CATCHING UP

Nick Fury - Vietnam

Steve stared at the black wall and slowly shook his head as he took in all the names.

"Remember I told you that we'd made a lot of mistakes?" Fury asked. "This was probably the biggest one."

"Did any good come out of it?" Steve asked.

Fury paused for a long moment before answering. "Most people would say no. There is a theory that we stood off the Communists long enough in Vietnam for the rest of Asia to develop economically and begin the process of building free societies."

Steve frowned, "Do you believe that?"

Fury sighed, "Hell, Steve, I don't know. Nobody knows."

Logan - Microbrews

Two more beers appeared on their table and the young and pretty waitress immediately gathered up their empty glasses. Steve and Logan were getting fantastic service. The waitress was obviously taken by her two most rugged-looking customers.

Steve's beer was forbiddingly pitch-dark. It came from a brewery in Nebraska. Logan's was paler, seemed to be strongly carbonated, and had a striking odor that hinted of apples. It hailed from Oregon.

Steve took a careful sip - and then smiled and nodded appreciatively.

"In the years after the war, most of the small breweries either closed down or were absorbed by the bigger breweries," Logan explained. "Mass market beer took over, especially in the United States. Then, in the 1970s, craft beer brewing appeared. At first it was a small thing, but it just kept growing until we ended up with hundreds - thousands - of small breweries scattered all over the continent."

Actually, Steve didn't drink much, but Logan's enthusiasm was infectious and Steve was getting a huge kick out of it.

"I'm telling you, Steve," Logan said with a broad grin, "we're living in the golden age of beer!"

Clint Barton - the Assassination

"It's a reasonable shot," Steve said thoughtfully.

He and Clint were in Dallas, in Dealy Plaza itself, looking at a street where a President had died. Off to their front-right, the Texas Schoolbook Depository building loomed large.

Clint nodded. "That's one of the things that drives me crazy about the conspiracy theories. Yeah, it's not an easy shot for an ordinary man, but it can be done. And that's been proved quite a few times. But none of that seems to matter to the conspiracy guys. They just keep repeating the same so-called "facts" over and over again."

Nodding his head, Steve carefully scanned the length of Elm Street. "So you don't think there was a conspiracy?" he asked Clint.

Clint hesitated. "I didn't. Now... I'm not sure. Not since HYDRA."

Steve let out a deep sigh. "Okay, suppose there was a second gunman in addition to Oswald. Where would he have been?"

"Not on the Grassy Knoll or anywhere near it," Clint said thoughtfully. "That was always a stupid idea - it's way too exposed. Actually, the best bet would have been to be either with Oswald or in some other location where the second shooter's shots would blend into Oswald's fire. But being right with Oswald has too many problems. Everyone in the Schoolbook building knew one another and an outsider would stick out. So the best bet for a second shooter is to be over there."

Clint pointed at the building across Houston Street from the Depository building.

"The Dal-Tex building. It has the same shot angle at the motorcade as Oswald, but it's really not that much longer of a shot. If your fr... if a HYDRA operative fired from there, his shots would be lost in Oswald's fire. After that, HYDRA would just feed Oswald to the cops while the real assassin walked away."

Steve stared at Dal-Tex building. Then at Elm Street. He was mentally measuring and calculating angles, distances, trajectories, and shot intervals.

"Steve... Kennedy's death messed-up the country big-time," Clint said softly. "I'm not sure we ever really recovered. The idea that everything went wrong after his death - and that a part of the government was behind it - is something that a lot of people believe."

"They might be right," Steve said, "but they have who's responsible wrong."

Natasha Romanoff - Gentlemen's Clubs

Natasha seemed to enjoy shocking Steve. For his part, he had resignedly accepted that as a fact of life, while admitting that he more often than not enjoyed the experience.

They were in a small and dimly-lit club located in one of the more expensive parts of Manhattan. Steve was still in shock at the amount they had to pay to get inside. He flatly refused to believe how much his drink had cost. Considering the replacement cost, he was going to nurse it for as long as possible.

The music wasn't really that loud, but it was loaded with electronic subsonics that rolled a rumbling beat throughout the club. Onstage, a remarkably graceful and beautiful Asian woman whirled about, keeping meticulous time to the music as her clothes steadily disappeared.

"We had a thing called burlesque back in my day," Steve told Natasha. "Dancing girls were just a part of it, though. It included comedians and other acts."

"Burlesque, like most stage acts, was killed off by television," Natasha replied seriously. "Exotic dancing was pretty much all that was left because it wasn't allowed to be shown on TV. Frankly, it wasn't very impressive. But in the 1990s, exotic dancing had something of a breakthrough. The introduction of something called the lap-dance drastically increased the amount of money a dancer could make. That pulled a lot of attractive and talented women into the field."

