Set the day after Roots and Anchors Chapter 91 Shifting Foundations. Steve and Dave are going to the ballpark. Lord help us all, because what I know about baseball is going to make these boys cry.

Disclaimer- While Davey Johnson, Scott Hairston, and other players mentioned by name are real people, all I know about them is what some cursory research online included. Consider my versions to be "mirror universe" people with personalities, beliefs, and characters entirely different from the ones in our reality. The ones in this story are as real as Steve Rogers and the rest of the gang.

Special thanks to Qweb for alerting me to Scott Hairston's existence and family legacy. I am grateful to Holsvick for double checking the baseball related stuff, so it all sounded right. Any remaining mistakes are mine.

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"I hope you don't mind me bringing the van. Beth and I thought it might blend in better." Dave said as Steve got in the passenger side of his work van and closed the door, shrugging off a backpack and putting it next to his shield case by his feet before putting his seatbelt on and resting his hand on his crutches.

"The hired help is always invisible. I'm sorry—"

"Shut up and shove your stuff in the back. There's no reason you need your crutches in your lap." Dave shook his head as he put the van back into drive and pulled back into traffic. "Putting one over on any paps stalking around your place makes me happy. Any other failings of society are not your fault. Even if they were, taking me to meet the players more than makes up for it."

"The invitation was for both of us."

"I'm not the one going viral for being called to work after hours. I've done plenty of after-hours jobs and no one cares. It only makes headlines if it's a white boy with a fancy frisbee having to leave his playdate early."

Steve laughed. "What am I supposed to even say to that?"

"Nothing. 'Cause it's the truth and you know it! That said, if they want to include me in their little feel-good PR show, I'm all in. First row seats behind home plate and vouchers for unlimited food and drinks? They found my price. Who knows, maybe they'll even fill you up." Dave glanced over and shook his head. "Stop that line of thought right there, Steve. They can afford it. Besides, any dent you make to their bottom line with your appetite is nothing compared to the money they'll try to make off of the PR show. So you're going to eat as many hot dogs as you want and you will get Cracker Jack at the start of every inning, got it?"

"Okay."

"Did you happen to pack more pain medication in that bag of yours?"

"I did, Mom. I also brought sunscreen."

"Good. Now open the glove compartment and grab the package inside."

Steve couldn't read Dave's expression, but obeyed. "Is it buried under old insurance cards?"

"No, I cleaned all those out this afternoon to make room."

There was a flat package there, wrapped in plain blue paper. Steve took it out.

"That's the one. Go ahead and open it."

Steve did, carefully unfolding it at the end, only to find the contents didn't slide out.

"Damn old people. Just tear the paper already. I got the kind that you can recycle."

"Cellophane tape can't be recycled, I bet."

"Do I need to pull over?"

Steve smiled, shaking his head slightly as he tore the paper away to reveal a leather covered pocket journal and small fountain pen. The dark brown leather was buttery soft and kept closed with a small leather tie and bead slider. He opened the cover and discovered the notebook inside could be taken out and replaced once the pages were full. The small pen fit perfectly inside the cover, and the cap, when posted, made the pen full sized to write with. Not that he dared try writing, as blurry as his vision was becoming. "Thank you," he managed to whisper.

He felt Dave's hand briefly clasp his shoulder. "You and Bucky got a lot of pleasure out of your record keeping and mock games. Seems to me that keeping those records again might keep him closer. It's not the same, no. It won't ever be the same. Doesn't mean you have to give up the habit. If it's too much to think about, use them for something else. No hard feelings on my part."

"Night before he shipped out, he said he was taking me to the future. He dragged me to the Stark expo where Howard revealed his flying car."

"People drive like idiots in 2D. I don't think going 3D is a good idea."

"You're right. It sure was cool to see that car lift off the ground, even if it crashed right back down again."

"I take it Bucky liked science?"

"And math. It's partly what made him such a good sniper. He loved reading the pulps, too. Space travel, aliens, flying cars… he loved it all."

"And baseball."

"And baseball."

"Fun fact for you. When they landed on the moon the first time, the ball games across the country stopped for the announcement. I read in the paper that a lot of the players had a hard time switching gears. They were focused on the game and when everything stopped for the news, it messed up their concentration. Fans in the stands were going nuts, but the players were just standing around irritated."

"Makes sense."

"Perfect summary of the human condition: getting so bogged down in the work we forget to stop and enjoy ourselves."

Steve nodded.

"Today, we're going to take time to stop and breathe."

Steve just closed his eyes tightly and nodded agreement.

"What are you doing?" Steve asked as Dave pulled up to the curb near the home plate entrance.

"Dropping you off at the entrance before I park."

"I can—"

"Say thank you and get out is what you can do. Or you can sit here and argue, only to end up getting out before I park. Your call. Even if they have valet parking, I am not trusting some teenager with my work van."

Dave seemed to be frustratingly immune to his glare. "Fine." With a sigh, Steve grabbed his crutches from behind Dave's seat and slung his backpack over one shoulder, then followed it with the strap to his shield case.

"See that bench over there? Go park your backside on it. I get that you don't want to advertise your injuries. Save your energy for the fun stuff."

"You've been hanging around Megan too much."

Dave tilted his head slightly and looked right into his soul. "Maybe you just need more friends who really see you."

Sitting on the bench, Steve took off his ball cap and traced his fingers over the white embroidered B. If he closed his eyes, it was so easy to recall games at Ebbets Field. The sound of the bat hitting the ball. The roar of the crowd. The smell of grass, sunshine, and sweaty bodies crammed into the stadium. The taste of Cracker Jack when he and Bucky saved their money to splurge. It was as vivid as yesterday and forever out of reach.

He was grateful to Dave for inviting him to a game. Their developing friendship was something he treasured. Having another couple to do things with was a blessing he didn't take for granted. And yet….

Bucky was supposed to be there with him.

