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

[winter_never_left]

"It's no problem," he tells her, frown line appearing briefly, then disappearing again. "Pleased to be mistaken for a friend of yours, miss. -- Captain. Captain Rogers."

And then a frown again. Because - Captain Rogers. That means something to someone, and the man currently calling himself Jim is very good at paying attention to things that just don't seem quite right.

"Sticking around here long, Captain?"

[therighttime]

"A good friend," Steph agrees, managing a smile. Bucky's fine - he's just fine. She left him behind in the pub on the other side of the door, smiling and smirking and teasing as he promised to join her team.

Bucky's fine, he's safe, he's back with her. This man looks similar but that's all. Just a look.

"You know, I really don't know," she answers after a moment's thought, grinning. "I just sort of wandered in, got the speech just a moment ago. A drink wouldn't be amiss before I get back, though, if it's true that no one'll miss me out there."

She lifts a hand to wave over the bartender. She'd bought drinks for her men outside and it's not like she has anyone back home to send her pay to. Another drink for herself won't break the bank.

[winter_never_left]

"Sure. On me."

Jim nods at the bartender. He has no intention of paying his tab, of course. It doesn't seem to have been called in yet, and he just won't pay it when it is. If he's still around by then.

"Gin and tonic for the lady. Another beer for me."

[therighttime]

"That's not necessary," Steph begins, gentle voiced. It's not personal, advice given to her on the show. Don't let a man get any ideas about how much you like him.

Except for what he orders for her.

"...that was a good guess, Mr. Samuels."

[winter_never_left]

He gives her a cheerful, rakish grin. Exactly the same grin he gives any lady anywhere, ever. "You can buy the next round, Cap."

[therighttime]

He's not Bucky. Bucky's fine, he's safe, he's on the other side of that door.

"Appreciate it," she says, and takes a seat on the stool beside his, ankles crossed and hands folded in her lap. For a moment, she studies the pattern of the wood at the bar.

He's not Bucky. Bucky's fine. He's safe. He's on the other side of that door and they're going to be on the same team, looking out for each other again.

"They say folks come from anywhere and any-when around here," Steph says after a moment, looking up at the man beside her with a smile. "That must make for some interesting small talk between drinks."

[winter_never_left]

"Sure does," he agrees, leaning back on the bar, nodding at the bartender when the drinks arrive and reaching for his own. "Met a man the other night with blue skin. Not the kind of thing I'm used to seein' round home. You, though, you look like you're from somewhere I'd recognise."

[therighttime]

"Do I?"

A woman in uniform, this uniform. It's not impossible, her clothes are just like Peggy's. But she'd said Captain and he didn't even blink and-

This is stupid. Bucky's fine. She found him and he ran from Schmidt on his own power. This man is someone new, maybe someone hurting just as much, just in a different way. A different man entirely.

"Were you in the service, Mr. Samuels?"

[winter_never_left]

"Might have been." He sips his drink, thoughtful. "Hard to say."

[therighttime]

Shady answer to a straight-forward question. Steph frowns and nods to the bartender when their drinks arrive, sliding the beer to Samuels and curling her fingers around her own cool glass. "Is it?"

[winter_never_left]

"Yep."

His lack of memory doesn't particularly trouble him. It just is. He doesn't need to have a past or a name or any of that stuff. His purpose is different.

"Don't worry about it, it's pretty complicated. But what's a lady like you doing in the game?"

[therighttime]

Don't worry your pretty little head, Lady Liberty.

Steph smiles and keeps her fingers carefully relaxed around the glass.

"Country's in need, a time like this- well, the time I'm from. Everyone's doing what they can. This is what I can do and I'm proud to do it."

It's not a game. There's nothing about what little of war she's seen so far that she would call a game.

"You're not sure about being in the service, but you certainly have an opinion."

[winter_never_left]

"An opinion?" Jim raises an eyebrow. "For asking a question? Go on, then, tell me, what do you think my opinion is?"

[therighttime]

She hadn't meant for it to come out combative. Encouraging, entreating perhaps, but not a fight. Steph blinks at him, honestly surprised by his reaction, and pulls out the stops for a bruised male ego.

(thanks, Elena)

"Oh no," she says quickly, drawing her glass closer to herself. "I didn't mean it like that. You sound familiar with the service, is all. I'm sorry, I don't mean to pry."

[winter_never_left]

Jim is watching her - not aggressive, just interested. Not particularly bruised at all.

"No, go on," he suggests, brightly. "Pry away."

[therighttime]

"I wasn't-"

This is why schmoozing is Elena's job. Elena doesn't blush.

"I don't mean to pry," Steph finishes instead, hiding her face in a small sip of her drink - distracted when the gin goes down smooth, easy.

[winter_never_left]

"But you are," Jim points out. He's watching her properly now, eyes over his glass, dark and shadowy under his long dark hair. "Wouldn't have picked you for a man to do something halfway."

--- why did he say that?

[therighttime]

That's a good question, considering the sharp, suddenly tight expression Stephanie is shooting his way.

"Pardon me?"

[winter_never_left]

He doesn't show confusion, or hesitation. "Sorry. Slip of the tongue, ma'am."

Even if there's a small, small flicker of irritation.

"You must remind me of someone I - think I used to know."

[therighttime]

Everything about her dress, her attitude, her smile has been carefully crafted to constantly remind the public she's a woman. Everything off the battlefield, scripted for that purpose.

"It's all right," she says, because it's not. Not a compliment and not exactly an insult, but feeling more like the latter than anything.

"...I do apologize. For prying. Guess I haven't had a chance to make real conversation in a while. Hope I remind you of someone you liked, at least."

[winter_never_left]

"You know, I have no idea," Jim says, frowning. Then he shrugs, obviously not terribly concerned. "Been out of touch for a while? You can practice small talk on me, I don't mind."

[therighttime]

Steph stares back. He's already criticized her for prying - unintentionally or not - and she shouldn't, really shouldn't, it's not her place at all. This isn't even her world, really.

"Wouldn't know where to start," she admits, quiet. She's still sitting beside him, one hand curled around her glass. And she needs another sip of it, too. "It's been a while since I had much to do with people outside the war."

USO show included.

[winter_never_left]

"Which war?"

She's reminding him of something. Bringing up something in the back of his mind. It's not a problem. He'll just watch and see what happens.

[therighttime]

"Don't know it has a name yet," Steph replies with a slight shrug, sipping her drink. It's good gin, smooth - Bucky would have liked it. "I suppose we'd call it the second Great War, if it were going to be anything.

"Wherea-- um, when abouts are you from?"

[winter_never_left]

He looks at her, fingers tapping on the bar, thoughtful.

"That's another one of those really hard questions to answer."