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You’ve been asleep, Cap. For almost 70 years. 70 years….70 years.…70....years. The words continued to echo in Steve’s ears, days and weeks after Fury had spoken them. 70 years. A full lifetime. Why couldn’t he have just died ? He had wanted to die. He still wanted to. He didn’t want this second chance at life, as so many people from S.H.I.E.L.D. told him he was lucky to have. He wanted the life he had with Bucky, illnesses and all. And without Bucky, he didn’t want life. Steve knew that no one was aware of his relationship with Bucky and wouldn’t understand that particular loss, but they didn’t seem to realize that the war was only a few weeks in the past for him. It’s not as if he had felt those 70 years pass him by. He crashed the plane with the understanding that he would die, and instead, woke up as if he’d slept for a few days, into a future that assaulted his senses and disoriented him at every turn.
When Fury had cornered him in the middle of the street, he had asked Steve, “Are you going to be okay?” He had replied in the affirmative because what else the hell was he going to say? And now, he was at this Retreat out of the city to get him back on his feet . Back on his feet?! Like he’d been in an accident and just needed some time and space to heal some wounds. There were moments that Steve let the unfairness, the injustice, of his situation grow and fill every part of his body until he felt he could tear the world down from the rage of it all. At least the rage kept the grief at bay. He couldn’t think of all those who he had lost or he would never resurface. He was Atlas straining to keep the heavens on his shoulders. So, he did his best to not think of the past, however recent it was to him.
S.H.I.E.L.D., or Director Fury, Steve wasn’t sure which or even if they were separate entities, deigned that he should adjust to his new world by being by himself, in a cabin, in the woods. An agent came by every Monday to give him his lesson for that week, like he was back in school again. Steve knew Agent Figueroa was just doing his job as instructed, but it irked him to no end that S.H.I.E.L.D. treated him like he came from the Stone Age and knew nothing about the concept of technology. Obviously, Steve understood that the technology was different than what he had known in the forties, but he had witnessed Hydra tech that had baffled even the great Howard Stark. He was not ignorant in how the world could potentially change.
Three Mondays into his Welcome to the Modern Age lessons, and Steve was just not having it. He was bored out of his goddamn mind from being cooped up in the cabin with little else to do except run for hours on end. Agent Figueroa was trying to teach him about tablets and touchscreens, when he lashed out, “You know, Agent, I may be 93 in actual years, but my memories are only 26 years old. You don’t have to treat me like a geezer who can’t remember their own name.”
Agent Figueroa looked up in surprise, his brown eyes going wide. “I--I’m sorry, Captain America, sir. This is just what I was given to teach you--”
Steve softened at the fear in the agent’s eyes. He took a deep breath and tried again, “What I mean is, why don’t you , not S.H.I.E.L.D., not Director Fury, why don’t you teach me what you think is relevant. I promise that I learn quickly, and I’ll ask questions if I don’t understand.” The mechanics of learning new technology was easy enough to understand. Steve just wanted to learn the basics, and then figure it out on his own. “Oh, and another thing, Agent. There’s no need to call me Captain America. My name is Steve.”
“Yes, sir...uh, I mean Steve.” The poor agent looked like he was going to shit himself, so Steve took pity on him.
“If it’s just the two of us, we don’t have to be so formal. What’s your first name?”
The agent managed to squeak out, “Rafael.” He cleared his throat and said again, “My name is Rafael, but my friends call me Rafa.”
“May I call you Rafa as well?”
“Yeah, I guess, if you want.”
“Okay, Rafa. Here’s what’s going to happen. We’re going to sit in the living room and relax, and you’re going to treat me like one of your friends. Forget about Captain America. Forget about the shield. I’m just Steve.” If he had to be in this hellhole, then at least Steve was going to be treated as a regular person, not some ancient artifact. But he could see that Agent Figueroa was still apprehensive about the situation. “Don’t worry about what your supervisor or Director Fury will say. I’ll take the blame if there is any.” They both stood from the table in the kitchen, heading to the living room, and Steve saw Rafael loosen his tie a little bit. Good. He needed someone to act human around him. Since waking up, defrosting , no one Steve had interacted with had been personable. They had all just been interchangeable suits, barring Fury, of course. That leather coat and eye patch were hardly standard issue.
Steve had been awake now for just over three weeks. And every person he had come into contact with had one of two reactions: either they were totally awestruck and put him up on a pedestal or they treated him as an inanimate object, like he was nothing more than his uniform and shield. And, of course, he had not been allowed to interact with any civilians, just S.H.I.E.L.D. personnel. He had gone from being one in a group of seven nearly every day for well over a year to being completely alone. Totally and completely alone. Steve reined in that line of thinking; it didn’t do to dwell on those thoughts.
Settling into the corner of the big leather couch, Steve tucked a leg under himself to, hopefully, look a little less imposing to the poor agent in front him, who still looked acutely nervous, sitting far too upright in the wingback chair. Steve smiled gently and asked, “So, Rafa, where are you from?”