It sure would have been nice to have three couples, not two. Or better yet, four, so they could get some card games going, too. Four normal couples, getting together to play cards and hang out. He could see Dave and Beth fitting so easily into that dynamic. Steven and Megan. Bucky and some fancy dame. It would sure be nice.

He saw Dave heading down the sidewalk towards him and shoved his hat back on his head. He sent a text to the number he'd been given to let them know they had arrived and stood up. It was time to move forward.

"Uh uh. Don't do that yet."

"What?"

"You're putting on the Cap persona. I came here with Steve Rogers."

Steve sighed. "Sorry."

"You think I don't code switch? I'm just reminding you who the real baseball fan is. They'll expect Cap and if that's who you want to give them, that's your choice. Just make sure it's a choice."

"Captain Rogers, Davey Johnson. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Steve shook the offered hand. "Pleasure's all ours. This is my friend, David Malone."

"Mr. Johnson, thank you for including me in the invitation."

"From the posts on Instagram, your day at the park didn't go as planned, either. It's nice to host a loyal a National's fan," Davey said as he eyed Steve and Dave's ball caps.

Dave laughed at the friendly jab. "I grew up in DC. It's not fair to expect Steve to give up his home team when I feel the same about my home team. Maybe in time, he'll consider the Nats a worthy surrogate."

Davey nodded. "Well, we're not the Yankees and the owners have no plans to move us to California, so maybe we stand a chance." He eyed Steve's crutches. "I didn't realize you'd been injured. I'd arranged a tour of the facilities for you both to start things out. Tom here is head of the office that runs the tours." Davey gestured to the young man who had hung back a bit.

"Just a banged-up knee. I'm supposed to stay off it for a few days is all." Steve deflected attention from his injury and held out his hand. "Nice to meet you, Tom…"

"Tom Garcia, sir. Welcome to Nationals Park. It's truly an honor." Tom turned to Dave and shook his hand warmly. "Ever do the tour as a school field trip, Mr. Malone?"

"A couple of times."

"Today's will be better, I promise."

"I'm going to leave you in Tom's care for now and catch up to you later. I hope you enjoy your day with us."

For once, Steve didn't have to fake his smile. "The pleasure is all ours, sir. Any day at the ballpark is a good day."

Davey held the door for Steve and the others before waving goodbye as he headed off to do game-day prep. The security guard got up from his stool, frowning slightly. "Backpack's not permitted—"

Tom held up his hand and gave the guard a sharp look. "Captain Rogers isn't a security risk."

Sensing the tension, Steve stepped forward and pulled his Cap persona to the fore. "I never think less of a man for doing his job. Here, let me show you what I brought." With that, he slung his shield case off his back and unzipped it. "Go ahead and take it out. You're not going to damage it."

"Sir?"

The guard looked at him in disbelief, then glanced at Tom for permission. At Tom's nod, he lifted the shield out of the fabric sleeve and held it in trembling hands. "It's heavier than I expected."

"Twelve pounds of vibranium alloy, plus the leather straps." Steve said easily. "Got your phone on you?"

"No, sir."

"I'll take the pictures," Dave said as he took his phone out of his pocket. "Steve, if you hand Mr. Garcia your crutches, I can frame it so the leg brace doesn't show."

Steve wanted to hug Dave. Instead, he balanced on one foot and handed his crutches to Tom. "What's your name, son?"

"Jonathan, sir." The man trembled a bit, so Steve put his hand on his shoulder and held the shield up between them so Dave could get the photograph.

Once that was done, Tom handed him back his crutches.

"Tell me your cell number and I'll send this to you right now," Dave said, flipping his camera around to show Jonathan the photograph.

"My older brother is never going to believe this." He shook his head once and rattled off a number.

"The hardest thing about working security is the boredom when you have to be ready for the unexpected. What you do may not be glamorous, but it's important."

"Thank you, sir."

"It's my pleasure," Steve said, offering his hand to shake. At that moment, a golf cart arrived. Steve saw Tom thank the driver and dismiss them before Steve had a chance to greet them. He made a mental note and noticed Dave's slight frown. They were apparently in agreement. "It was nice meeting you. Maybe we'll see you again on our way out."

"Thank you both."

Tom gestured to the golf cart. "Hop in."

"Take the front, Dave. I'll have an easier time in the back." It wasn't entirely a lie. It was easier to swing his left leg up onto the seat. The glance Dave gave him, though, said Dave knew Steve was making sure his friend was treated equally well.

"I'm going to start us out on the main concourse. This stadium was completed and had its official opening on March 30, 2008. Over half of the crowd can walk into their seats from street level without having to go up or down stairs or ramps. We're fully ADA compliant and always looking to improve…."

Steve tuned out the official spiel Tom was rattling off and just looked around, trying to take it all in. The gleaming glass and steel were a far cry from his beloved Ebbets Field, but the love of the game was central in this modern building. Dave and Tom chatted about significant players from recent years and names they talked about were mostly unfamiliar. It didn't bother him. The Nationals were Dave's team, not his.

"… batting cages." Tom said as he parked the cart and turned it off. "Normally, these are off limits on game-day. But today's different."

"We don't want to interfere with the players' routines before the game," Steve said.

"Speak for yourself! If the Nats lose tonight, we can just blame you for the disruption." Dave said as he jumped out of the cart. "If we disrupt the Mets and help the Nats win, all the better."

Tom waved for Dave to go in, and Dave did, holding the door open for Steve to follow him. "Gentlemen, we have Captain Rogers and Dave Malone as our guests of honor today. I've been giving them a tour of the facilities."

Steve noticed there were four players in the room, two of them watching while the other two were practicing their swings. One was using a tee, while the other was using an automated ball pitcher. The moment they recognized Steve, the atmosphere changed.

"Does the mucked-up leg mean you get to stay for the whole game at least?" One of the players asked. He'd been leaning against the wall watching his teammate.

Steve laughed. "That's the plan." He held out his hand. "Steve Rogers. Nice to meet you."

"Yunesky Maya." Ynuesky turned to Dave and shook his hand warmly. "Welcome…"

"Dave Malone. It's a real thrill to meet you in person. I've followed your career a long time."

