Disclaimer: I do not own Captain America, The Avengers, or any associated characters. Stating the obvious, much?

Summary: Being sixty years out of date isn't easy. Neither is adjusting to modern-day society. But nothing worthwhile is ever easy.

REINTRODUCTION

It was very frustrating to be stuck inside because you were likely to injure yourself due to not having the first idea about what was going on outside.

Steve Rodgers, a.k.a Captain America, had gone to sleep (or been knocked unconscious) after deliberately crashing his plane in World War II, and woken up in a hospital bed sixty years later, when everyone he knew was dead or changed beyond recognition on either of their parts, when the world had changed so much that he saw almost nothing familiar, and when everyone kept making culture references that he didn't understand because he had been unconscious for the past seventy years!

Nick Fury, current Director of S.H.I.E.L.D, had been trying to think up a way to re-introduce him to society, but it was slow going. Everyone was either too in awe of the legendary Captain America, or insisted on treating him with kid gloves, as though he were a delicate child. For now, Steve had given up on that avenue and was working on getting back into his former fit condition. Solitude gave him perhaps too much time to think, but it was better than being in a crowd that walked on eggshells and whispered whenever he was in the room.

That was why he was so annoyed when he heard the click of heeled shoes and the door opening while he was in the middle of a workout. Still, he had been raised better than to be rude to a lady (presumably the visitor was female – most men didn't wear heeled shoes), and plastered a polite look onto his face as he turned around.

It was a woman, perhaps a few years younger than him, but despite her office-like clothing, she didn't seem to be here on business. Her hair was dark, trying to escape the long braid, and she had green eyes. Her accent was neither American nor English, though the proper enunciation of the words suggested the latter. "I've been searching the entire place for some peace and quiet, and this is the only area I haven't looked yet." Her voice was soft, but clear, as she held up a plastic container and a book. "I'll be quiet, I promise."

As long as she didn't pepper him with questions, Steve didn't care. "Go ahead."

True to her promise, she was quiet, except for the crunching when she reached the apple and carrot sticks part of her lunch, and Steve actually forgot that she was even there until she stood up, looking at the clock. "I have to get back, but thanks for letting me stay."

Perhaps it was the novelty of human company that didn't treat him with near-religious awe or as if he was an object to be studied that made Steve speak. "You can come back tomorrow, if you like."

She did come back the next day, bearing two thermos containers of some kind of chowder. "I figured it would be polite to bring something, in case you were hungry, too. No pressure."

She left one thermos on the bench next to his towel and water, then opened a different book to the day before and leaned back against the wall, occasionally sipping from the other thermos as she read.

Steve appreciated the gesture, and thanked her for it, but focused on his training, only looking up when she left again, as quiet as she came.

The same thing happened with left-over beef stew the third day and a very simple fruit salad on the fourth day. Each time, she came in, left something on the bench, and sat in an out of the way corner for an hour. She had a different book each day, which suggested a very fast and eclectic reader, since he had seen her reading a small volume of Edgar Allen Poe, a Science-Fiction novel, a book with a dragon on the cover, and what looked like a book on Egyptian Mythology.

The fifth day, he had to ask. "I know trained soldiers who don't move as quietly as you. Are you one of the agents here?"

She shook her head and laughed. "I used to work in a day-care centre, until two thirds of the class graduated into primary school and they were suddenly very overstaffed. Loud footsteps during nap-time are a bad idea. Would you like a muffin? I brought extra."

Apparently, she either had a weakness for muffins, or she had overestimated his appetite. Still, between the war and the fact that he was on an army base, it had been years since Steve had tasted much beyond army rations. Apple and cinnamon muffins, if he was right.

He was, and they were quite good. She smiled when he complimented her, admitting that baking and soups were about the only thing she could really cook, and he realized that he was missing something important. "I should have introduced myself before, and I apologize for that, ma'am. I'm Captain Steve Rodgers."

She smiled again, and despite her otherwise fairly plain appearance, Steve decided that she had a nice smile. "Irena Rose, it's nice to meet you."