“I grew up in Chicago, but my grandparents were from northwestern Spain.”
“Any siblings?”
“Three sisters and a brother.”
“What do you do when you’re not babysitting me?” This was beginning to feel like a poorly conducted interview.
“Not much, I guess. The job takes up a lot of my time, b-but I like that!” he frantically finished.
Steve wanted to roll his eyes but refrained from doing so. “Rafa, this isn’t an interrogation. I just want to have a conversation that doesn’t revolve around things that I missed out on. I want to hear about your life.” The reminders of all the events and people that had passed him by were not uplifting topics, to say the least.
The man across from him finally leaned back into the chair and relaxed slightly. “You--you’re sure?”
“Of course. How better to learn about the current age than from someone who’s living it? And you’re what, 23? 24? Only a few years younger than me.”
“Um...okay, yeah, I’m 24,” Rafa said. “I graduated from the University of Chicago with a degree in international finance two years ago and signed with S.H.I.E.L.D. right away. But I’ve only been in New York for less than a year.”
A rush of something , Steve didn’t know what, filled him at those words. As a native New Yorker, Steve felt the need to tell Rafa all the places to go, but of course, he didn’t know if anything was the same. “So how does the Big Apple compare to the Windy City then?” Steve realized after he had asked that he had no idea if those terms were still used.
Clearly trying not to offend the New Yorker sitting in front of him, Rafa replied, “Well, you know, New Yorkers certainly have a unique attitude.”
Steve let out a small huff of laughter, the first since waking up. Hell, he didn’t think he had even smiled since Bucky fell. “What? You mean that not everybody thinks their city is the center of the universe?” But to New Yorkers, the city was the universe, and the universe could be found in New York City.
“Well, yeah,” Rafa admitted. Steve could hear the other man’s heartbeat slow down as he finally fully relaxed. “Some people act like they’ve never even heard of Chicago. And while I don’t mind the pizza here, I can’t find a decent deep-dish anywhere!”
Steve hadn’t ever heard of that before and asked, “What’s deep-dish?”
The agent dropped his jaw and said in disbelief, “‘ What’s deep-dish?’ Only the best type of pizza. Plenty of places in the city claim to have deep-dish, but it is not the same.” Seeing the confused look on Steve’s face, Rafa clarified, “It’s literally a pizza pie. There’s thick crust that’s built up the sides of the pan, and it’s filled to the brim with toppings. If you ever get a chance to go to Chicago, go to Lou Malnati’s. It’s not worth going anywhere else.”
Mentally bookmarking the name, Steve asked, “Anything about New York that you do like?”
Slightly abashed, Rafa said, “Well, sure. I do really love the skyline in the city. It doesn’t matter where you go, there’s always a sight to see. It’s a beautiful city, it really is. And I really love the variety of foods here. I can get Armenian or Nigerian or Indonesian all on the same block.” He paused and said almost apologetically, “But if S.H.I.E.L.D. didn’t help pay for my rent, I would have never moved here. I wasn’t even going to take the offer, but I thought I might regret it if I didn’t.”
There was no way that Steve, as a born and bred Brooklynite, would ever admit that there might be other cities worth living in, but he understood that the city wasn’t for everyone. “At least you’re not wishing you were in Jersey,” Steve shuddered. He couldn’t imagine anything worse.
The agent laughed at that. “I’ll agree with you there.”
They continued talking, with Steve learning much more than what S.H.I.E.L.D. would have had him learn. By the time Rafa needed to leave, they had come to an agreement that part of their weekly sessions would include just talking to each other. Before the agent walked out, Steve asked, “Is there any chance I can get a computer or tablet that I can use? I appreciate all the books, but I think if I want to really get caught up, I need to do some of my own research.”
Hesitating, Rafa said diplomatically, “I’ll ask. But it was my impression that they wanted to wait on that.”
More like never , Steve thought. He knew how the government worked. He knew that he wasn’t being given information that S.H.I.E.L.D. didn’t consider vital to their own cause. At least he asked, and hopefully next week Rafa would be able to give him something. “Thanks, Rafa. I’d really appreciate that.” If Steve added some Captain America to his voice, then that was his business.
It seemed the tone did not go over Agent Figueroa’s head as he was a little starstruck as he said, “Sure thing, Steve. I’ll definitely ask.”
***
After Rafa left, Steve sat back down on the couch and thought about their conversation. It had buoyed him and left him feeling a little less lost. And now he was actually looking forward to the following Monday. Having his own computer to look up things would be a godsend. Steve hoped that S.H.I.E.L.D. would relent and give him some freedom. Even dressing up in that ridiculous Captain America outfit for Senator Brandt’s touring show had given him more freedom than this. At least then, he got to travel and talk to people. A sudden stab of longing hit him deep in his chest, enough to take his breath away for a moment. Images of Gracie and Evelyn and Shirley and Bernadette and Daisy and all the other girls from the show swam before him. It was a good thing he was already sitting down because Steve was pretty sure his legs would have given out had he been standing.
