Dreams and Wonders

Disclaimer: I'm just playing in the MCU sandbox and make no money from this. Please enjoy the story and feel free to leave comments and critiques, it's the only way to get better at this. I'm writing this story for my own enjoyment.

Content Warning: This story will contain mentions of and scenes containing but not limited to swearing, violence, smut and other Adult Content.

Author's Note: 1. My first foray into fanfiction outside of Harry Potter and I pick Avengers; more specifically, Romanogers because they are my headcanon and there's nothing you can do to take it away from me. Also I've always wanted to explore Steve and Natasha's interactions with the other Avengers/S.H.I.E.L.D. Agents, so expect to see a few of them around quite often.

2. This story will likely follow events between movies aside from specific moments that I feel are important or powerful enough for the characters to include. Who knows, I may go further into the movies but we'll see, it's all a matter of time.

3. Some of the following dialogue and scenes are taken from the end of Captain America: The First Avenger, of which I own nothing.

4. As always, let me know what you think.

Chapter One: You've Been Asleep, Cap

The gentle breeze that sent a tingle across Steve's skin was the first thing he noticed. It was familiar but surprising considering the last thing he remembered… A shiver sped through his body at the memory but Steve resisted reacting to it as he lay still on the bed. His eyelids were heavy until he eased himself further from his slumber and opened his eyes to gaze upon the stark white paint of the ceiling above him. Even before he sat up he could tell something was off. The low hum of the radio as it announced a baseball game registered only just on his senses until he took in his situation.

Steve was alone in the room, nothing and no-one was around him and more often than not even military hospitals had at the very least two people to a room. Secondly, there were no get well gifts, even for the one and only "Captain America"; and there were no signs of other life in the room, no sign that anyone he cared about had visited or had waited patiently nearby for him to wake up. No scent of Peggy's perfume or the musky, ale-touched scent of the Howling Commandos, nor the expensive aftershave Howard wore so often. His depression in the bed rebounded easily from his absence, so he couldn't have been in this place overlong. That's when a terrifying thought hit him.

How long has it been?

Steve glanced around again, the light wind caught his attention once more but something about it felt out of place, as if it was from a fan in a building rather than a natural breezel. The sounds of the city reached him but the view out of the window was static, unmoving. He shifted only just and the perspective altered in a way he recognize all too well, given he himself was an artist. The radio overpowered that conclusion with an announced play that shouldn't be possible…

Because I was at that Dodgers game… He glanced at the radio, it's sleek corners polished and its speaker in fine tune. And that radio's too fucking nice to be in a hospital, let alone left in a room with a single occupant.

Before he had time to react to that conclusion he heard footsteps, steps that were oddly hollow for being in the hallway of a hospital. In fact, he no longer felt he was in a hospital, but he wouldn't let that on to whoever was coming. The concerned confusion written on his face was natural, as was the curiosity that entered his gaze as he tracked the red-haired woman's entrance into his current residence.

Her shoes, heels, were not out of place for some nurses, though less professional. The stockings were right and regulation, though the pencil skirt was being worn fairly conservatively for a woman in those heels. Then it all changed. Her tie was too wide, a man's tie, though the knot was a neat regulation windsor. Had she had a liaison and gotten ties mixed up? No, especially not with her lingerie misbehaving like that, just this side of visible beneath her blouse. This dame had no idea the experience he had with women, or at least their senses of fashion.

He knew something was off about her long before he got to her hair, and he knew for a fact that should have been pulled back more neatly for a nurse in a recovery ward, especially for a professional woman like her. Some allowances could be made for women in Peggy's position, but not for a dame like her in a hospital like this place was supposed to make him believe he was. So there were options, a few actually, and not a one of them even remotely good.

"Good morning," she began before she checked her watch. "Or should I say afternoon?"

"Where am I?" Steve asked calmly, watching for any further sign of deception.

"You're in a recovery room in New York city."

A calculated reply, slower delivery as if she wanted to give him time to process what he asked and how she answered. All it did was give him time to further confirm his suspicions about her, and about this fake room where he was being kept. He glanced over his shoulder, studying the area for escape routes while he could until he asked his question again.

"Where am I, really?"

The subtle turn of her lips, the slightest hesitation. Yes, something was rotten in the state of "New York" and he was going to find out what.

"I'm afraid I don't understand."

"The game," he began sternly. "It's from May 1941 I know 'cause I was there." The blank look that settled across her features settled everything for Steve. He rose from his bed and began to prowl forward, his size intimidating the woman even as her fingers toyed with something in her left hand as he spoke once more. "I'm not going to ask you again. Where am I?"

"Captain Rogers-"

"Who are you?!"

The door burst open with two men in black clothing unlike anything Steve had ever seen, maybe some kind of altered version of body armor like what Howard showed him when making his uniform. S.H.I.E.L.D. was spelled out across their chests but there intention was to keep him in place, to force him to stay put. They were about to find out that no matter what they did, they wouldn't keep him from getting out of wherever the hell this was.

He let them make the first move, let them try to reach him, push him, try to corner him so they could put him back in the bed, where he noticed straps now dangled beneath the mattress. Steve smacked their hands away and grabbed their throats with a swiftness they couldn't hope to match. With all of his strength, Steve heaved the pair of men at the wall and watched as it crumbled beneath them and tore the room asunder. It opened up the room to a stage unlike any he had scene before as he followed the two men out so he could avoid the woman. No need for collateral damage, not if it could be helped.

The woman called out after him but he ignored it, ignored everything but what his surroundings could provide him. He needed information, knowledge he couldn't get any other way but by sneaking it out of their pockets, or taking it by brute force. With the woman's voice now blaring over speakers throughout the strange looking hallway he entered that was littered with more strangely dressed people, brute force was the flavor of the moment. He stiff-armed anyone that got in his path. A simple shove from him was far more than enough to bruise their skin, their ribs, and knock the wind and fight out of them so he could move forward. For all he knew he was sparing enemy combatants, or they could be innocent, but in either case they were in his goddamn way.

The world outside those windows was now his target, escape was the name of the game because information could wait. He rushed out of the building, bowled over anyone in his path and bolted out the doors. He paused only a moment to check the streets before he realized he was within blocks of Time Square. Steve put everything into his mad dash through the streets as cars passed him, beeped at him. Everyone looking curiously at him as if he was some sideshow attraction. Dare he think it, he even saw a camera flash from something in a person's hand as he passed the cars when they reached a stoplight.

