AU Milliways

[therighttime]

The door opens from one pub to the next. A rosy-tinted, warm little English pub filled to the brim with uniformed soldiers and local girls, crowing and laughing and being alive, really feeling it for the first time in longer than any of them would like to admit.

The woman who is leaving that particular pub is tall - very tall, inches over six feet - shapely in her 1940s olive dress uniform. Her make-up is fresh, her tie in perfect order, her hair is even curled in classic victory rolls (it took three showgirls three hours to make it happen, but they're all used to it by now).

Stephanie Rogers is grinning, flush-faced and filled with joy as she waves to a dark-haired soldier at the bar and steps purposefully into -- another bar.

She recognizes a shift, a difference immediately, and keeps one hand on the knob even as she frowns thoughtfully at the room around her.

Comments

[therighttime]

"Pretty sure I'm one of a kind," Steph replies with a slight shrug, unsure of the way he's looking at her. "But honest, Mr. Samuels, you're a dead ringer for my best friend back home."

[winter_never_left]

"Yeah?"

Already sharp eyes sharpen further. He holds up his right hand, twists it a couple of times, glances up at her face. "This too?"

[therighttime]

Ah. Well, yeah. That would explain how odd his handshake felt. She's seen injuries in the last few days to last herself years of nightmares, but this man has a solution. In a way.

"No," Steph says carefully, tracking the movement of that hand, curious. Then she smiles, sudden and soft, fond. "But he'd probably think it was swell."

[winter_never_left]

He hadn't expected her to pick up on that.

"It is pretty swell." He flexes his hand a couple more times and grins, sudden and bright. "Tell me more about this friend of yours. What's he do?"

[therighttime]

"He's a soldier. Most everyone is these days, you know."

It's what happens when there's a war on. His grin might be bright but Steph's simple smile stays soft, a little more for show than before.

[winter_never_left]

"That'll pass," he says, taking a long drink. "Wars do that. You just gotta get through it."

[therighttime]

Steph lifts an eyebrow, head tilted to watch him. "It doesn't pass for long. People rise up when they're needed."

[winter_never_left]

"Do they?"

Honest question. In his experience, not so much.

... admittedly, his experience is, currently, not very much at all.

[therighttime]

Steph nods. "In my experience."

It's not much. She knows that, should admit it. But it's important, joining up, protecting the freedoms you use, the people you call your own, the future you'd be proud to see. To be able to announce I'm an American citizen with pride and be looked at with respect because you stand for the principles you fought for.

Her experience isn't much. Her feelings on the war and the men who fight in it beside her are very much indeed.

[winter_never_left]

"Sounds like you've got plenty of stories to tell," the man says, thoughtful. Looking at her as a person now, rather than a doll. "I think that means I ought to buy you a drink and listen."

[therighttime]

Stephanie tilts her head, a small humorless smile on her lips. "Not quite done with the first yet," she admits, apologetic as she lifts the glass into show him. "Thanks, by the way."

[winter_never_left]

Oh. He looks at his own drink, long since finished, and shrugs, and orders another anyway.

"No drama. See you around, maybe, Cap."

[therighttime]

Steph blinks and then smiles again, warmer and sweeter. "You always give up so easy, Mr. Samuels? I don't mind talking, honest, but there ain't much to tell really."

[winter_never_left]

He glances up and grins. "This ain't a place where you get very far by prying, Captain. Captain ... Rogers."

That -- it's strange, the words kind of kick something loose in his brain. He frowns, studying her again. There's no flash of red and white and blue about her, so why is he remembering a star?

[therighttime]

"Well, I'm not sure how to talk to people without asking questions," Steph admits, ducking her head with a small smile. "Not to pry on you either. But this place would be even more startling if there wasn't anyone to talk with."

[winter_never_left]

"Hell of a place, all right," he agrees, looking around at the Bar, the Window, the crowds of human and alien people.

"Seems just as odd every time I come."

[therighttime]

"Have you been coming here long?"

[winter_never_left]

"You know, it's the damndest thing. Feels like longer than I can remember, but I can't remember ever having been here before."

[therighttime]

"Your memory's a funny thing, Mr. Samuels." Steph's voice is soft, concerned for him as she downs the rest of her gin.

[winter_never_left]

"Sure is." The man lifts his glass again, unconcerned. "Couldn't swear to you I'd been alive longer than two weeks, to be honest. But you know what? I'm fine with that. Seems to me painful memories are a damn plague around here. I'm well rid of them."

[therighttime]

Steph frowns, blue eyes sad. "What about the good memories?"

[winter_never_left]

"What about them?" He shrugs. "Can't miss what you never had."

[therighttime]

Steph thinks of the years she spent, alone and watching others pair off, men and women in sweet embracs, smiles and held hands.

"I guess," she says, quiet. "Not much to look forward to, though, is it?"