The brief levity that Rafa’s visit had brought swiftly went by the wayside as deep, gut-clenching loneliness swept through Steve. He tried to slow down the images as they rushed by, reminding him of a happier life, a life worth living. Gracie’s comforting brown eyes smiling at him, and her blonde curls shaking with laughter as they watched Shirley and Evelyn on the dance floor. Daisy’s hand warming his arm as she tightly held on after one too many cocktails in Atlanta. Bernadette admonishing him “ Don’t you dare drop us, Steven Rogers” as he practiced lifting up the motorcycle with the girls on it. Those memories soon morphed into those of the Howlies and Bucky. Morita teaching him how to drive a motorcycle, and Monty teaching him how to hotwire a jeep. Dernier patiently waiting out his butchered French with Gabe laughing his ass off at the atrocious attempt. And Dum Dum tenderly taking care of him after Bucky fell, like Steve was one of his own children.
And Bucky. Oh God, Bucky! The memories flying too fast and furious for any one of them to be clear, but through it all, Bucky’s gentle smile and kind eyes, loving him through everything life threw at them. Steve closed his eyes and let the grief consume him. He ached to the very marrow of his bones with the weight of all the loss. It was too much. Far too much. Why couldn’t he have died on the Valkyrie? Why did he have to be found and thawed out? Why couldn’t he just cease to exist and be at peace? Why did he have to hurt? And he hurt, terribly so. Worse than when the serum broke and stretched every bone and ligament and muscle in his body. He just wanted the pain gone. He wanted to be gone.
***
Steve startled awake a few hours later, unsure of where he was, not an uncommon occurrence as of late. He relaxed once he realized that he had fallen asleep on the couch. But his body ached and his head was as fuzzy as what a night of drinking used to do to him before the serum. He went to rub his face and realized that he had dried salty tear tracks all down his cheeks. Reminded of how he had fallen asleep, Steve groaned out loud and let his head thud against the back of the couch. He thought that with Rafa’s visit, things were getting better. But then he had crashed so hard. He didn’t know how to handle this roller coaster.
Sighing, Steve stood up and went to take a shower. That at least required zero thought. He could do that. At least, he thought he could do that, but as he stood under the scalding spray, he found that all he could do was stand there. The effort to even consider washing up was too great. Steve let his head fall forward against the shower wall and stood there until the water turned tepid. As it became icy, Steve felt his heart start to race and he felt like he was trapped in the Valkyrie again. The shower disappeared as the ice closed in around him. He couldn’t escape. Couldn’t breathe. There was no air. The pressure of the ice was crushing him. He was going to suffocate. Steve made a herculean effort to expand his lungs and abruptly found himself in a shower. He stumbled away from the water and collapsed onto the floor. Laying on his back, he focused on getting oxygen into his lungs. When he felt he could breathe again, Steve shakily stood up and walked to the bedroom. He collapsed into the bed without even bothering to dry off.
***
The sun streamed through the window, bringing Steve to full awareness in an instant. Since joining the army, he no longer had the luxury of slowly coming back to full consciousness. No fuzzy sense of not wanting to be awake and falling back to sleep peacefully. Just off, and then on. Cursing his inability to fall back asleep, Steve slowly got out of bed feeling like a truck had hit him. He fumbled through the pile of clothes in the corner of the room until he found a pair of grey sweatpants that were mostly clean. On his way to the kitchen, Steve caught a glimpse of himself in the hallway mirror. He paused and went back to look. His hair was sticking up all over the place from having slept on it wet, and he had bags under his eyes that he hadn’t seen since before the serum. The skin around his eyes was drawn and his face had an unhealthy grey pallor to it. His eyes lacked lustre and showed little sign of life. In other words, he looked like complete, absolute, shit.
Steve shook his head and continued on into the kitchen to make some coffee. Even though the caffeine did not affect him, the ritual itself was soothing. He had been very grateful when Agent Figueroa had first taught him how to use the coffee pot. And it had been pretty much in constant use since then. Even though the quality was much better than what Steve had been used to, the taste and comfort allowed him to bridge the past and present.
While the coffee was brewing, Steve stood at the kitchen sink looking through the window with his arms crossed over his bare chest. He had planned on going for a run, just to get out of the cabin, but it had snowed a little bit overnight. Sighing, Steve turned around and leaned against the sink. What the fuck am I going to do? He needed something to do and reading about all the events he missed was not going to keep his mind off of what happened to him. When the coffee finished brewing, Steve poured a large cup and held it with both hands, letting the reassuring aroma waft to his nose.
As he stood there, Steve looked around the kitchen, which opened up to the living room. There were piles of dirty dishes and books and clothes scattered here and there. He had only been there for a few weeks, but he realized that he hadn’t picked up or cleaned anything during that time. He normally didn’t mind being messy (something that had aggravated Bucky to no end), but cleaning would give him something to do.