He sprang across the streets as quickly as he could, the lights, and sounds an overload of sensation as he reached the center of this monumental place in New York City. He was home, but it wasn't any kind of home he remembered. Signs flashed everywhere, accompanied by such a cacophony of noise he didn't know how anyone could even stand to be in this place. Colors clashed, signs flashed and changed and movedwithout any sign of a projector anywhere. This was not the New York he knew and loved, this was not anything like he had expected.

Where am I?! He cried out in his mind as he turned about again and again. How long was I in the ice for the world to change this much?!

"At ease, soldier!"

Steve turned to see a black man in a long coat with an eyepatch, apparently he was the one in charge of just about everyone that surrounded him. Vicious scars surrounded the covered eye but despite that the man before him was still fairly handsome and stood regal, powerful, composed in the face of everything around him as he advanced deliberately on Steve. Guns and batons had been drawn by the agents. Large black vehicles blocked every path of escape, or so they thought, with a host of armed guards ready to keep him contained.

"Look, I'm sorry about that little show back there but…" the man began in a kind, almost understanding voice, a voice Steve was sure more than a few dames had swooned over. "We thought it would be best to break it to you slowly."

"Break what?" Steve urged the man

"You've been asleep, Cap," the man said gently, with a hint of true respect in his voice as he spoke Steve's title. "For almost seventy years."

Seventy years… It was a punch to the gut not even the Red Skull could match. The soldier looked for any sign of deception and found none, and could only look to his surroundings to confirm what he heard, what he now feared really was true. As the truth sunk in, as the enormity of the situation struck him, he realized something that stabbed deep into his heart and twisted the knife.

They're dead… Colonel Phillips, Howard, Peggy, Dugan, Gabe, Monty, Jim, Jacques... They're all dead by now and if any of them are alive I doubt they're… Oh god... No… Please... Steve looked around, desperate for an answer to his prayers, desperate for knowledge on what happened to his friends before another thought hit him. He had been in the ice three days before he'd succumbed to sleep, before he let the water take him, freeze him, chill him to the bone and take him away from everything he once knew. He had prayed for a rescue to come in time for…

"You gonna be okay?"

"Yeah," he lied as if it was the most natural thing in the world, all in attempt to hide the pain and despair he's feeling, even if he wore the pain more clearly than he intended. "Yeah I just…" the pain twisted in his gut again. "I had a date…"

There was a brief pause before the black man spoke up again. "With Peggy Carter, at the Stork Club at 8 o'clock…"

"Yeah… How did you-" Steve caught himself and shook his head. It was history to these people, no doubt his love life was well known amongst the well informed. "Nevermind, everybody probably knows that story these days."

"Only her closest friends and proteges," the man answered as he held out his hand. Steve took it slowly, testing the man's grip and he received a smile for the strong grip they both had on one another. "Colonel Nicholas J. Fury, current Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. an organization formed by Howard Stark and Peggy Carter to continue the work of the S.S.R. and accomplish the goal you left for them. When I took office, Peggy and I spoke often, discussed damn near anything that came to mind, even you."

"That's… That's good…" Steve began slowly as his breathing finally began to calm as he looked at the colonel, a knot in his chest that dared try and clog his throat. "Is she alive?"

Fury offered what was a small, comforting smile at best. "She lives in a nursing home in D.C. I'll take you to her myself if that's what you want after we get you properly checked out and brought up to speed."

"Right…" Steve nearly whispered as he looked around Time Square briefly before his eyes settled on the colonel, still uncertain if any of what he was hearing was true. "I hope you're telling the truth, Colonel Fury, for all our sakes."

"Hey, after what you've been through Cap, you deserve the truth, no matter how much it might hurt any of us," Nick agreed easily. "Come on, you'll ride with me."

"Couldn't we just, walk back?" Steve asked a little incredulously. "I didn't run that far."

"Oh we could," Fury spoke with an almost sarcastic drawl and a cynically amused grin. "That is, if you wanted every slack-jawed man, woman and child that recognizes your photograph from the past seventy years to stop you on our way there."

Steve held back a grimace, the facade on his features perfect as he let a wry smile twitch at his lips. Almost a year acting as the government's posterboy and a further three years of stealth and undercover operations had been good for something. "Good point, Colonel. Let's just… get out of here."

Nick nodded lightly and led Steve into one of the suv's. As soon as they were securely inside, and seat-belts were better explained to Steve, they were on their way. Steve's gaze lingered outside, studying the world and everything about it. So much had changed out there while he had remained encased in ice, eternal, young, strong and utterly goddamn useless. The world had gone on without him, and no doubt so had his closest friends. He wasn't sure what was worse; that he'd woken up to find them almost all dead, or that they had gone on for god knows how long never knowing if he was truly dead or not.

"Colonel-"

"Call me Fury, or Nick if you're feeling particularly familiar, Cap," the director said as he examine the super-soldier next to him.

"...Steve." The pair offered equally wry grins before they settled more comfortably next to each-other, although Steve would be a fool if he didn't notice the colonel was prepared for anything, just like himself. "Nick, I have to ask, is anyone else alive?"

Nick sighed as he looked out to the streets before his gaze returned to Steve, as solemn as any agent had ever seen him. "Peggy's the only one left, Steve… and I'm not sure I'm the right one to tell you this, but she's got alzheimer's, dementia. It's affecting her memory and she's not in the greatest shape. She's got a few years left at best, but she can't get around much without a wheelchair… I'm sorry."

Steve swallowed down the knot in his throat. Peggy was alive but might not even recognize him and if she did her reaction would be heartbreaking at least… not that his heart already wasn't being shattered piece by piece in the last five minutes. Steve held strong though, even as he closed his eyes and let fragments of his emotions through he kept a tight lid on as much of it as he could as he looked back up at Nick Fury.

"If you have files on everyone from my past, Peggy and myself included, I'd like to see them."

Nick's eyebrow raised briefly, and that cynical smile returned to his face once again. "What makes you think we have files like that?"

