names were. Moved away when I was eight. Kinda lost touch… Oh, and we had at least a couple'a jewish neighbors in our building. Mrs. Goldstein was this old widow-woman, lived down the hall from us. She was just the sweetest lady. Used to make soup for me when I was sick… which was often. A lot of people did, actually, but hers was some of the best."

Steve had been about ready to set someone on fire when he'd stumbled across an article (a long, ranty, poorly written article at that) about how much 'Captain America would hate the diversity of this country'. How he'd have sent all these 'unwelcome foreigners' packing if he were alive today. It hadn't had anything much better to say about 'the gays' ...or Mexicans, for some reason… he still hasn't quite figured out what folks problem with Mexico is. The amount of similarly ignorant drivel was part of what had spurred him to come here in the first place. He'd needed to set the record straight.
"And while we're on the subject," he continues, "I got nothing against colored people, women, queers, or other countries. Not a damned thing. They aren't hurtin' anybody. What I don't like is bullies."

Hanson makes another mental note that he needs to inform Rogers just how offensive some of those old-fashioned terms have become, but he's got a bigger point he wants to address first.
"But you did famously hate the Germans, Captain-"

Two massive hands suddenly slam down on the desk between them, leaving twin dents in its acrylic surface. Rogers' eyes are blazing fire.
"Dr. Erskine was German." the Captain snarls, teeth all but bared. "That man was kind and brilliant, and he was fucking murdered for trying to make the world a better place!"
Steve is on his feet and halfway leaned across the desk before he realizes that Hanson has backed up several feet and looks petrified… like he's ready to run for his life. Steve sits numbly back down and tries not to loom.
"... Sorry. Sorry. That was out of… I just…" he heaves a tired sigh and tries again. "No, I don't hate Germans." He cards a hand wearily through his hair. "Yeah, I hate Nazis. I hate HYDRA. I hate people who hurt other people for fun, or for money, or just because. I hate bullies." He takes a deep breath and holds it for a few seconds until the fire in his belly has died down a little. He doesn't want to be the person that Doug Hanson is looking at him like right now. "I don't hate people unless they give me a reason to." he adds quietly.
Steve pauses and takes another deep breath. He's having a harder time keeping his cool than he used to, and that's … well, that's saying something.
"Look, I used to get a lot of shit because I was a little guy. 'Cause I was sick all the time or I didn't wanna keep my mouth shut. I ain't gonna do that to anybody else."
God, he must look pathetic right now. He certainly feels it.

Hanson just swallows hard, tries to keep his composure, and nods.

They take a break for lunch. Steve doesn't come back for a good three hours.
He doesn't lose his temper again.