After he finished the first pot of coffee, and brewed another, Steve finally went back to the bedroom and found a shirt to put on. Doing the laundry was the first thing on his list, and after he had gathered all errant items of clothing, he stood, staring at the bright white machine in front of him. It should be simple, right? Water and soap. Steve needed water and soap. He put the clothes in what he assumed was the basin. Had this been on the initial tour? he wondered. He had been so overwhelmed that first week that his memory was not as perfect as usual. He looked around for anything that resembled soap. What he found was a bright orange bottle that declared Tide on the side. This is soap? Steve read the instructions, fiddled with some buttons on the machine, and hoped for the best.
His day continued in much the same fashion: a chore needing to be done, being baffled by the modern era, and hoping for the best. Having a goal, even such a minimal goal, helped Steve focus on the present. By the end of the day, the cabin no longer looked like racoons had ravaged the place, and he had a laundry basket of clean clothes. And he was utterly and truly exhausted.
The following days were filled with minor tasks and finally being able to run after the snow had melted back a bit. Thankfully, there hadn’t been any more major breakdowns, for which Steve was grateful. On Monday morning, Steve found himself flitting between the kitchen and the living room, assessing whether it looked welcoming enough for Agent Figueroa. He had already consumed a full pot of coffee and had more brewing for Rafa’s arrival. While Steve hated dealing with nervous energy, it was better than the horrible dread he had felt the previous few Mondays.
After a few moments, Steve could hear the agent’s government-issued Ford Fusion turn down the long driveway. He had a few minutes before Rafa came to the door to compose himself and make it look like he hadn’t been anxiously awaiting the other man. He was sipping the freshly brewed coffee, leaning against the countertop, when Rafa knocked on the door. Steve went to let him in and was surprised by the sight in front of him. The normally quite professional agent had his tie loosened and the top few buttons of his crisp white shirt undone, his suit jacket nowhere to be seen. A rather fresh looking black eye and swollen jaw completed the ensemble. The agent bypassed Steve without saying anything, dropped his bag on the floor, and flopped onto the couch, slinging an arm across his eyes. Steve stood with the door still opened, dumbstruck by Rafa’s complete 180 from their previous encounters.
Finally closing the door, Steve set his coffee mug down on the counter, walked to the living room, and sat down in the chair. He waited a few beats before asking, “So, something happen?” Rafa snorted and then winced. “I’m going to get you some ice,” Steve said, walking back towards the kitchen. He returned with a bag of peas, which the agent took without protest. Steve patiently waited until Rafa was ready to talk.
Eventually, Rafa sat up, and without looking at Steve, began to speak, “It’s nothing really. Looks worse than it actually is.” Steve called bullshit on that one, but didn’t say anything aloud. “Some friends and I were out on Saturday night, and we got jumped. That’s all. It happens.”
“Uh huh,” Steve wasn’t one to make judgements about getting into fights, but he was concerned for the agent. “And what about the parts of you that aren’t visible? Anything broken or ruptured?”
Looking at Steve, at last, Rafa replied, “Nah, just some bruises. I’ll be fine. I’ve had worse.” But there was something in Rafa’s eyes that told a different story, something that went deeper than physical harm.
Steve didn’t want to make assumptions, so he said simply, “May I ask what started the fight?”
“We were headed to a club, and I heard someone call m--my friend a faggot . I don’t tolerate that fucking shit, and one thing led to another and I ended fighting off a few of them. And oh my god, now I’m telling the--the paragon of virtue about being a--with someone like that and getting into fights.”
Paragon of virtue? Me? God, if Bucky were here, he’d piss himself from laughing so hard , Steve thought. The paragon of virtue quickly put that to rest, “Rafa, if there’s anything you need to know about me, it’s how many fights I was in when I was younger. And most of them, I started. As for your friend being called that, it’s none of my business.” Steve had noted Rafa’s minute slip-ups about his friend , but like he said, it wasn’t any of his business. He was, however, severely disappointed that that word was still being flung at people. Steve had hoped that the modern era was more progressive than the one he had left behind, but it did not appear to be so.
Rafa startled at Steve’s confession. “But you...you’re Captain America. We learned about you in school, how you embody patriotic American ideals and all that crap.”
“Me? You learn about me in school?” Steve had not expected that.
“Yeah, whenever there’s a unit about World War Two, there’s always a section on Captain America and the Howling Commandos.”
Huh. Wait. “So you learned about Dugan and Monty and Gabe and...and Bucky?” he finished asking softly.
Nodding, Rafa said, “James Barnes, the only Commando to lose his life in service of his country, besides you, of course. The other Commandos all survived the war.” He paused a moment, thinking, before continuing, “You know...I think I read somewhere recently that one or two of them are still alive.”
Still alive? Could it be possible? Steve sunk back into his chair, feeling like he’d been punched in the gut.
“Steve? You okay?” Rafa asked quietly.
“Huh? Oh, yeah. It’s just...I didn’t think anyone would still be alive.” Would they want to see him? Would they remember him? If just thinking about their time together made him fall apart, how would he do with seeing them in person? It was too much to think about right now. Changing the subject, he asked, “So, what’s the lesson today?”