"You wouldn't have put me through that little wake up call, or thawed me out of the ice for that matter, without compiling files on everyone that ever knew me, or was known to associate with me," Steve answered clearly and concisely, donning a bit more of his Captain America persona to gain control of himself, and a bit of the situation. "You would want to know everything there is to know about me before you ever even began to think about letting me out of my prison of ice. Tell me I'm wrong."

"No, you're not wrong," Nick said with some amusement. "Hell, I'm almost impressed you'd get to that point this quick after having a bomb like a seventy year sleep dropped on you."

The suv pulled into a parking space in the S.H.I.E.L.D. facility and the pair were let out. When they entered through the doors of an elevator they continued their conversation.

"I have a lot to learn if I'm to understand what I'm up against," answered the soldier as his gaze trained on Nick's more intently as he felt the elevator move up at a higher speed than the ones back in his time ever had. "Since I doubt you woke me up for a simple house call."

"We woke you up for a number of reasons," Nick answered vaguely as the doors opened. They stepped out into a hallway and the pair were watched by everyone they passed. Some looked on in awe, others in curiosity, and most couldn't refuse the whispers of gossip that Steve could hear clearly and remember just as easily as he focused on what Fury had to say next.

"One of which is the very fact that your revival is entirely accidental, Steve," the Director continued as he led Steve through the facility. Steve snorted in mirthless, cynical amusement, because nearly seventy years ago for them, and barely an hour ago to him, he had decided to let the icy waters claim him on a prayer he would either see Bucky and his parents in the afterlife, or to Peggy Carter next to his bedside in a red dress with a radio playing. "We thought you were dead, that you were just preserved in the ice until we could give you a proper hero's funeral. The President thought that we could finally lay you to rest in Arlington, in a place of honor among your comrades in arms and bring the Lost Captain back home to America. When your heart started beating and you began to set off machines and sensors all over the place as we thawed you out, we immediately set out to make sure you survived and were comfortable. Because if you did wake up, you wouldn't recognize the world you woke up to."

"I haven't, not really," Steve answered briefly after an understanding nod. "Waking up in New York… even if it's not my New York, was a nice touch. But you got the details wrong."

"Did we?"

The slightly cynical answer gave Steve only a second of pause. Fury was smart enough to catch onto the game quick, and he knew, or at least suspected, that Steve was now the same. His patient, calculating look told Steve all he needed to know. "It was a test, wasn't it?"

"The Lost Captain America is trapped in the ice of the Arctic Circle for nearly seventy years, and is found to still be alive after all of that time," Nick explained easily as he led Steve into what looked like private quarters. "You think we wouldn't check you out? Hell, for all we knew you would have been a vegetable or an amnesiac but your brain scans checked out. So I had to see if you were who people really said you were instead of some punk jock that got surrounded by real talent, or that it was all a big propaganda machine to help win the war. Turns out I owe at least one of my agents fifty bucks for doubting his assertions that you would live up to the legend."

"Fifty bucks?" Steve whispered with some incredulity. "You'd wager that much on whether or not I am who others said I was?"

"Fifty bucks isn't a whole lot of money, compared to when you were around, but it's still got some power to it," Nick explained as he gestured for Steve to take a seat in one of the armchairs.

The colonel offered him a drink with a gesture and Steve shook his head as he examined the room. It was a modern set up, white walls, fine lines, but comfortable black leather armchairs and couches. A large black screen was along one wall and Steve saw a few other doors leading in and out. If he had to guess, this was some sort of private apartment within the structure of the base. Of course, the kitchen nearby and the extensive liquor cabinet gave that away. A long mirror was along one wall and Steve tilted his head lightly.

"Seems I have a lot more to catch up on than I thought," Steve sighed as Fury turned on some mellow jazz music with just a voice command.

"Hopefully you'll readjust quickly; but I'm not going to lie, Steve, there's a lot you need to learn to keep up with current times, and things are always changing," Nick assured the soldier. "It's not going to be easy, and I won't lie, you may never fully adjust to our times."

"Yeah… I'll bet," Steve responded as he reached to his chest for a sign of comfort. His hand paused as it made contact with the shirt, and suddenly he realized something was missing, something integral, something he hadn't taken off since Erskine let him join the Project: Rebirth training. "Nick… Where are my tags?"

***Surveillance Room***

"Is this guy going to be anything like we think he's supposed to be?" a medium height, blonde haired man asked as he observed the screens in front of him. A bow laid on his back, along with a quiver of arrows he intended to use should things go extremely south. "I mean, he's been asleep for nearly seventy years and he was practically the Military version of a circus strongman. Is he really that special?"

"Barton, that man right there has more saved lives to his name than any single soldier in world history," a balding man in a black suit stated as he gazed almost reverently at the sleeping form of Captain Rogers. "Not to mention the fact that he has more confirmed kills to his name in two years of the war than you and Natasha combined throughout your careers without breaking a sweat, and that's only the official recorded number. He was called the greatest soldier of all time, to ever live, for a reason, and not just because he was strong or fast."

"Hey Coulson, I think your man crush is showing a little," Natasha teased him as she leaned against the counter and eyed the screens. Her red hair hid her reaction of seeing Captain America asleep from the others, but it was one of extreme interest. Her deadly red lips may have been poised in a mischievous smirk, but her eyes nearly glowed with curiosity as she watched the soldier sleep of the rest of his icy experience. Her presence caught the attention of the two men more closely, but neither could get a read on her. "Sure you aren't playing up the legend more than he should be?"

"I've already got a bet with Fury going on if Captain Rogers lives up to the legend," Coulson stated briefly with as little nerves as he could. "I just believe he's the kind of hero we need right now, and I happen to believe he will come out of sleep just fine."

"Only because you want him to sign your cards," Barton teased his handler with a nudge to the side. "I'm betting fifty bucks against him though. Tasha, Coulson, what do you think? How long 'til the Captain there figures out he's not in 1945 anymore and breaks out? I'm betting over five minutes."

"I give it three," Coulson put in as he set his money on the table and Clint did the same. "The Captain was known for his situational awareness and using it to his utmost advantage at every opportunity to win battle after battle."

Natasha rolled her eyes but concentrated on the images in front of her. Steve was slowly waking up but he seemed to take his time doing it. There was something hidden behind Steve's initial waking that she felt a kinship with, and her smirk was easily turned on barton. "Make it a hundred and I'll give you my bet."