"Baseball has blessed me with opportunities."

"You made the most of them with hard work."

"Sí. Come. You must both try batting. Zach, may we?"

So began another round of introductions and handshakes. Dave seemed to be enjoying it, which helped. This was his team, and these were his players. If pretending he loved the spangle circuit made the experience possible for Dave, it was worth doing. It was worth it even though it meant ignoring how hungry he was getting, and not revealing he was uninterested in endless handshakes. Steve held back deliberately, letting Yunesky and Zach shepherded Dave into the batting cage.

"You've played a lot of ball." Yunesky said after Dave took his first swing and made a solid hit.

Dave signed, then nodded. "Yeah. Got offered a spot in the minor leagues after high school."

Steve straightened up a bit. He hadn't known that.

"You turned it down."

Dave took another swing before answering the Cuban native. "I grew up on baseball and the math of baseball." He glanced over his shoulder. "Maybe not as much as you, Steve, but I did my fair share of math."

"And the minor leagues' pay is shit." Zach offered, nodding his understanding.

"A man has to eat," Yunesky added quietly.

"I have no regrets. I'm growing my own business doing honest work. I'm engaged to an amazing woman. I'm not getting beaten up on the regular like blondie, here." That set off a round of chuckles. "I have food in my fridge and a roof over my head." He handed the bat back to Zach. "And today, I got to hang out a bit with my team. I'm good."

With that, Dave turned to Steve. "How about you? Going to take a turn?"

Steve shook his head. "I never got to play as a kid. Going after you will just make me look silly, and that's before we add in my accessories." He gestured at this leg brace and crutches.

"You never played baseball growing up?" the man who'd introduced himself as Bryce Harper asked.

"My friend Bucky and I played catch now and then when I was having a good day. Batting practice, much less trying to run bases, would just set off my asthma."

Bryce gestured to Steve's hat. "Did you go see a lot of games?"

"When we could. Usually didn't have the money. The Daffiness Boys were lousy players, but they were ours. "

"How about radio?"

Steve grinned. "They didn't start broadcasting the games on the radio until '39. Even if they had, I grew up in the slums. We didn't have radios. What we did have were the box scores and old newspapers."

"I'm heading up to the clubhouse for lunch," Yunesky said. "Can I interest either of you?"

"Yes!" Dave piped up immediately. "And that's a double yes for you, Steve." He turned back to the players. "You know how many calories you need as an athlete, and he's levels above that."

"That must really suck," Zach commented. The others agreed.

Steve shrugged. "No point complaining about things we can't control."

"So far, the sales pitch for being an Avenger is not sounding very glamorous." Tom observed as he held the door open for Steve. "You get called to fight mid-game on your day off, get beaten to a pulp on a regular basis, and are perpetually hungry."

"We stopped the Nazis from taking over the world, which is exactly what I signed up to do."

Tom shook his head. "Still not selling it."

"I get to spar with the Black Widow."

"Better. Ever win?"

Steve laughed. "Never."

"I think I can speak for everyone here when I say we'll stick with baseball."

"To be honest, I would, too."

During lunch, conversation stayed casual and light. There was some minor gossip, a bit of trash talk, and mostly, players coming in and messing on their phones while they ate. Even Dave seemed more interested in his phone than his food, which seemed unlike him, but maybe he was just following the lead of the players. Steve focused on his food. A foot-long sub with all the toppings was doing a decent job of quieting his stomach.

Finally, Dave sighed and nudged him. "Will you check your messages?"

Steve just raised an eyebrow but got out his phone. He'd put it on silent for a reason.

"Don't look at me like that."

"I'm trying not to be rude! Everyone always has their phones out."

"I'm trying to protect your privacy, old man."

Steve opened his messages. Are you okay with me showing Davey Johnson the photo I took of your Ebbets Field poster and telling him about what you and Bucky did? He's big into stats… he'd totally appreciate what you two did as kids. Others will overhear the convo. If you'd rather keep that to yourself, I understand. Regardless, photo won't leave my phone.

Dave's sensitivity sent a wave of gratitude through his body, and he nodded once. "It's fine."

You don't understand what a big deal your game was. That was a huge undertaking.

Steve just shrugged and put his phone away. "If you say so." There was no way to explain how mundane it really was. It was just something he and Bucky had developed as kids who loved the game. There was nothing better to fill a long afternoon in bed than plotting out a baseball game with his best friend.

Dave got up and headed over to where Davey was sitting down with a salad and sandwich. "Mr. Johnson, I have a story to share, and I think you are one of the few people who can really value the undertaking."

Steve leaned back in his seat, shaking his head.

"You disagree?" Zach asked from beside him as he continued to demolish his own large sandwich.

"Dave means well. But he's overly excited by what Bucky and I got up to as kids interested in player stats." Steve could hear Dave explaining the poster and notebooks in low tones.

"Seriously?" Johnson looked from Dave's phone, over at Steve, then back to the phone.

"Perhaps it is you who lacks perspective," Bryce observed. "They certainly seem to think Mr. Malone is telling a worthy tale."

"Rogers, am I to understand you and your friend basically created fantasy baseball when you were ten years old?" Mr. Johnson turned around in his seat and looked at Steve with a piercing gaze. "Using chart after chart filled with calculations, you two worked out with a slide rule?"

"It was a good way to fill an afternoon. I wasn't able to play with the other kids."

"Lord have mercy, we're going to get another stats lecture," Zach mumbled, crossing himself.

"I am constantly dealing with idiots wouldn't grasp the brilliance of this even if they'd heard it from God. Hell, I get harassed all the damn time for using stats to optimize the lineup. No one listens to me!" He gestured at Dave's phone. "Yet a pair of kids, using a slide rule, could see the value. Vindication is what this is. It's vindication!"

"I knew you, of all people, would value what they did." Dave added, gesturing at Steve as he talked. "He walked me through a mock inning last evening. Blew me away."