Irene was a Greek name, but the modification, along with her colouring suggested a more northern origin. "Slavic?"

Irena shook her head. "Australian. Mum wanted at least one child to have an exotic name, but she shot down Dad's suggestion of Nikkita."

One of Steve's cousins had been stuck with the name Alessandrea for exactly that reason. "Ah."

The sixth day was sandwiches and splitting an orange, because Irena had overslept and barely had time to throw that together, breakfast consisting of a muesli bar hastily eaten on the train. Given the still-damp and messier-than-usual bun she wore, Steve suspected that lunch wasn't the only thing she had rushed that morning.

It was kind of flattering.

It had been a week since the first visit, and Steve was surprised that he was actually starting to enjoy it. He hadn't had time to ask a question before, but took the chance now. "If you're Australian, what are you doing on a S.H.I.E.L.D base? I mean, Governments don't usually transfer agents, and your accent isn't neutral enough for you to have been here long."

Irena inclined her head. "I'm taking a year or two to travel, and visiting my Grandfather – well, my stepmother's father, but close enough – and he gets called in for consultation sometimes. There was no-one else to leave me with and he didn't like the visit being interrupted, so he brought me along, and I was running low on money, so I'm staying at a motel while helping with the very-low-level paperwork. Coffee runs, filling things out in triplicate, that sort of thing."

That was interesting, but if Irena was as quiet in the workplace as she was here, people probably forgot that she was even there. "Your Grandfather?"

She nodded. "Air force Captain Richard Wilson. I met him for the first time three years ago, but apparently he likes me. What about you?"

Steve blinked at the change of subject. "Me? What do you mean?"

She gave him a Look, much like Peggy when she thought he was being dense. "We've only talked about me and my life so far. Who were your friends? What was your family like? What do you enjoy doing?"

That was an odd question, in some ways. "You mean it isn't in my file? Or Public Knowledge in old newspapers?"

Irena shrugged. "S.H.I.E.L.D isn't exactly shouting your return from the rooftops, and frankly, those of us Down Under would be a lot more impressed if you were some ANZAC hero brought back to life." Her smile was the tiniest bit wicked. "Outside of America, you actually aren't that big of a deal."

When he got a bit more adjusted to 'Modern Life', Steve was giving serious consideration to moving to Australia. After the constant staring and fan-worship, annoying even before he had been frozen, being Semi-Anonymous was sounding wonderful.

The tenth day, Irena didn't show up, and everyone was tip-toing around even worse than usual. Steve was surprised to discover that he was actually upset about this. He hadn't realized that he had actually started to look forward to her visits.

According to Agent Hill, when Steve asked her, Director Fury had found out that an unauthorized foreigner had been wandering around the complex more or less alone for over a week, and several people had been very thoroughly yelled at.

Fury was even less pleased when he discovered that said unauthorized foreigner had been taking lunch on a daily basis with one of their most closely-guarded secrets, and had not been thrilled that Steve would prefer that said lunches continue.

Still, it was as good an introduction to society as they had managed so far, and Fury finally relented enough to allow the lunches to continue – as long as they took place in street-clothes, and were monitored by several agents of Fury's choosing.

There was no room for that to work in the training room, so Irena took him to a favourite café. It meant that lunch was later, since they went after the mid-day rush died down, but it was fun. Apparently, Irena wasn't very 'with-the-times', either, and a lot of slang or pop-culture references went over her head, thanks to a preference for books over Celebrity Gossip. They found themselves talking, and Irena would either explain as they went along, or if she didn't know, suggest an outrageous theory before they tried to look it up.

The term 'n00b', for example, did not mean "someone hit the wrong key while attempting to type the hugely appropriate eighteenth century slang for on idiot", but was actually shorthand for 'Newcomer'.

He knew better than to talk about state secrets of the Serum that had made him the first Super-Soldier, even to his closest friends, but it was only fair to return information about himself, and the curious, almost bird-like head-tilt when Irena listened to someone was kind of cute. Over sodas and a long roll stuffed with salad and various fillings, that Irena called a 'sub', he started.