"Done, easiest hundred I've ever made," Clint agreed, and Coulson nodded not long after as the three set all of their money on the counter. "So what's your bet?"

The widow's smirk reached her eyes as she looked at her partner and handler. "Somewhere in the neighborhood of forty-five seconds."

Clint let out a bellowing laugh as he leaned back in his seat. "Oh man, easiest money I've ever made! Damn, Tasha, you're never gonna live this one down. There's no fucking way Cap will-"

"Cut the chatter, I want to hear this," Coulson said as he turned up the volume. The conversation was slow, almost methodical, and the more Coulson watched the more in awe he felt.

Clint began to shake his head by the Captain's second question. "There's no way…"

"Clock's ticking, boys," Natasha drawled as she kept count of the seconds in her head. Within mere moments Captain America, the man, the myth, the legend, had figured out he wasn't where he should be and was breaking out. The moment Steve hit the outside doors she stopped the timer Coulson had and her eyes twinkled bright green. "Forty-five seconds exactly. I'll take that."

As Natasha swept up her winnings Clint couldn't hold it in any longer. "Oh come the fuck on! There's no fucking way… That son of a bitch had to go and cost me a hundred bucks and he hasn't even met me yet!"

Beside Natasha smirking, Coulson was radiating a happy grin as he managed the surveillance station and kept an eye on every image he could get of Captain America. Meanwhile, the femme fatale began to toy with a metal chain she had recently acquired around her neck. She gingerly pulled them out, avoiding setting off Clint's sensitive hearing aid and Coulson's own perceptive ears. She examined the tags in her hand, certainly not following regulation with the items that came with it. Two wedding rings with names inscribed on each, an engagement ring, two keys, and a cross adorned the chain along with Steve Rogers' very own dog tags. She examined each in detail, memorized his serial number and felt even more possessive of the item in her hands than she thought she could. For a brief, insane moment, she almost felt comforted by their presence.

With access to all agent comms, Coulson tapped into Fury's and everyone else's around Steve so he could hear their conversation. The three agents listened as Fury broke the news to Steve, and how the soldier responded with pain to learning everyone he knew was likely dead, and how he had missed a date with the woman of his 1945 dreams. Coulson shook his head in sympathetic sorrow, and Clint bowed his head low for a moment before he paid more attention to the conversation.

Natasha herself felt bad for the guy, but she knew there were no second chances, not unless Stark all of a sudden created a time machine that blew up the world in the process. All the Captain had left was the here and now, and he was being forced to deal with it. Unconsciously she began to run the tags and everything that came with them along the chain around her neck. She toyed with the tags, let them push away distracting thoughts as she focused on the talks between Nick and Steve.

"Nick… Where are my tags?"

Took him long enough. Natasha glanced to the other two in the control room and both had their eyes on the slightly jingling dog tags around her neck. Clint looked rather amused at the sight, while Coulson was actually hard to read. She couldn't tell if he was looking in reverence at the dog tags, or in upset astonishment that she had the audacity to take Captain America's Dog Tags.

"They're not on you?" Nick's voice spoke curiously from over the speakers.

"No, and if they're one of the few things I've got left to my name, I want them back…" Steve replied, his voice growing colder with each syllable. "Now. And my shield as well if it's around anywhere."

"I'll make sure they're returned to you asap, Captain," Nick said as he directed a glare at one of the cameras. "And whoever has them will face consequences."

"I don't care who has them so long as I get them back," Steve talked back briskly, his voice almost icy. "I earned those tags and that shield. They belong to me. If you have anything else of mine around I'd appreciate having that back as well."

"Don't worry, Cap, you'll get them back in a few moments if my guess is right. As for your other possessions, I"ll have some agents retrieve them from our archives here and bring them up."

"Ohhh now you went and did it, Romanoff," Clint teased her as he looked from her, to the tags, to the screen.

"What the hell were you thinking taking the Captain's dog tags?!" Coulson barked almost instantly as he rounded on the former soviet spy. "How could you?! We need to get those back to him now, Natasha, or he won't trust us at all."

"I wanted to know more about him," Natasha replied with ease, as if that explained her answer entirely, which in her mind it did. Of course that little traitorous feeling that made her feel safer with them on chirped in the back of her mind, but she pushed that away. Instead she put on her trademarked smirk, and made to pick up the shield before Coulson grabbed it and held it as far away from her as possible. "Besides, now we have an in to go speak with him face to face."

"Natasha, this is not how things were supposed to happen," Coulson rebuked her, although both spies in the room could clearly tell Coulson was happy about meeting his idol all the sooner. "Give me his tags, I'll take them."

"How about we all go, and I'll say I kept you two from running off with the Captain's goods," Clint teased them as he nudged them both toward the door. "Come on, the longer they wait the more shit Tasha will get into, and I don't want my partner benched anytime soon."

It took them less than a minute to get up to the room after they sent out a command from Fury to retrieve the rest of Steve's belongings, though Coulson wouldn't let any of them enter the room until he had taken a breath and composed himself, and likely prepared a number of platitudes to assuage the Captain's anger. Natasha had slipped the dog tags back down her blouse to keep others from seeing them, but the feel of the bundle of metal at the end of the chain steadied her, though she would never admit it to anyone. As they entered, Fury's gaze glanced them over before they fixed on her.

"Captain Steve Rogers, may I introduce you to Agents Phil Coulson, Clint Barton, and Natasha Romanoff," Fury said as the two larger than life men stood.

"It's an honor to meet you, Captain Rogers," Phil began as he shook Steve's hand and reverently handed over the shield. "I can't tell you what it means to me everything you've done for our country."

"It's nice to meet you too," Steve offered politely before he took his shield. A hard edge seemed to smooth out in the captain's bearing as he took his shield back. His most famous weapon, the one with the most saved lives and confirmed kills to its name. It protected him as well as those around him, and did unfathomable harm to his enemies over the course of the war. With it at his side, he felt safer, more in control of his surroundings, especially considering he was now up against the 21st century.

Coulson watched the reunion with a bright smile. "It really is an honor to meet you, Captain."

"Please, just call me Steve, Agent Coulson."