"Would you be able to do that now? Just a few plays?" Davey asked. "I'm intrigued. And maybe seeing it in action will get me a few converts on the team."

"Sure. I just need paper and something to write with." He wasn't willing to pull out the gifts from Dave for this. The gift was for him, not the crowd.

A tablet and pen were placed in front of him. Steve set aside his food with a mental sigh. At least he'd been able to finish most of his sandwich. With any luck, he'd get time to finish it before someone tried to throw it out. Quickly, he re-created the page of plays he had walked Dave through the night before. On a separate sheet of paper, he copied the key grids used to make the predictions, since he had no intention of passing his phone around.

"Gather 'round, gentlemen," Davey ordered his players. Not that he needed to. Everyone had already left seats to stand around Steve, whether or not they were really interested. Dave stood at the periphery with his arms folded, watching it all with a smug look on his face.

"Okay, so in this game, the Dodgers were playing the Chicago Cubs. Gordon Slade was at bat. Guy Bush was pitching. The actual game was played on July 14, 1932."

"Were you there?"

Steve didn't see who asked, but shook his head. "Wrigley Field was too much of a hike for a couple of 14-year-old Brooklyn boys."

As he walked the guys through the plays, part of him was back in his bedroom with Bucky. The day was hot, and Steve was sitting on the floor near the window, shoulder to shoulder with Bucky as they argued about who should bat next. He narrated on autopilot, half-hearing Bucky's voice in his ear. After talking through four batters, he laid the pen down. "That's how it went."

"Who won?"

"Cubs. Though we got the final score up from 1:4 in the live game to 2:4 in ours. We had a better batting order. The math supports it."

"Vindication, like I said." Davey commented.

"At least we didn't have that crappy designated hitter rule to contend with." Steve let his exasperation show. "If you can't bat, why are you on the team? It was bad enough finding out the Dodgers moved to LA. When I watched my first game with a designated hitter, I had to shut the tv off."

From the groans and laughter around him, Steve knew it had been the perfect comment to get the attention back on present day baseball. Dave, given how hard he was laughing, knew it, too.

As he polished off the last of his meal, he felt eyes on him. Anxious eyes. The man fidgeted, weight going from foot to foot.

"Go ahead and ask. I don't bite," Steve said softly. He was all too familiar with this dance.

The man's shoulders slumped. "I feel like I'm nine years old again."

"Playing with your friends, pretending to be the Howling Commandos?" Steve kept his voice as gentle as he could. "Best group of men one could ever hope to go to war with."

"Kurt Zuzuki," the man said, huffing a sigh and holding out his hand. "And yeah, James Morita was my favorite, for obvious reasons."

"You're a Fresno native or expert marksman?"

Kurt laughed a bit, shaking his head. "I was born in Hawaii, actually. Never even learned to speak Japanese." The bitterness in his voice was plain.

"I'm the son of Irish immigrants. The only reason I speak Gaelic is because of a multigenerational oath started by my great-grandmother, who hated the English and how they tried to wipe out her culture. I hear what you're saying." Steve smiled. "I think I also know what you want to ask."

He reached down to his feet and opened the zipper, then pulled out the shield. "Yes, of course I brought it." He held it out and waited for Kurt to take it.

Finally, with tear-filled eyes, he did at the same time as he dropped into the chair across from Steve. Gravity did funny things to people when they held the shield.

"Everyone here today is welcome to hold it and get pictures. It's seen a lot." He nodded at Kurt's hands. "As far as the other question you're not asking, all the Howling Commandos held it and used it at one time or another. We practiced throwing it between us, so we had the option in battle. It's been used as a sled, travois, shovel, axe, and frying pan, among other things. It still has the original leather straps."

Kurt wiped tears from his eyes. "I'm sorry. It's just—"

Steve shook his head sharply. "No apologies. Symbols matter, as you well know. Morita's family was imprisoned in the camps. More than once, soldiers we encountered judged his loyalty based on his looks, and we took great pleasure making our views clear to them as we sent them slinking back under the rocks they lived under. I'd hoped we'd be further along on that front by now."

"Me, too."

"You're doing your part. There are kids who look up to you just like you looked up to the Howlies. Use that power as best you can and help them see a better future."

Davey came over and looked down at the shield Kurt was reverently touching. Steve saw his gaze soften just a bit, and he smiled before turning his attention to Steve. "We're heading down for batting practice. Are you up to throwing some pitches? I know the guys would love it, but if you're too banged up, we're all adults."

"As long as no one asks me to run bases, I'm fine. I do want to use the radar gun in the bullpen first, so I can make sure I'm pitching at an expected speed."

"We can do that. How fast can you pitch?"

Steve shook his head. "I don't want to risk damaging the back wall."

Kurt stood up, lifting the shield up. "I've seen clips of you throwing this like it's light, and it's not. How much does it weigh?

"Twelve pounds."

"Yeah, let's not take out the back wall," Davey agreed. "Group photo okay?"

"Of course. And any individual photos the guys may want with the shield are fine, too. But I'm offering all the same to the Mets as well, one New Yorker to another."

Davey grinned at that. "Fair enough. At least they aren't the Yankees."

"Man, don't get him started!" Dave added as he joined them. "His rants about the Dodgers leaving town are bad enough." He glanced at Steve. "Have you ever tried to see how fast your pitches are?"

Steve shook his head as he stood up and took hold of his crutches. "I can ask Tony to rig something so I can find out."

"YouTube will be grateful for the revenue." He held up a hand when he saw Steve wrinkle his nose. "You can set it up so funds also get directed to your foundation. As a lifelong ball fan? I'd watch the heck out of that even if I didn't know you."

"The man has a point," Davey said, giving Dave a nod. "You'd do well to listen to him. Tom will take you both down to the ballpen. I'll see you on the pitching mound."

Steve turned to Kurt and pointed to the shield. "Do me a favor and see that this gets down there, too?"

Kurt took an abrupt step back. "I can't—"

"You can. I do advise against riding it down the stairs. It works, but the ride down tends to rattle your teeth out of your head and scratches the paint."