“Movies. I’m not following S.H.I.E.L.D.’s list today because I feel like shit, honestly. We now have the capabilities to watch pretty much any movie or any TV show right on the computer. So, did you have any favorite movies back in the day?”
Steve found it easiest to just accept technology the way it was and not question the how of it too much. That was more Bucky’s thing... had been his thing, anyway. The possibility of being able to watch any movie any time excited Steve greatly. He had always enjoyed going to the cinema and witnessing magic unfold on screen. But his favorite had been seeing Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs . He had sat enthralled by the animation and hadn’t paid any attention to Bucky the whole movie.
Finally responding to Rafa’s question, Steve said, “I really liked animated ones. Are there still Disney movies?”
Startling Steve, Rafa burst out laughing and then clenched his stomach as he obviously upset his injuries. “Oh, man. That’s a good one. ‘ Are there still Disney movies?’ Steve, my friend, you have no idea. Prepare to be amazed.”
They spent the next few hours just watching Disney movies. Steve wanted to cry from how beautiful they were; he had never been able to truly appreciate the wonderful array of colors before. Bambi especially took his breath away. He had seen it when it first came out, but the watercolor backgrounds were truly spectacular in full color. It wasn’t like he hadn’t been able to see any color prior to the serum, but they had been muted, like on a foggy day when the vibrancy is leached out of all life.
As Steve sat enthralled by the images in front of him, he momentarily forgot about being in the future, leaving everyone behind, Bucky falling. It was such a reprieve from everything . As Alice walked from Wonderland back to her ordinary life, Steve’s very extraordinary life came sharply back into focus. But it didn’t hit him deep in the gut; he felt more nostalgic than anything.
Rafa leaned forward to exit out of the movie and asked Steve, “You need a break, or you ready to watch Peter Pan ?”
As much as Steve would have liked to disappear into the animated world of Disney, he knew that he shouldn’t watch movies all day. “I think we should probably take a break. I need to get something to eat anyway. You hungry?” Steve stood and started walking towards the kitchen.
“Nah, I’m good. But I could use some water?”
Steve nodded to show he had heard and grabbed a bottle of water out of the fridge. When he had first arrived at the cabin, the fridge had been stocked full of bottled water, and he hadn’t understood why he couldn’t just drink out of the tap. One of the agents had said something about the tap water not being filtered, but Steve drank out of it anyway. He thought all the plastic was wasteful ( and there was so much plastic and packaging! ), but he figured Rafa would be used to bottled water. For himself, he heated up a can of beans in the microwave, one modern convenience he was very fond of.
Heading back to the living room, Steve handed the bottle to Rafa who thanked him quietly and took a sip. Steve ate a few mouthfuls of beans and then realized that Rafa was staring at him. “What? Do I have something on my face?”
Rafa shook his head, “No, but do you eat anything besides beans? I think that’s the only thing I think I’ve seen you eat.”
“It’s easy,” Steve said a little defensively, if truth be told.
“You get a weekly delivery of food, right? Have you been eating the other things?” Rafa looked at him, concerned.
Steve shrugged and said to the bowl of beans in his hands, “Yeah, I eat if I’m hungry.” Which wasn’t nearly often enough, Steve knew, but he couldn’t help it. Food held no appeal whatsoever and, more often than not, his stomach turned at the idea of eating. But beans were familiar. And they were easy, like he had said. They didn’t take effort. There was plenty of food in the cabin, but cobbling together a meal drained him in a way he didn’t understand.
The silence after his statement lingered, and Steve knew that Rafa caught the if in his words, not when . He looked up, and Rafa was staring at him intently and then nodded to himself. “Okay, new plan. Cooking lessons. My abuela would disown me if she knew I was just letting you eat beans. C’mon, let’s go to the kitchen.” Rafa stood and walked to the kitchen without waiting for Steve.
Steve looked back to his beans and sighed. He didn’t see how he was going to be any better at cooking this century than when Bucky’s ma tried to teach him and Frankie how to cook. Sighing again, fairly dramatically, Steve followed Rafa.
Cooking with Rafa was quite an experience, and one which Steve enjoyed more than he thought he would. The other man played some vivacious Spanish music on his phone and danced around the kitchen as he cooked. He told Steve that cooking was about feeling , about passion ; he made it into an artform. Maybe that was why Bucky had always liked cooking so much. It had been his creative outlet whereas Steve had had his pencils and sketchbooks.
With the ingredients in the cabin, Rafa was able to make a hearty traditional Spanish stew called caldo Gallego , and Steve was surprised by how filling it was. He certainly hadn’t eaten that much in one sitting in a very long time. And it seemed to be a stew that even someone with as little success in the kitchen as Steve had, could make and not screw up too badly.