"Call me Phil then, Steve." Behind Coulson's back, Clint was handing Natasha another twenty bucks for a bet between them on how long it would take for Coulson to find his way to meet the Captain. Turns out it was about ten minutes. Natasha smirked as she slipped another twenty down her blouse with a wink at the archer before the soldier looked at the two of them curiously. "You two were betting on me as well?"

Coulson had the decency to blush as he moved past Steve and Fury handed him his winnings. Natasha noticed a glimmer of a smile on Steve's face at the sight before she shrugged casually.

"No offense, Rogers, but half of S.H.I.E.L.D. has likely a number of bets riding on the outcome of you waking up and what condition you would be in."

Natasha stepped forward and shook his hand before she reached down her blouse. Steve raised an eyebrow at her before she slowly tugged his dog tags out from snuggly between her breasts and let it skate across the cleavage she let draw his eye briefly. When she had finished shaking his hand she finally took the chain from around her neck and got up on her tiptoes to replace the tags on him where they belonged. Of course, the fact that his bowed head gave him a perfect view down her blouse was entirely intentional on her part. When she guided them to gently fall on his chest, he looked her in the eye with curiosity and the hint of attraction she always saw in men's eyes.

Steve had barely caught his breath when the three agents entered, and felt like he was punched in the gut despite the reassuring feeling of seeing his shield again. His eyes had taken them in as a group, well dressed but equally well armed, none more than the redhead that drew his attention a little longer than the others. By the smirk on her lips, she knew it too. He swallowed down any harsh retorts toward them, and his brief but sudden bout of attraction, before he took his shield and felt a bit of his home returned to him. Coulson was an interesting man, but respectful, which was nice. He might be helpful in getting accustomed to the 21st century. Romanoff, well, Steve wasn't sure what to make of her, especially after that briefly intimate exchange where she returned his dog tags.

"Thank you, for returning these to me," he said in a stronger voice than he felt as he stood back up straight and tall. Natasha's hands ran down his chest briefly before she pulled away, and Steve could tell she knew the effect she had on him, even so soon after he had been compromised by so many emotions. She seemed to tone it down, however, as she offered him a comforting smile and took a seat on the couch next to Coulson.

"Anytime, Rogers."

"Clint Barton," the spy introduced himself almost cheerfully to help break Natasha's brief effect on the captain.

Steve shook the man's hand and nodded politely to him. "Steve Rogers, feel free to call me Steve, all of you."

The others on the couch nodded and Steve sat back down in the armchair. He put his shield next to him despite all instinct and desire to put it on top of his knees, to grant him a defense mechanism against what was no doubt going to be a long and difficult conversation. Instead, Steve reached up to grab his dog tags and felt reassured by their presence. He would need to get another necklace for the rings and keys, and another for the tags. No doubt the chain he wore had been damaged by so much time in the ice and he didn't want to run the risk of losing them. As he let them fall back against his chest, he looked to Fury.

"So, about those files I asked for?"

"They're being delivered as we speak," Fury stated calmly.

No sooner had the words left the man's mouth than the female agent from earlier walked in with a box of files, followed by a few more agents that set a series of boxes nearby that Steve assumed were the rest of his earthly belongings, as meager as they were given his original lifetime. The disguised agent set the files on the coffee table in front of him, greeted him with a smile and apologized for trying to deceive him. Steve waved it off and bid her a good day before he eyed the box of files. It was going to be a lot to absorb, but even before the serum had changed him he had been good at memorizing things, planning things out, learning. Now he just had an eidetic memory and enhanced learning skills to go with it… which was both blessing and curse. Sometimes, you couldn't help but beg to forget certain moments. He knew that all too well, and he had too many moments he would rather forget.

Steve pulled open the box and found Howard Stark's file, with another two following which were likely the man's family. A wistful smile passed along his lips as he opened the file to see a few different pictures of Howard Stark, one as Steve knew him, one as he looked like when he died, and one with his family.

"Never figured Howard for a family man," Steve mused lightly with a wistful grin. "I only knew him when he was single and taking dames home often enough to put a regiment on leave to shame."

Natasha snorted in amusement. "The apple doesn't fall very far from the tree then."

"I take it... 'Anthony' followed in his footsteps?" Steve wondered curiously as he continued reading Howard's file.

"Until he finally committed to Ms. Potts," Coulson put in kindly. "Tony Stark is a genius and he knows it, and she likes to put him in his place. He's made some recent innovations that are fairly impressive."

Steve nodded as he continued reading the file. The others in the room had already read them, he had no doubt, but for his benefit they each picked one and began paging through them. When Steve reached the end of the file he shook his head. "Oh, Howard… I wonder if you hadn't crashed if you'd be here to welcome me back."

"He would have been part of the recovery team," Nick informed him. "It was his long-lasting endeavor to search for any sign of you, even after he left SHIELD. He funded the operation to search for you and kept it funded through a trust in his estate after he died."

"He cared a lot more than I suspected… He was a good friend," Steve muttered mournfully before he took hold of his emotions more completely. "I'd like to meet his son someday."

"Oh I gotta be there for that," Clint spoke up with a twinkle in his eye. "Any chance I can get reassigned to that detail, Fury?"

"I need your eyes elsewhere, Barton, you know that," Nick denied him casually before his gaze trained on Steve. "I'm sure you two will meet soon. I'll arrange it myself if it doesn't happen sooner."

Steve nodded but paused as he took notice of a special annotation. His breath caught briefly as he pulled a letter out of the file with his name on it. He looked to Nick, who was watching him with a calculating look before the one-eyed-man nodded.

"They all left letters for you if you were ever found, most suspecting they would be read at your funeral if they didn't find you before they died," Nick explained solemnly. "Nobody has looked at those letters, out of respect for you and their memory. You had a loyal crew, Cap."

"You're not kidding," Steve managed to say as he tucked the letter between him and the arm of the chair he sat in. His gaze trained on one of the memos in the file as he shook his head. "Howard had his lawyers fight so I had personal rights to everything Captain America so I had something more than accrued Military back-pay to come back to."

"That will be included in your financial records," Coulson said quickly as he moved to the boxes and located the one he was looking for. He came back with the box and set it aside for the Captain's perusal later. "You earned it after what you've sacrificed for all of us, Cap."