"I want to hear that story, Steve," Dave said, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Badly."

"Which one? I've ridden the shield down the stairs more than once."

Dave squeezed his shoulder. "Anyone ever tell you that you are a child in an adult body?"

"Are you sure you've never met Natasha? You're sounding a lot like Natasha."

"Not yet. Thor was nice, though. I never thought about plumbing systems on other worlds, but we had quite the conversation the night he brought Beth home."

Steve worked hard to keep a straight face as the other ball players watched them with various expressions of disbelief. Having Dave with him to lighten the mood and keep him from being reduced to a dancing monkey was invaluable. He needed to find a way to let Dave know how much his approach was helping. Maybe he'd have him help with the YouTube video, if he had any interest in it.

At the bullpen, Steve motioned for Dave to go first.

"There's a spot for both of us, Steve."

Steve took his phone out of his pocket and walked along the edge of the bullpen until he was far enough from Dave to get a full body shot. "After all the games your dad and you came to, don't you think he'd want to watch you enjoying this? Show us what you've got."

"Be ready, Wilson! He gave up an invitation to pitch for the minors out of high school," Zack called to the catcher.

Steve smiled as a few of the other players who'd gathered to watch whistled and shouted encouragement.

"That was years ago!" Steve could tell Dave was a bit rattled by the attention, but also soaking it up. As he kept pitching, Steve tuned out the conversations and focused on the joy radiating from Dave's every pore. It made his fingers itch to capture it in a sketch. Maybe he'd paint it and give it to Dave as a thank you for getting him back to the ballpark.

He came back to the present as Wilson walked over, mitt under his arm, hand extended to Dave. "You're good. I see why the minors were interested."

"Thank you. This was fun."

"Any regrets?"

Dave looked at Wilson carefully. "Not a one." Letting go of the handshake, Dave waved at the stadium. "Do I ever wonder if I'd have ended up here? Sure. I made the best decision I could at the time, so I'm not going to second guess myself like that. All that would do is diminish what I do have, and what I have is good. Real good."

Wilson nodded. "That's a healthy attitude."

Steve joined them. "Peggy gave me the same advice the first time I went to see her. Said we need to live the life we have." He smiled at the two men. "When two very smart people independently develop the same outlook on life, I know it's the right one."

"You up for tossing a few my way?" Wilson asked Steve with a nod at his crutches.

"Once I get the speed set, sure. The first couple are going right into that wall. What's the average ball speed I'm matching?"

"Ninety-five or so."

"Okay. Let me know when you have the radar ready."

"On it."

Steve passed one of his crutches to Dave and kept one under his left arm. When Wilson nodded, Steve let loose. He let the crutch under his left arm take the weight he couldn't put on his left foot as the ball left his hand. Twisting normally had been a mistake, as his ribs reminded him. He kept his face as blank as possible and considered how to adapt.

"One twenty-four mph." Wilson called. "I can tell you were holding back. I really want to see you going all out sometime."

"I promised Davey not to take out the wall."

"I'll pester him to get Tony Stark to set something up," Dave promised.

Steve threw again, taking care to avoid twisting his body and let his arm do the work.

"One oh one."

After a nod from Wilson that he was ready, Steve threw again.

"Ninety. That's perfect."

Steve pitched again, settling into a motion that didn't hurt a whole lot.

"Ninety exactly. You got that locked in?" Wilson gaped at the radar gun's readout.

Steve grinned a bit and nodded. "Actually, I do. Gotta show off somehow. I only know one kind of pitch, not all the different ones Dave can do."

"You've hit the same spot on the wall, too." Zach added. "Every time."

"I have to be accurate with the shield."

"I promise, I'll keep nagging him to set something up with Stark." Steve heard Dave say as Wilson moved into position to catch a few balls.

"We have some Nationals jerseys and hats for you," Davey said as they all gathered by home plate to pose for team photos.

Steve shoved his Dodgers ball cap into his backpack and pasted his PR smile on his face as he accepted the gear. The jersey fit well, which was a nice change. And the hat was adjustable, so he got it to fit with minimal fuss. Dave, meantime, was beaming like he'd won the lottery. "You look happy."

"I feel like a kid on Christmas morning."

His joy was infectious, and Steve soaked it up.

The official photographer was efficient and had them all arranged in no time. Steve and Davey held the shield between them in the center of the front row with Dave standing right next to Steve. Steve didn't fuss, since Dave was in the front row and had players on his other side. He'd only be cropped out in shots that focused on Steve and Davey. In any shots showing the whole team, Dave was going to be seen standing right next to him. It was not as good has having him hold the shield, but a tolerable compromise.

"Stop fretting. They're treating me fine" Dave muttered to him as they all posed.

Steve let out a small sigh. He didn't want anyone to notice his vigilance, least of all Dave. He needed to do better.

With the group photos done, Steve posed with the individual players, letting them each hold the shield. Dave had offered to hold one of his crutches, letting Steve keep the other under his left arm. By twisting a bit so he was mostly facing the player he was taking the photo with, the crutch let him keep his balance without being obvious. It was easy, boring work. Shake the hand, hold up the shield, paste a smile on his face, and pretend this was moment was the culmination of his life's dream.

What made it easier was watching Dave watch the whole process. He was chatting with the other players like they were old friends. That changed the minute the next player moved into place beside Steve. Tenson slid from his shoulders, and he gave the camera his most genuine smile. Duty done, he turned to the player. "Scott Hairston, right?"

Scott's eyes widened a bit, and he nodded.

"Dave, get over here." Steve turned back to Scott. "Dave has been trying to catch me up on the players and history I missed. Your story is one of the first he made sure I knew about. Being a third generation MLB player is quite an accomplishment."

Scott just nodded. Steve turned to the photographer. "Will you please get a shot of these two together for me?" Ignoring Dave's panicked look, he moved aside, tossing the crutch Dave was holding off to the side and put Dave between them, holding the shield. Once Dave was in place, Steve moved out of frame, hopping on his good foot.