Steve had felt much lighter, and it looked like the day’s activities had lifted Rafa’s spirits as well. It almost felt like having a friend again. But after eating and cleaning up the kitchen, Rafa said he had to be getting back to S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters. As he was about to head out the door, he said, “Oh, wait, I almost forgot!” and he ran out to his car. Puzzled, Steve wondered if he should go after him, but Rafa was soon back in sight. Panting slightly, he said, “So I had asked my supervisor about getting you a tablet or something, like you had asked, and he vetoed it, saying that they didn’t want to overwhelm you, which I think is total bullshit. So, here.” And he handed a slim laptop computer to Steve, who took it questioningly.
“If they said I can’t have one, then what’s this?”
Rafa explained, “It’s an old one of mine that I had sitting around that I don’t use anymore. It still works perfectly fine for watching videos and things like that. I have my passwords saved for streaming websites like Netflix and Amazon Prime, so you can watch movies and shows.”
Steve was touched, and hoped that Rafa wouldn’t get into trouble for his insubordination. “Thank you, Rafa. This means a lot.”
Before he left, Rafa gave Steve a quick tutorial of the computer and made sure it was connected to the internet. No longer the babysitter and the babysat, Steve was self-conscious in saying goodbye to Rafa, to this new pseudo-friendship that had started earlier in the day. There was an awkward handshake, and Rafa was out the door.
The internet was captivating, and Steve was swiftly learning just how enlightening it could be. He was not surprised to see that people hadn’t changed much in his nearly 70 years in the ice; there were still corrupt politicians, never-ending wars, people dying of poverty while those lucky enough to be wealthy refused to help. But he was also surprised at the everyday generosity of the average citizen when he came upon websites like Kickstarter and gofundme. Most of the time, Steve didn’t understand how he ended up finding those things out, but he didn’t mind. It felt more organic than writing down a list of things to learn.
One day, Steve was looking up current policies in New York, when he came across an article outlining the many gay marriages that had taken place in the state since it had become legal the summer before. He couldn’t even read the article as he was struck dumb by the headline. Sinking deep into the couch, Steve just stared at the words “ 1000s of Same-Sex Couples Have Legally Said ‘I Do’ For Very First Time.” He reread the headline over and over until the screen went dark. Never in his wildest dreams did Steve think he’d ever see legal same-sex marriages, but he had hoped.
And now, here he was, living in a state where it was legal with his whole damnable long life ahead of him, and he just wanted to scream and crawl inside himself. Had it been legal back before the war, Bucky would have wanted to get a marriage license as soon as he heard the words. While Steve had been fine keeping their relationship private, Bucky had itched at the confines and had wanted to be able to act like any other couple in public. Steve knew that Bucky would have made a very public, very ridiculous declaration of love and devotion and embarrassed the hell out of Steve. But he wouldn’t have truly minded because Steve knew that Bucky’s love was as true and deep as it came. But all that speculation was a moot point. Bucky was dead. And he had been for nearly 70 years.
A tidal wave of sadness engulfed Steve unexpectedly and drowned out any other emotion. He was untethered, disconnected from everything past, present, future, and sinking fast. Steve wanted to rip his heart out of chest with his bare hands. It would be less painful than what he was feeling now. Somehow making his way to the bedroom, he fell onto the bed and curled up into the fetal position. Raw, aching sobs were wrenched out of his chest as he let go of all control that he had been tenuously maintaining. It felt like hours passed before his tears dried and his breathing evened out. Steve fell asleep wishing, once again, that he had never woken up from the ice.
***
Coming to consciousness slowly, the light having woken him, Steve felt like a tank was pinning him to the bed. His eyelids stuck together as he tried to open them. A passing thought of getting out of bed darted by, only to be swallowed up by the deep shadows in him. He lay on his side, staring at the wall, not feeling much of anything. Eventually, he turned over and fell asleep again.
***
When Steve woke finally, darkness enveloped him. He heaved himself out of bed, making his way towards the bathroom. Every action felt mechanical, as if he was not the one in charge of his movements. He managed to take a shower and even found some clean clothes. He didn’t feel as gross as before, but he still didn’t feel human. While he knew he should eat, he bypassed the kitchen and went to sit in the living room. Steve was on the couch for a few minutes before realizing that he had planned on opening up the computer. When he did so, he saw that it was Saturday night; two days had gone by since reading that article. He really should eat something. But why bother? a little voice whispered. He was showered and dressed and not laying in bed. That should be enough.
Steve startled to awareness, having zoned out for who knew how long. He opened Netflix and found a nature documentary series, not fully paying attention to the animals on the screen. A few hours must have gone by because the screen was now asking Steve if he was still watching. He closed the computer and stood up to stretch. There was such a fog around him that the air was thick with it. And he didn’t know how to get through it, let alone get rid of it. He wanted nothing more than to succumb to it, so he went back to the bed and barricaded himself with piles of blankets.