"Maybe," Steve answered, suddenly uncomfortable as he closed the file but held the pictures of Howard in his hand. "Any chance I can keep these?"

"It's all yours, Cap," Nick stated clearly as he looked through what Steve saw to be Bucky's file.

Steve nodded and set the pictures with the letter on the coffee table as he grabbed another file. One after another he went through the files, memorized each as he constantly swallowed down the brick that tried to crawl out of his throat and the tears that threatened to leak out of his eyes with the end of each file. No-one other than Bucky had died in the line of duty, which Steve was immensely grateful for. He took each of their pictures and gently put them in a neat stack next to the letters they had compiled for him. He had put what he thought might be the most painful one off long enough though. He had gone through all of the files except his own and one other. As he reached for Peggy's file, he hesitated briefly before opening it.

There she was! As bold as brass, brown hair cascading in curls that framed her aristocratic features that drew his gaze to her chocolate eyes and strawberry lips, even if the photo was black and white he could remember the colors as clear as if it was yesterday, because for him it had been. She wore her army uniform; she was proud, strong, capable, but also smart, compassionate, and insufferably amazing, a woman in a world that was proved wrong at every turn when it underestimated her. He caressed the picture of her as he knew her before he turned his gaze to the other photos.

She had moved on, like all of the rest. She sat with her family surrounding her, a happy smile upon her lips as beautiful as the day he'd met her. Even when he turned to a current photo of her, he saw nothing but Peggy Carter, the strongest woman, aside from his mother, he had ever met, and the one that captured his heart. He gorged himself on her photographs and the file all about her. He wanted to know everything, wanted to make sure she led a good life, even if it hadn't been with him. She lived a long and full life, with kids and grandkids, even her extended family. When he read of her medical condition, he nearly choked. Such a strong woman, slowly being taken away by dementia and alzheimers, her memory and mind her own worst enemy in her final years alive.

"She's beautiful."

Steve looked up to see Natasha Romanoff on the armrest of his chair. He hadn't even noticed her move, so engrossed with the information before him. He turned his gaze back to the photo of Peggy and offered a wry smile at the sight of her. Even now the mere sight of her could make him grin.

"Yeah… she still is," he said as his gaze turned to the old woman that didn't quite fit in his mind as Peggy just yet. He doubted it ever would because right now it felt like Red Skull had still won in the worst way imaginable: he had taken Steve's chance at a life in his own time with his own friends away from him, because Steve himself had to sacrifice himself to end the war, to end the threat of Red Skull and Hydra.

"Who was she?" Natasha asked.

Steve's heart raced as his mind balked at the question while he remained outwardly unmoved. How could she not know? The name was on the file clear as day! Then his mind took a turn and he realized what was unsaid in the question. Who was Peggy to him? He closed the file as soon as he had the letter and pictures in his hands before he looked to Natasha.

"One of the people closest to me before I went in the ice," Steve explained as vaguely as he could allow himself. "My best girl."

That was all she or any of them were going to get out of him right then, and Natasha nodded. She set a hand on his shoulder as if to brace herself before she moved, but Steve felt the gentle squeeze Natasha gave him to try and comfort him briefly. His gaze trailed Natasha as she walked over to get a drink before Steve turned back to the table and began ordering the files more precisely. He set them all back in the box except his own. He pulled the file over to him and raised an eyebrow as he looked over his service record.

"I've been labelled M.I.A. since the crash?"

"You were America's great hope; Captain America, the Greatest Soldier in History," Nick explained professionally as he observed Steve's reaction closely. "It was better to say you were M.I.A. than K.I.A. so that folks could still hope, one day, for your triumphant return. The people wanted to believe you would return to them in their time of greatest need, and a lot of people have forgotten that, even if you're still a national icon. Because if the Greatest Soldier in History was still believed to be alive out there somewhere, then there was nothing to stop the hope of you once again saving the world or ending another war. There are entire series' of comic books detailing your imagined exploits and service for the country that are still hot sellers today."

"The power of hope is a powerful thing, but this just feels… a little wrong, I guess," Steve said before he looked back at the file. "Even if I suppose it really is the truth now."

"It's not a lie if it's true," Clint agreed as Natasha handed him a drink.

"People will be glad to have you back, Captain Rogers," Coulson said with a belief that flowed through his voice as easily as ever.

"Right," Steve replied somewhat stiffly to them as he continued reading his file.

The pictures of him before and after his transformation because or Erskine's serum weren't new. He had the same pictures in his wallet, or at least he used to. For all he knew that and everything inside it was destroyed or in the nearby boxes. He shrugged the thought aside and finished reading his file, noting the annotations for his retrieval and subsequent surprising revival included. The captain nodded firmly once more at the file then slipped it away with the others as he peered at each person in the room. It had taken him barely two hours to get through the files, so focused had he been on them and almost nothing else. The letters he would read later, and the pictures he would find a way to keep close to him.

"I'll look through the rest soon," Steve explained as he leaned forward in his seat and watched each of the agents closely. "But I'm getting a bit hungry. Got any food around here?"

"Freshly and fully stocked fridge and pantry just for your arrival, unless you want us to have something delivered," Natasha chipped in as she looked him in the eye. "You can get just about any kind of food you can imagine delivered right to your door these days."

"Is pizza still the same in Brooklyn?" Steve wondered aloud. He had a lot of questions about the future now that he was at least halfway done reconciling his personal history. World history could wait, and right now he felt as hungry as 70 years on ice could probably make anyone feel. "Cause I've got about 70 years of missed meals to catch up on."

Clint chuckled lightly at that and nodded lightly at Natasha before Coulson stood up. "I'll have some agents get some for us asap, Steve. What would you like?"

"Classic pepperoni with extra cheese if they still have it like they used to make it. I'll eat anything you folks want otherwise," Steve said before he looked around. "Got any coke here a kid from Brooklyn can drink?"

"I know just the place," Coulson said as he made his way to the door. "Barton, Romanoff, the usual?"

"You know it," Clint said as Natasha nodded.

"Director?"

"I'll have what Steve's having," Fury said as he stood up and gestured for Steve to follow him while Coulson pulled out a phone and left the room. "Come on, soldier, I think I've got what you're looking for."