"Is he always this bossy?" Scott asked Dave with in a soft-spoken conspiratorial tone.

That broke the tension and Dave threw his head back in laughter. "Only when he's up to something."

Steve shrugged his shoulders and gave Scott his most innocent look. "I'm just here to pose for pictures. Camera's that way, by the way." He added, pointing to the photographer who had been snapping a series of candids.

When the official photo was over, Scott turned to him. "My grandfather took me to a commemorative march at Selma when I was a kid. Gabe Jones made a speech that day and I have a photo of the three us standing by the bridge. I was only eight or so at the time, but he seemed larger than life. He took the time to talk to me, man to man. I never forgot it."

"Was it Sam Hairston or your maternal grandfather who took you?" Dave asked, finding his voice at last.

"Grandad Sam."

"I'm not a bit surprised that Gabe made the time to talk to you. It's just who he was. When he gave you his attention, he gave it fully."

"You do the same thing, Steve."

He turned to Dave, "Who do you think I learned it from?" Scott's brow furrowed at that, and Steve continued. "I grew up invisible. I know what that's like. After the serum, I was in the spotlight and I hated that, too. Gabe and I talked about it. Communication is just as much body language as words. He said if you only listened with your ears, you missed half of what was being said. He taught me how to listen better."

"And you did what he said, just like that." Scott asked.

"He was the multilingual college graduate, not me. When someone smarter than me tells me how I can do better, I listen." He saw Scott and Dave share a look of exasperation he didn't understand, but he let it go. Letting Dave have his moment was more important.

"Anyone ever tell you that you should write a book?" Scott said after studying Steve for another long moment.

"More than once. In fact, I'm working with someone on using my sketchbooks and sharing the stories behind them. It's in the early stages, so don't go running to TMZ."

"That rag? No, I'll take that to the National Enquirer. C'mon, Dave, let's get outta the way so they can get the photoshoot done. Some of us have to work today."

Steve dumped the second crutch on the ground by the pitching mound and accepted the offered glove from Wilson. He'd agreed to pitch once for any player or staffer who wanted to take a swing. If they missed, which was unlikely, he'd pitch a second time. Easy. Two teams, full rosters, plus support staff against his battered knee and broken ribs. Wilson had offered to pass him balls so they could keep things moving and let the teams get their regular batting practice in. He'd looked at Steve's crutches and all but insisted.

Just as he slid the glove onto his hand, Dave appeared at his shoulder. "Give me your bags while you're pitching."

Steve hesitated.

"I'd hope by now you'd trust me." Dave said as he pulled the borrowed glove off of Steve's hand as he talked.

"I do."

"I know you'll never ask, and I know why. I appreciate it. But it's okay. You have enough going on without keeping track of your gear."

"Okay." Steve shrugged off the backpack, then handed over the shield case.

Steve took back the glove and ball, wiggled his fingers in the worn leather. tossed the ball into the pocket a few times, then looked around while the Nats got lined up. "It's been a good day so far. A lot has changed… but this? Wood bat, leather glove, grass, dirt, and a ball. Baseball is still baseball."

"That it is."

"Thanks for giving it back to me."

Dave just gripped his shoulder, a knowing look in his eye and disappeared from view.

Pitching went smoothly. Wilson passed him a ball, he fired it at the catcher's mitt over home plate, and most of the time, that was it. It was easier to hit a ball when you knew exactly what was coming your way. Steve caught a few balls that headed back at him but usually let the net behind him do the work. Behind him, standing behind the net and out of range, he heard Scott and Dave chatting.

"He keeps checking in on you, making sure you're having fun too."

"He's a good guy."

"How bad are his ribs? Broken?"

"What?" Dave's tone was bland.

"He's favoring his left side. After the first pitch in the bullpen to adjust his speed, he's been twisting a lot less and using his arm more. He's hurting and covering. I'd put money on it."

Dave didn't say anything.

"They say not to meet your heroes 'cause you'll just be disappointed." Scott huffed, shook his head. "He's the real deal. Hurting himself to give us a piece of Captain America."

"He's a good man."

"I guess growing up sick, he knows what it's like to have to prove himself. Not like us, but still."

"Yeah. Best part? He knows it's not the same. He never pretends it's the same."

"Think he'll be able to pitch to the rest of them without keeling over?"

Steve flashed them a thumbs up behind his back before pitching again..

"He can hear us? SHIT!"

Dave laughed his carefree laugh. "And now you're cussing in front of an American icon! You should be ashamed of yourself."

Steve flipped him the bird.

"No," Scott said, panicking a bit less. "I think that's pure Steve Rogers yanking my chain."

"You're catching on." Dave agreed.

Steve heard a hand slap on a shoulder. Scott sighed.

"The managers think burying him in swag is going to impress him. I have an idea. C'mon." Scott raised his voice to carry. "Wilson, set aside five balls that get hit into the net, will you? I'm going to need them from you in a bit."

"You got it."

Steve finally found Dave inside the team clubhouse where they were arranging gear on a table set against the wall.

"All done?" Dave asked as he handing Steve his backpack and a new bottle of water.

Steve nodded, chugged the whole bottle of water, then took back the shield, too. Dave had put it back in its case when the Mets had finished taking candids of different players holding it.

"What are you up to?"

Scott handed Steve a sharpie. "We need your autograph. We went to both teams and a lot of guys donated something. That jersey and hat Davey gave you can go in the pile, too. We'll announce a raffle for them in the pre-game intro they were filming. The winners can pick up to three players they want to sign the stuff, too. All the proceeds will be sent to the Sarah and Joseph Rogers Foundation. Best of all, you get to watch the game in the Brooklyn ball cap you wore in, like the real ball fan you are."

Steve bowed his head a moment and took a grounding breath. "How are you going to run the raffle? Are you set up for that?"

"We can send someone out for those double roll tickets. We've got a few hours still."