***
Sunday morning came and went before afternoon finally saw Steve awake for the first time that day. He had a glimmer of feeling back in his body, and it was telling him that he needed some fuel. Going for three days without food had not been good. He tried to get out of bed, but was so shaky that he had to sit back down again. Steve gathered what little strength and determination he had and slowly made his way to standing upright. A wave of dizziness hit him so hard that he fell into the wall but luckily didn’t fall down. Making his way to the kitchen was the longest and most arduous journey that Steve had thus far taken in life. He was somehow sweating by the time he made it to the pantry. Grabbing a handful of protein bars, he opened one quickly and finished it in three big bites. He then grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and downed the whole thing in one go. Feeling slightly less shaky, Steve took an apple from a bowl on the counter as well and headed into the living room to lay down on the couch.
The rest of the afternoon was spent slowly eating and catching up on his calories. Steve turned on the nature documentary again, but was able to pay more attention this time. His body started to feel more and more like itself, even though his heart and brain still felt dull. The heavy fog of the last three days cleared to a shadowy mist. When Netflix asked him, again, if he was still watching, he looked at the clock and decided that it was an acceptable time to go to bed. The complete and utter exhaustion had dissipated, but he still felt like he had been running all day and needed some sleep.
Rafa was late. He had been exactly on time all the previous Mondays, even when his face was bruised and swollen. Steve began to get worried after fifteen minutes had come and gone. At twenty-seven minutes (not that he was counting), Steve finally heard the engine of the Fusion coming down the long drive. He sighed with relief and went to wait for Rafa outside. As the agent got out of the car, Steve noticed that he seemed flustered and in a rush.
He called out, “Morning, Rafa.”
Rafa looked startled to see Steve outside, “Oh. Morning, Steve. Sorry I’m late. I--uh--I had to get something before coming here.”
Steve was puzzled, but he didn’t question Rafa. The agent must have had a good reason for doing so. He opened the door for the other man and followed him inside. Remembering his manners, Steve asked, “Would you like some coffee?”
“Ah, no thanks. I had some on the drive,” Rafa declined. He looked as if deciding something and then said, “Plus, the way you make coffee? I’d have to chew it. No offense.”
“I’m not offended.” What an odd saying . Steve knew he made his coffee strong; he always had. Bucky had hated the way Steve made his coffee and complained about the amount of sugar he needed to use to make it palatable. During the war, Steve had occasionally chewed on the beans themselves. Italian espresso had been a revelation. “So, professor, what’s on the lesson plan today?”
Rafa looked at him earnestly. “Cell phones. This one to be exact,” and he held up what looked like a new phone.
Taking the phone, Steve looked it over and asked, “Is this what you had to get on your way here?”
“Yep. And it’s for you, by the way. I know you don’t know anyone besides me, really, but I thought it might help feel like you’re in the 21st century.” Steve was grateful, but before he could say anything, Rafa continued. “I was at headquarters this morning and overheard some higher-ups discussing you and your situation. Sounds like they think you should be back in the city and not stuck out in the middle of nowhere. I don’t know what that means for us, but I thought you could call or text me if needed.”
Surprised, Steve asked, “Do you know when?”
“No, but it sounded like it would be soon. Hence, why I stopped to get a phone on my way here. I wasn’t sure if they’d let us continue our lessons.”
“Thank you,” Steve said softly and heartfelt. It meant a lot that Rafa didn’t just consider him an assignment anymore. Steve felt it was safe to say that they were friends now. It was certainly a fresh friendship, but he figured watching Disney movies and cooking together for an afternoon qualified friendship status.
“You’re welcome. Plus, I now require updates for when you finish Disney movies and what you think of them. There are correct and incorrect opinions, I have to warn you.” Steve let out a small huff of laughter at that. “Now, you don’t have to worry about paying for this or anything, if you were wondering. I’ve got a family plan with some friends, and it wasn’t much to add this line. And the phone itself was cheap.”
Protesting, Steve said, “Rafa, you didn’t have to do that. It’s not part of your job.” He didn’t want to be beholden to anybody, and he didn’t know how he would pay Rafa back.
The other man held up his hands and said, “Nope! You don’t get to object. I know it’s not part of my job, but it’s part of being human. You didn’t ask for what happened to you. You didn’t ask to have your whole world upended and go through something that not one single person on this planet can understand. I can handle an additional ten bucks a month.”
“Ten dollars a month? You can’t do that!” That was almost half of what his and Bucky’s monthly rent had been.
Rafa burst out laughing at Steve’s outrage. “Steve, ten bucks is nothing these days. Once you reenter the real world, you can’t be shocked by the price of things. You’ll give yourself an aneurysm.”
Steve knew that Rafa was right, but still...ten whole dollars?! He didn’t even want to think about the cost of everything else. For once, he was glad that S.H.I.E.L.D. was taking care of providing him with food and clothes. He would most certainly have an aneurysm like Rafa suggested.
“Okay. Okay! I’ll relent. I don’t like it, but I guess I have to accept it,” Steve said. “Thank you, Rafa.”