The pair made their way into the kitchen. It was a lot different than what Steve was used to, what his mom had taught him to cook with. He would have to have a lot of things explained to him, and not just about everything he had missed. Fury opened the fridge and pulled out two glass bottles of coke. Finally, something familiar!

"They usually only put out the glass bottles for sale around christmas anymore but we got these ordered special," Fury explained as he popped off the cap of one and handed it over to Steve. "They're in plastic bottles more often than not but we got these to make you feel a little more at home."

"Thanks," Steve said as he looked around the kitchen. He and Fury walked out of it, though Steve paused as he stood roughly near the center of the large area. "Is this where I'll be staying?"

"For a while, until you're ready to move out," replied the director easily as he resumed his seat with a light sigh of content after he sipped his own coke. "Agents Romanoff and Barton live here in those rooms while they're in New York, but they'll be heading to different missions in the next 48 hours. Your room is on the left, if you still want it."

"Thank you, I appreciate it, and everything else you have done and are doing for me," Steve told them. Nick offered a gracious nod as Steve leaned against the table and sipped the coke in his hands. A brief smile overtook his lips as he enjoyed the classic beverage and sighed in content as the icy cold liquid travelled down his throat. There was a lot he would have to get used to, not the least of which was an entire world that had gone on without him for nearly seventy years. Their observant gazes and quiet surveillance, however, would get annoying.

"I'm not glass you know, I grew up in pre-forties Brooklyn and fought a war so you can stop staring at me like I'm going to break down, or like I'm a target," Steve said as politely as he could, despite the bark in his voice.

"It's not an easy adjustment to make, learning everything you know and loved is gone," Nick began diplomatically. "We're just trying to make sure you're taken care of and that you're really alright."

"Yeah, well, it's not the first time I've lost something I love," Steve retaliated with a little heat. He hated being treated like glass, being treated like he was weak, like the victim or an invalid, like he had been by so many people in his younger years. He knew that's not what they were doing, but the rationality that calmed him so often had given way to some of his compromised feelings. He was handicapped, again, but in an entirely different way from before when he was a 90lbs soaking wet asthmatic with a host of other issues. He assumed his Captain America posture a little more, once again containing the roiling storm inside him as he took another sip of his drink.

"No, but you have lost your entire world and woke up to one that you barely recognize," Natasha argued gently back at him. "We might not know exactly what it's like for you, but we're here to help because we want to be. So take your time and get used to it, because the world doesn't wait for anyone."

Steve's gaze snapped onto Natasha quickly as he listened intently to what she had to say. She held nothing back in this moment, told him how his situation was, at least what she knew of it, and was going to be there to help, at least for a short time. He wanted to rage, to scream at them they had no idea what this was like but bottled that up. Captain America didn't get angry with his allies, he didn't lose control, he maintained it, took it if he damn well had to; so that's what he did. He took control of himself and held that raging storm inside as the agents began to talk amongst themselves when he didn't offer a reply.

Steve remained in place at the table, sipping his drink and listening to jazz as the agents talked shop. All the while, however, he observed them, and noticed Clint talking with his hands more than the others, and their movements seemed to resist making certain maneuvers. Steve peered more closely and saw the man had something on his ear. That didn't seem quite right, but the way Barton moved his hands reminded Steve of a past encounter he had with someone he'd come across working with the NYPD as a sketch artist. He was just about to put that thought aside as he finished his drink when Coulson returned with a stack of pizza boxes. The soldier quickly moved and searched for plates and another bottle of coke before he returned to the table. The spies hadn't quite moved yet as Steve set it before he looked to Clint.

"Need a drink? What kind of pizza would you like?" Steve suddenly signed at the man.

Nick, Natasha and Phil froze in place as they looked from Barton to Rogers, and the bow-carrying agent blinked in surprise, caught completely off-guard by the fact that Captain America knew sign language. He let out a brief cough, more of a laugh than anything before he returned the gesture. "I could go for a coke. I'll start with a slice of the one with just about everything on it… Thank you."

Steve gave Clint a beaming grin and gave the sign for "You're welcome" before he began to get things together for the archer. Clint, meanwhile, looked to Natasha with a bit of a grin.

"I like him."

"You would," she said with a sarcastic roll of her eyes. Barton punched her shoulder, before she hit him right back as they stood up. But unlike the others, she could tell that "thank you" had been for more than just preparing some dinner. Clint had thanked Steve for showing him Captain America cared about all kinds of people, even the deaf, and for going the extra mile to make Clint more comfortable around him even when he, Steve, was the Man Out of Time. So behind her friend's back, she locked eyes with Steve and echoed the gesture. "Thank you."

The man offered her a genuine smile and a nod before he winked. "And what about you, Romanoff, what can I get you?"

"Such a gentleman, Rogers," she teased him lightly as she approached. "But I think I can handle it myself. Thanks for the offer though."

"Just shows my mom brought me up right, ma'am," he countered with another brief nod. Steve sat down and inspected the pizza for a moment before he brought it up, folded it in half like a true New Yorker and took a massive bite. He slowly chewed and his shoulders relaxed as he let a slight hum of appreciation escape him. His eyes closed and for a moment, just that moment, as the others talked and the jazz soothingly played in the background he could imagine being back at his place with Bucky, chugging a few cokes and devouring a pizza between them on a cold New York night. When he opened his eyes again, reality returned, but that didn't stop him from enjoying the pizza any less.

"Thank you, Phil, I'll pay you back when I can figure out how to get some of my cash together," Steve said as he looked to Coulson. The agents all looked at each-other, smirks on each of their faces while Coulson beamed at his idol.

"No need, Steve, we take care of our own here at SHIELD."

Steve nodded through another bite of pizza at Coulson as they all tucked into their meal. The super-soldier tried to be polite, but his metabolism was in overdrive from keeping him alive on nothing but what Steve remembered as "yesterday's breakfast" for the past sixty-odd years, and he couldn't help himself for a moment as he went through three slices before anyone else had even reached for a second. Natasha's eyes glittered with unsaid jokes as the two senior agents had knowing grins on their faces. It was Clint, however, that broke the ice.

"Looks like the Captain's still a growing boy," he joked as he leaned over his meal a little more. "Better eat up before he eats the rest of it on you, Tasha."