"I can make the raffle run online. There's no need to pull your staff all into managing it." Steve pulled out his phone. "Ray, I have a project for you if you have a few minutes."

"Certainly," Jarvis answered.

"I'm putting you on speaker, Ray. I'm in the clubhouse with Dave and Scott Hairston." Steve relayed the raffle plans while Scott and Dave listened.

"Use your phone to pan over the items, please. Don't forget to include the jersey and hat you're wearing. In fact, I suggest Dave video you wearing them."

Steve handed the phone to Dave and gave the camera his best USO smile. After that, Dave started filming the items on the table while Steve got the sweaty jersey off.

When Dave was done he handed the phone, still in speaker mode, back to Steve. "Can you pull the shots you need from the video or do you need us to take more pictures?"

"I have what I need, Captain Rogers. I will have the site ready in a few minutes. I'll send the URL to your phone and I will contact the broadcast booth shortly. All you need to do is start autographing the items. I'll take care of the other arrangements.

"Thanks, Ray." Steve said before putting his phone back into his pocket.

Even Dave gaped a bit. "Just like that?"

"Tony set each of the Avengers up with support staff so we can move fast when opportunities present themselves. Ray thrives on the challenge."

Steve turned to Scott. "Before I sign everything, is there an office or small room the three of us could borrow for a few minutes?"

"Sure. This way."

Scott led them to a family restroom. "I'm guessing this is a private conversation, and the stadium has cameras everywhere. It's not glamorous, but I know it's private. What's up?"

Steve set down the shield case on the sink and let the backpack slide off his sweat-soaked shoulders. He looked directly at Scott as he spoke. "The answer is two broken ribs and a lot of bruising. Stark made a numbing agent, and it only lasts a few hours. I was going to ask Dave to help apply the next dose, but it's a messy process and it will be faster and easier with you both swapping out the wrap and applying new painkiller, if you're willing."

"Of course, sir. I never meant…"

"Scott," Steve put a hand on his shoulder. "I heard what you said, and what you didn't. Our journeys are not the same, but I do know what it's like to have to fight to be seen. We both have legacies that put us under the microscope. It's not the same, but not entirely different, either. You looked closely enough today to see me, and I appreciate it."

"And you know he'll not be blabbing about it to anyone else," Dave added, partly to let Steve know they understood the bargain, partly to make sure Scott knew it, too.

"That, too."

"Hope you like purple." Steve grinned a bit and used his right hand to haul his t-shirt over his head by the collar. His whole torso was wrapped in bright blue vet wrap.

"That's blue." Scott noted, eying the bandages.

Using the shield as a counter, Steve opened his backpack and removed the supplies. Nitrile globes, telfa pads, rolls of wrap in different colors, a trash bag, and a tub of blue goo. Steve handed Scott a pair of bandage scissors, handle first. "Put gloves on so Stark's concoction doesn't numb your fingers. All the trash goes out with me. It's too potent to leave lying around and I've heard enough of Tony's rants about DNA to just do what he says. As far as the purple… you'll see," he added with a wink, then held his arms out to his sides.

As they peeled the gooey bandages way from Steve's torso, Scott swore a blue streak while Dave just stuffed the trash into the bag.

"What the hell happened to you? How do you turn your entire torso bright purple and only get two broken ribs?"

"Classified. But, the shield did its job."

"Do I even want to know what you did to your leg?"

"You really don't. Thanks to the serum, I'll heal. I could use another dose of numbing agent on that, too, though."

"You shouldn't have been pitching all those balls for grown men who can deal with a little disappointment. And you sure as hell shouldn't be hobbling around on crutches. How are you even standing upright?"

"I've gotten used to it."

"Used to it." Scott muttered and glanced at Dave. "You've got nothing to say about this?"

"Steve refers to his current condition as, and I quote, 'A bit banged up.' His pain perception is a bit skewed."

"Ya think?"

Steve leaned back into his seat with a happy sigh. It was time to settle in and watch the game. Dave sat down next to him and passed him a hot dog and beer.

"Feeling better?" Dave murmured, referring to his pain.

"Much, thanks. It's been a good day."

"About the only thing that will make it better is the Nats winning." Dave said before he bit into his own hot dog.

"Don't jinx it."

They had time to eat before standing for the anthem. "This used to only be for opening day," Steve told Dave softly as they rose with the other players.

"I didn't know that. I wonder when it became standard before every game."

"When I was fighting the Nazis. I looked it up when I saw my first game on TV after I woke up."

Dave didn't get a chance to say anything else as the first bars of music came over the loudspeakers. They stood respectfully, hats off and hands over their hearts, until the last note played. "I take it you're not sold on that tradition," Dave inquired gently as they sat back down.

"It's performative patriotism. I might feel differently if we had universal health care and better funding for the VA."

"We'll, you're in the right town to try to make that happen."

"My boss has opinions on me expressing my opinions in public."

Dave laughed. "I bet he does!"

They had just gotten settled when the announcer came on and talked about the special guests attending the game today. Dave squirmed in his seat as the jumbotron showed videos clips of Dave pitching in the bull pen and Steve pitching to the players from the mound. Another clip showed the two of them standing in the middle of the ball field grinning at each other as they soaked it in.

"I don't want to be famous," Dave growled as he sank lower in his seat.

"Me either. Sit up, smile, and don't move your lips when you talk," Steve warned as he broke out in a wide grin.

A moment later, their own faces looked back at them from the jumbotron as the camera switched to a live view.

"How'd you know?" Dave grumbled though he was smiling gamely while Steve waved at the camera.

"You do enough PR, you learn what to expect." Steve muttered. "They'll play ball after the raffle video."

"Dear lord, I hope so."

As in on cue, the screen changed to a video explaining the Sarah and Joseph Rogers Foudation and how the raffle was going to be run by text. Any individuals without a cell phone wanting to buy a ticket were instructed to the nearest food courts where a secondary system was in place. As Jarvis narrated, each item in the raffle was displayed on screen while Jarvis relayed a bit of trivia about the player who had donated it.