"How do you know all of this, Natasha?" Steve asked plaintively.

"Being an exotic dancer is a fantastic cover," Natasha said with a slight smile.

"An uncovered kind of cover?" Steve suggested dryly.

"Something like that," Natasha laughed as she got to her feet. As soon as she did, every female eye in the club suddenly acquired a very predatory focus on Steve.

"Uh... where are you going?" Steve asked. He was doing a pretty good job of keeping any trace of nervousness out of his voice. After all, he'd survived the Battle of the Bulge, he was pretty sure - fairly sure - that he could get through this.

By then, Natasha was headed towards the stage.

"There's one more thing I wanted to show you, Steve," she called over her shoulder.

"What's that?" Steve asked.

"Amateur night!"

Steve blinked.

Tony Stark - Computers

Pepper was trying not to smile. She was failing.

This was just so damned cute.

"Okay, now simultaneously hit the 'control' key and the 'a' key," Tony instructed.

Steve glanced at the keyboard and located the control key. Then he did as instructed - and frowned at the computer monitor.

"That means you've selected the entire document," Tony said. "Now you can change any of the text properties - like the font or font-size or font-color - and that will modify all of the text in the document."

Steve nodded very seriously and jotted something down into a notebook that was on the table, right next to the keyboard.

Pepper put a plate of sandwiches on the table between both men. They distractedly mumbled their thanks as they grabbed for food. They'd been at this all morning long.

"All right," Tony continued through a mouthful of pastrami on rye, "now change the font to any style you want and then click the mouse anywhere to deselect the document."

Next time, Pepper thought to herself. Next time, I'm going to videotape this. And I swear I'm going to put it on Youtube.

Maria Hill - Women's Rights

They were sitting in a coffeshop that was located just off of Wall Street. Steve noticed that Maria looked good in a gray business suit. Maria just thought Steve looked good, but she kept that opinion to herself.

Now that she worked at Stark Industries, Maria had more time to herself than her career at SHIELD had allowed. So she eventually decided to invite Steve out to lunch. It would give them a chance to talk and Maria had always enjoyed hearing Steve's opinions on the modern world.

"Here's something I've always meant to ask you - how have you adjusted to the new role of women?" Maria asked idly.

Steve just smiled. "I'm trying. And I certainly knew some pretty capable women back in the day. But..."

Steve paused.

"But?" Maria asked as she leaned slightly closer to Steve. "Do you have a problem with women who have the same sense of independence as men?"

Steve shook his head. "You're underestimating the women of my time. But tell you what, Maria, you can help me make the adjustment by paying for lunch."

Maria actually laughed out loud. Then she shook her head and said, "I guess I walked into that one."

"Yes, you did," Steve said cheerfully.

Ororo Munroe - Dancing

After a couple of weeks of thinking it over, Steve decided to check out a dance club that was located a few blocks from his apartment.

He didn't like what he saw. He was about to leave when he literally bumped into an incredibly striking woman. She was black, but had white hair and blue eyes, and her accent was utterly charming. One thing led to another and they began to chat. Then Steve made the mistake of telling Ororo that he thought that the kind of dancing people did nowadays was pretty bizarre.

Five seconds later, they were out on the dance floor. Ororo was a lot stronger than she looked. When she grabbed someone and pulled - even if he was Steve Rogers - that person had to decide if he wanted to go along or lose a limb.

Steve had always been a fast learner. He adapted quickly to the new style.

A half-hour later, Ororo had to admit that Steve was actually able to outdance her.

"That's enough," Ororo said with a laugh as she held a hand up in surrender. She was breathing hard and there was a sheen of honestly sensual sweat on her face, arms, and legs. Keeping his eyes on Ororo's face, Steve sternly told himself to ignore the fantasy that had popped into his head where he was slowly licking the sweat from her body...

Then Steve grinned at Ororo and said, "Let's slow it down."

That was how Ororo found herself in Steve's arms. The DJ, who had long since noticed who was the most dynamic couple on the dance-floor, took the music down a few notches. The other couples on the dance floor adjusted to the change.

Ororo was a tall woman and she was wearing heels. Yet she was still not quite at eye-level with Steve. And he was so solid and strong. And he moved with the powerful and dangerous grace of a lion...

And that's how Ororo found out that the phrase "melted into his arms" was more than just words.

For his part, Steve suddenly realized that one of the most beautiful women he'd ever met was now pressed up against him.

How the hell had that happened?

Oh... yeah... that was what dancing was really for. He'd forgotten. That part hadn't changed at all.

Clinging close to each other, the two of them whirled slowly across the dance-floor.

Outside, a warm and gentle rain began to fall.