Steve looked a little sheepish as he shrugged, but Natasha was already a step ahead of him. Her eyes twinkled with mischief, and Steve could have sworn her green eyes came more alive as they locked with his own bright blue peepers before she spoke up. "Nothing wrong with a good appetite."

Steve suddenly found it very hard to swallow as he kept his gaze locked on hers. Her smirk was indelible as Clint chuckled beside her, and Steve finally managed to finish swallowing that last bite before he turned his gaze away from her. She could wind him up with ease, and probably could have said or done a lot more, but he could tell she held back on purpose. She wanted to help him feel normal, to help him get a grip on everything, even if she had to be blunt about reality, or tease him to try and make him loosen up or get acclimated to their presence, especially hers.

He nodded in quiet thanks to her and they all continued to eat. None of them asked Steve questions about his past, in an effort not to remind him even more of what he had lost, but instead let him ask questions, and even guided him to a few they knew they could answer for him. Natasha told Steve about her experiences with Tony Stark, and Coulson filled him in on what happened during the end of the war. They fed him basic facts to help him get an idea of how the world was changing or what people were like.

In fact, he even learned a general idea of what everything was worth these days. Steve decided he would need a good economics book or lesson to help him get used to the new costs of everyday living, and to help him sort out what was no doubt a not-so-small estate that Howard had managed to set up for him. In any case, they let him take it one step at a time, even if he was now tossed into the deep-end and told to swim his way out into a new world. After they finished dinner, with many grateful thanks from Steve, the Captain went back to studying what he had missed, starting with his financials.

Steve studied well into the night and kept up with the conversations around and with him as he read everything he could get his hands on. Eventually Fury left, followed shortly by Coulson. It wasn't until around midnight that Natasha and Clint informed him they were hitting the hay.

"Ready for bed, Cap? You've had a pretty long day," Clint asked him as he stood up.

"I think I'll stay up and keep reading," Steve replied more slowly as he looked from the box of financials to a few others the agents had sorted out for him to read. "I've been asleep for almost seventy years so I think I've had enough of that for a while."

"Fair enough, just don't overdo it," the archer finished. "G'night, cap!"

Steve was just about to return to his reading before he looked to Natasha, she remained nearby. "Not going to bed yet?"

"No, I am," Natasha replied more easily. "Just, take Clint's advice, alright? You don't want to overdo it on your first day and night back."

"I'll… take that under advisement, but really, I'm fine," Steve told her with a smile. "Have a good night, Miss Romanoff."

Natasha watched him for a few more moments, then nodded. They both knew it was a lie, but right now she wasn't going to confront him about it. Instead she was going to let him deal with things the way he needed to. When he needed her, when he trusted her, maybe then she could help him a bit more than she was trying to now. Steve gave her a grateful nod as she left, and when her door was finally shut, Steve's gaze trained on the letters. There would never be a more private time to read them than right that moment, and he needed to know what they had left for him. He reached into the pile, sorted them out and opened Peggy's first.

Dear Steve…

Behind closed doors, the four agents were looking at screens of one another for their late night debrief.

"So, he really is the Captain America we've all heard about," Coulson said to the others.

"Yeah, he is, but that doesn't mean he's not hiding something," Nick began as he leaned back in his seat. "I feel for the guy, I do, but I had expected to see more emotion out of him than what we witnessed today."

"He doesn't know us, Fury," Natasha cut in quickly. "Rogers just woke up in a new century with new people, new rules, new everything. He is the Man Out of Time and right now he's compartmentalizing extremely well to hold so much of it in. But we saw plenty of his emotions today even if he didn't show us everything. Frankly I'm impressed he has been so composed about everything. He needs time to adjust, time I don't think we are actually going to have a chance to give him. To Steve, yesterday he was fighting Red Skull and helping end World War II, today he's waking up to learn everything and everyone he knows is gone except for the woman he was falling in love with, who on top of everything else is now an old woman with one foot out the door and her mind in a haze. He's fought hard to contain himself and he's going to need an outlet, and soon."

"Well he may get that sooner than we think as well," Fury sighed as he looked to his second screen before he shook his head. "This was never going to be easy for him, but I'm afraid our schedule stands as it is. Within the next 48 hours Barton and Romanoff have to head out for their assignments, and you, Coulson, will be helping Barton at the Tesseract facility. I don't want to pull the Captain's new support structure out from under him as soon as we are, but he's going to have to deal with some of these changes on his own, especially if he's going to reintegrate into society."

"We can still help him until we leave, that might be enough to help stabilize him until our assignments are finished," Barton said as he cleaned an arrow. "In any case, we need to be prepared for anything, and that means a good night's rest in order to deal with him tomorrow."

"Agreed," Natasha said as she looked to the others. "I doubt he's going to sleep, and if he does it's not going to be for very long. I'll do what I can over the next 48 to help him stabilize until I finish my mission in Russia. Hopefully he'll be better adjusted and more willing to talk by then."

"Good, dismissed everyone."

As the screens shut down, Natasha turned her gaze to the door of her room to the den. Curiosity flooded her and the Black Widow deliberately opened her door so she could peek out at the recently revived captain. What she found was Steve Rogers pouring over his letters, silent tears running tracks down his face for what was rumored to be, perhaps, the third time in his entire life. She wanted to go to him, to comfort him as she would comfort a mark, to patch him up enough to make it easier for him, but she didn't.

Steve Rogers was not just any mark, not just a mission, not now. Steve had made Clint comfortable, given her friend some support and stability of his own even when Steve's own world had been taken away and replaced by something almost altogether different. Steve Rogers was an associate, an ally, an asset currently, but she knew he needed his space. Going in now and trying to fix his problems was not the answer. He needed this current outlet, this emotional release, and he needed it to be private…

Or did he?

Natasha assumed he needed someone to be there for him, someone he could lean on, depend on like he had in the past when it all got to be too much. He needed his friend, Barnes, or even Peggy Carter, but they couldn't give him anywhere close to that, not right now. None of them were anywhere near close enough to Steve to go out there and help him, even to provide a moment's comfort in this most intimate, crushing moment that Steve was confronted with. It was a private affair, Natasha knew, and she knew the best thing she could do right then was at least be there for him in the morning.

"Goodnight… Rogers."