"How the hell did Ray do that? That's a polished presentation from an idea tossed out two hours ago." Dave looked incredulous.

"Like I said, we each have a whole team that works on stuff like this. It's a normal Friday for them and good PR for the Avengers on top of it." Steve looked down. "We always have to think about PR."

By the second inning, Steve was content. He kept alternating between taking game notes in the notebook Dave had gifted him and doodling the sights around them. He smiled to himself as he drew a memory of a perfect afternoon in Ebbets Field. The crowd was groaning at a player striking out, but in his mind, the Dodgers had just hit a home run.

"Good memory?"

"Very good. We were…" Steve started to stay more, then stopped.

"You don't have to share it."

Steve sighed. "That's not it. I'd love to share it. But I can't tell you here because while most people understand privacy, there are a few who see me as public property. They'll record it on their phones and have it on the internet for the world to pick apart and analyze like my memory is a scene from a movie or TV show. So, I always have to be careful and assume stuff to be taken out of context."

"Sounds exhausting on the best of days. I know assholes are not a new invention. It just sucks that the new version comes with cell phones, too."

"Yeah." Steve looked at Dave. "And they are so wrapped up in trying to go viral they think I can't ID them. The serum gave me really good hearing, you know? And there's so much stuff I've learned about people just by sitting here."

"Is that so?" Dave smiled with more than a bit of malice. "Huh. I imagine that comes in handy when you need to unlock stuff. All you need to do is make the keypad sing the same song."

Steve nodded, putting his pen down and following up on the clear opening Dave was giving him to further mess with the people sitting around them. "I can tell who's recording just by the sounds their phones make. Add in eidetic memory and perfect pitch? I could cause a lot of mischief from hearing the passwords being typed. Damned amateur hour around here, thinking they're pulling one over on me."

Steve tried to hide his grin with a handful of Cracker Jack as a man three rows back decided he needed to leave the game. Steve nudged Dave, tilted his head, and laughed when Dave made zero effort to be subtle about turning around in his seat and looking at the man taking the stairs two at a time.

"He's sure in a hurry."

"Bathroom emergency maybe?" Steve offered. It was a plausible cover, just enough to ease his conscience. He really couldn't tell a cell phone was recording just by how it sounded, especially in this crowd. But if people thought he could, maybe they'd hesitate before filming him for the internet.

"Ah man!" Dave rose to his feet, yelling about the batter missing the ball by a wide margin. "That curveball was obvious! Talk about amateur hour, Steve. Nat's are letting us down!"

"Consider it a taste of what it was like to be a Dodgers fan. We loved them because they were ours, not because they were any good."

"I'm sorry, but the Nats are hella better than the Brooklyn Dodgers ever were. "

"Not tonight."

As the sun sank below the horizon, the lights came on. The light breeze was welcome after a day in the hot sun. The Mets got another run, much to Dave's dismay. "How can they be letting us down like this? Striking out when the bases are loaded? That ends the inning! I'm blaming you for this. They all got star-struck and forgot how to play ball."

"I gave the Mets equal time."

"On the field, yes. But we had lunch with the Nats."

"I don't think lunch is the problem here. The Nats aren't getting any runs."

"My team is losing. I'll blame you if I want to."

Despite Dave's griping, he was grinning at the end of the game. "Even though they lost, this was fun."

"It was."

Heading out of the stadium, they were part of the sea of humanity making their way to their cars or the nearby Metro station. "I'm fine to walk," Steve told Dave quietly. Having time to sit and relax had eased the pain in his ribs. "Really. Besides, you'll never get your vehicle down here. No one's paying attention to us."

"Don't jinx it."

"I got to sit in the stands and watch a ball game. The whole game. First time since '41 I can say that. The Foundation took in over ten grand. Today was perfect and nothing is going to take that away from me. Thank you for making it possible."

"It's not a one off. The VIP stuff? Yeah, that's not happening again. But you and I are not done coming down here to catch a game. SHIELD is going to have to deal."

It didn't take that long to get to where Dave had parked. Once the van doors were closed and locked, Dave put the keys in the ignition but didn't turn it on. "I owe you an apology."

"I really doubt that."

"I do, because I didn't really understand the terms of the invitation. I thought I did, but I was wrong and I'm sorry. I told you out front, before we came in, to make sure you were choosing who to be. I thought you had the freedom to choose. Had I realized that no one ever sees you, I might have declined."

"It's not your fault. I knew what I was getting into today even if you didn't. It's just hard to counteract 68 years of propaganda and the expectations that come with it."

"I'm starting to see that. How long can you keep that up?"

Steve sighed. "When I came out of the ice, Captain America was familiar. SHIELD scooped me up, gave me a purpose. I admit that I coasted."

"Understandable. You lost your whole world and everyone in it. Coasting was the smart move."

"Maybe. Megan's helped a lot. I know there's a crossroads ahead and I'm coming up on it fast."

"That sounds ominous."

"Gut feeling. Things I'm noticing at SHIELD that don't sit right. People forget that Cap's a symbol, not a person. I'm done coasting." Steve took his ball cap off and fingered the embroidered B in the dim light of the parking garage "As far as the tradeoff today, you don't need to apologize. I don't use my fame a lot, but I wanted you to get the access they were offering. That was even before I knew you that you had a chance in the minors. In the bullpen, you were glowing."

Steve shifted in his seat, ignoring the screaming from his ribs so he could turn and face Dave more directly. "You gave me back baseball. From the first day we met, you and Beth have seen Megan and me as people first. We need that. I've missed that. Fame is hard and Megan's been dragged into the spotlight. You and Beth look past that and remind us we're still normal people. You get me back in a ball park for the first time since 1941, and I have leave early because of SHIELD? I'm going to fix that because it matters. You're right. Most people don't see me anymore. You do. You're my friend. That's why we came today."

"Turn yourself back around before you break more of your ribs. When we get back to your place, you're getting a proper hug, Rogers." Dave wagged a finger at him and started the van.

In his mind, he heard Bucky voicing approval.