Peter Parker - Digital Cameras

They were in a tiny camera shop that was located in Times Square. Steve was obviously puzzled by modern cameras.

"No film?" Steve asked in disbelief.

Peter nodded. Steve didn't know who he was talking to. On the other hand, Peter knew exactly who he was talking to - he'd recognized Steve as soon as he walked in the door.

Both of them were looking for a new camera. Peter took over when he heard an obviously bored sales clerk giving Steve a canned and useless sales pitch.

"No film, sir," Peter replied. "Your photos are stored digitally on a small memory card."

"Then how do you see your pictures?" Steve asked. "Do you print them? Or do you have a special viewing device?"

"You can print them off," Peter said quickly, "but a lot of people don't bother. Mostly you just look at them on a computer. Do you own a computer, sir?"

Steve looked up from the camera he was turning over and over in his hands. "I have a laptop. A friend gave me one. Tell you what, Pete, why don't you just call me Steve? I get enough of the "sir" stuff at work."

"Yes, s... Uh, sure, Steve. Does your laptop have a memory card port?"

"I have no idea."

"Do you have your laptop with you?" Peter asked eagerly. "I could check it for you."

Steve pulled off his backpack, unzipped it, and began to pull out his laptop.

I can't believe this is happening, Peter thought to himself. And Aunt May was going to freak when he told her who he'd met today.

An hour later, Steve had a new camera. And, thanks to the shop's image printer, Peter had an autographed picture of himself with Captain America.

Sam Wilson - UFOs

"People have always been seeing strange things in the sky," Sam said thoughtfully, "but from what I've read, the modern UFO phenomenon began in 1947. It started when a private pilot named Kenneth Arnold spotted some odd objects in the sky over the Cascade mountains in Washington state."

"Flying saucers?" Steve asked.

Sam shook his head. "No. He described something shaped more like a boomerang. But he also described them as moving like saucers skipping across water. Some reporters picked up on the word "saucers" and the story took off from there. That's a pretty good example of how the story of UFOs has been screwy from the very start."

"So you don't think there's anything to it?" Steve persisted.

Sam shrugged. "Not really. Yeah - we've run into the Chitauri, but they don't use saucers. If aliens have been buzzing our skies for going on seventy years, why haven't they just landed and talked to us? Why don't we have better proof of their existence?"

"Did you ever see anything that made you think they might be real?" Steve asked.

Sam hesitated before replying. "There was some strange things I spotted when I was flying missions in Iraq. But the Army and the Air Force had all kinds of secret aircraft - manned and unmanned - flying around. I'm not sure what I saw, but I can't say they were alien. How about you?"

Steve shrugged, "We had a thing called "foo fighters". They were balls of light that would fly in formation with our aircraft. I saw a couple during the Normandy invasion. For a while, we thought they were some kind of German aircraft, but they never did anything hostile. As far as I know, we never did figure them out."

Sam sighed. "I don't know, Steve. Seventy years is a long time for a mystery to remain a mystery. If there were little green men, or little grey men, or maybe even talking space-racoons joy-riding around the sky, I think we'd have some kind of definite proof by now."

Nodding his head in agreement, Steve let the subject drop.

Bruce Banner - the Moon Landing

"You missed Neil Armstrong by not much," Bruce said slowly. "He died before you came back. And... and... I guess I didn't know where else to take you."

They were standing in the ruins of Launch Pad 34. There wasn't much there: the remains of the launch pad, a couple of steel flame-reflectors, and a distant blockhouse. A few solemnly quiet tourists were also in the area.

There was a pair of memorial plaques for the dead astronauts of Apollo 1. Some might say that it wasn't much for Grissom, White, and Chaffee, but Steve often found himself uncomfortable with what seemed to him as the over-effusive tendencies of the 21st century.

This was different. It was so simple, plain, and serious.

"Don't worry, Bruce," Steve said as he gazed at a few terse, heartfelt, words on a brass plaque. "This place is perfect."

Thor - Swimwear

"I observed this after I returned to Midgard," Thor said seriously. As always, his voice was a deep and powerful rumble. "It is called a "bikini". I like this change."

Steve and Thor were on a beach that was somewhere not far from a local college. It was summer and the beach was filled with young people.

"Wow," was all Steve could say.

Off to one side, Jane and Ororo were tossing a frisbee back and forth. Steve was trying not to stare at them - or at a nearby squad of bikini-clad co-eds who were dashing in and out of the surf.

Of course, the college girls were also doing a fair amount of staring. They were just doing a worse job of hiding it.

Steve looked down uncomfortably at what he was wearing. "And what are these called again?" he asked Thor.

Thor shook his head. "I'm not sure."

"They're called Speedos!" Jane yelled as she swooped by and snatched the frisbee out of mid-air.