"My parents were Irish Immigrants, and my best friend was James Barnes, or Bucky, as most called him. I was the scrawny kid on the block and got rejected from Army enlistment at least five times."

Actually, it was more than five, but he wasn't about to admit that. Irena raised an eyebrow, giving his current physique a pointed look. Steve almost blushed. "That came later. Anyway, I finally got recruited for a special task force, and I hope you'll understand that I can't go into the rest between then and when I somehow wound up frozen in stasis until about a year ago."

Irena nodded seriously. "Grandfather mentioned something about a flagpole and much grumbling about the reward…?"

Get the flag, win a date with Peggy. Steve had lost count of the number of people calling him a lucky SOB over that. "Tell me, how would you go about getting a flag down from a greased flagpole?"

Irena tilted her head again as she considered. "Do I have access to the rope-pulley system used to get it up there in the first place?"

Steve shook his head. "It was fixed in place before they raised the flagpole."

Irena slowly nodded. "How high is it? Could two people lift a third on their shoulders to reach it?"

The soldiers had been too busy fighting each other to try it, but the pole was still slightly too tall for that. "Not quite."

Irena nodded again. "Ok, and the grease makes it impossible to get a handhold without some kind of equipment that I'll assume we're not allowed to use?"

Steve grinned, wondering if it was good or bad that Irena hadn't been born when he was growing up. It would have been nice to have her as a friend before he became Captain America, but she would have been in Australia then, and certainly not here now. Maybe it was a good thing. "no equipment."

Irena was quiet, then seemed to come to a decision. "How is the pole fixed to the ground? If it's a hinge or a simple dig-in, you could just take out the pin or pull it up, and I can't see concrete on a temporary army base."

Steve laughed. "And for some reason, I was the only one who thought of that. The prize was the rest of the day off training and a date with a very pretty female attaché. Hence the grumbling."

Irena covered a wicked giggle. "If it helps at all, I tend to have a different thought process to most people, and soldiers are used to following orders in the most direct manner possible. 'Get the Flag' probably made them immediately think of the fastest way, rather than taking the time to rationalize a longer process of elimination."

It was nice of her to say so, but Steve couldn't help his mind going back to another intelligent, dark-haired woman. Irena noticed, and placed a gentle hand on his wrist. "I brought back memories, didn't I? I'm sorry. What was their name?"

Both of whom could be far too perceptive. "Peggy. Somehow, the prize date went on to a second date and spending time together between missions. Before I left on the last mission, I asked her to wait for me, and I haven't been able to get anyone to help me find out what happened to her. I don't know if she died, or never married, or took a partner, or had children. If she's still alive, does she know I'm back? It was a few months ago for me, but a lifetime for her."

Irena's eyes held compassion and comprehension. Maybe it had to do with most of her friends being male as she grew up, but she seemed to have a basic grasp of the masculine thought process, and Steve obviously wasn't proud of the possibility that Peggy hadn't moved on, but also worried about if she had. "And all of those maybes would have been her choice. Maybe she thought that others couldn't compare, or she didn't want to move on with someone else. Maybe she knew that you would always have a place in her heart, but there was room for others, too. Maybe she didn't want to spend the rest of her life alone, or she didn't believe that you were really dead, or any number of reasons. Whatever she did, thinking that it's somehow your fault is very self-centred."

Steve almost spluttered at the statement, but the agents were standing up, signaling that lunch was over. His mind still half in the past, Steve fell back on the manners he had been raised with, standing quickly and holding out a hand. "What time should I pick you up tomorrow?"

ca

ca

ca

ca

A/N: My knowledge of the comics is very limited, so this will be mostly movie-verse. For now, it's just a one-shot, but I may continue it if people think that it's good enough.

As my first Marvel fic outside of X-Men, I would love constructive feedback, even if it's only to point out my mistakes.

Thanks, Nat.