For the next half an hour or so, Rafa led Steve through how to work the phone and everything it could do. Steve was grateful that Rafa didn’t just show him, but let him do everything to get a feel for the phone. It still blew his mind that all that information could be stored on such a small device. He told Rafa that, following it up with, “I worked in a fairly large library when I was younger, and I thought that contained everything you’d ever need to know. But Brooklyn was my world, so I guess I didn’t need to know as much.” There were many amazing things in this current age that Steve was learning about, but it was the vast reservoir of knowledge at everyone’s fingertips that astounded him the most. He highly doubted that the average person realized just how incredible of a gift that was.
After the phone lesson, Rafa proceeded into a cooking lesson with another recipe from his abuela . This time it was a beef empanada that Steve didn’t think he’d be able to ever make on his own, but with Rafa guiding him, it was relatively easy to make. And it turned out delicious.
As they were eating, Steve asked, “Are you recovered from last week’s brawl?”
Rafa snorted, “Yeah, I’ve got some lingering color from some of the deeper bruises, but nothing hurts anymore.”
“Your friends? Were they hurt? I never asked last week.”
“Yeah, they’re okay. I took the brunt of the fight since I’m actually trained. I didn’t want them getting hurt.” He paused and took a drink of water. “Steve, I didn’t want to pry, but you seem...off today. You okay?”
Steve’s instinct to say that he was fine and put up walls, but Rafa seemed to be genuinely interested in his well-being. “I--it’s been a rough week, if I’m being honest. Finding out some things, thinking of my life before. It hasn’t been easy.”
Nodding, Rafa asked, “Finding out what things?”
There was something about the agent that made Steve trust him implicitly, more than could be said of anyone else he had encountered at S.H.I.E.L.D., and so he decided to take a leap of faith. “When you got into that fight, those comments about your friend were actually about you, weren’t they? You’re queer, or gay or whatever the right word is these days.” Steve could nearly taste the panic that was coming off of Rafa at those words. He held up his hands placatingly and said, “Don’t worry! I don’t care if you’re gay or not. It’s just...you’ll understand.”
Cocking his head like a dog, Rafa asked, “Understand what?”
Taking a deep breath, Steve dove headfirst unaware if there were rocks at the bottom or not. “I’m queer as well.”
Silence.
Rafa’s panic had clearly dissipated, but Steve’s was rising. Had he made a mistake? His vision was starting to narrow when Rafa said, “Uhm...I-I’m sorry. Wha--uhm...what-what was that?”
Should he backtrack? No , a voice said, Rafa is safe . It sounded an awful lot like Bucky, which made Steve’s breath hitch. Taking another deep breath to steady himself, Steve repeated, “I’m queer. A fairy. A pansy. Whatever you want to call it.” He sat back in his chair, squaring his very broad shoulders, feeling slightly defensive now that he let open the gates.
“Huh. Well, that’s...something.” Rafa didn’t look angry or upset in any way, so Steve relaxed his posture. A hint of a smile grew on Rafa’s face. “Really? Wow. Sorry, I’m just shocked and my brain is fritzing out a little bit.” Steve just raised an eyebrow. “Sorry, my 14 year old self just can’t believe it. I had posters of you on my wall, and I used to….” he trailed off, blushing softly.
That was not something Steve had considered, and he tried to cover a laugh with a cough. “It’s okay. I get it. You should have heard what some of the women, especially the older ladies, used to say to me after the Senator’s shows. Now that would make you blush.” People always thought the generations before them were all prim and proper, and that just simply wasn’t the case.
Rafa’s face returned to its normal tan coloration, and he said, “I can only imagine. I mean some of the stuff my abuela says about Antonio Banderas is downright indecent.” Steve raised his eyebrows in question. “An actor from Spain,” the agent clarified. He went back to being in a state of wonder as he said, “Holy fuck. Captain America is gay.”
“No,” Steve said sterner than he meant to. “Steve Rogers. And I don’t think I’d say gay. Queer seems to suit best.”
Rafa said sincerely, “You’re right, Steve. I’m sorry.”
“Thank you. And I didn’t mean to sound so harsh. It’s just...hardly anyone paid attention to me before I got the serum, and then afterwards, people only saw Captain America.” Steve had never told anyone, even Bucky, but the hardest part of his transition was the way he had no longer been invisible. Prior to the serum, he had been quite comfortable with people not seeing him. With the invention of Captain America, people just saw the muscles and the shield. They never saw Steve Rogers . He had not been used to eyes on him all the time. But he wanted to reassure Rafa. “ You see me, though. It took awhile, but you got there,” Steve finished with a small smile.
“Have you always known? Or…?”
Steve thought about how he wanted to respond, how much he wanted to give up, how much he wanted to keep for himself. “I was sixteen. It was a rather sudden realization, but then everything made sense.” Without thinking, he admitted, “It all made sense until it didn’t. When I lost--” Rafa looked intrigued, but Steve was thankful that he didn’t pry. “I lost someone very important to me.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. I lost someone, too. My roommate sophomore year. He...uh...was questioning his sexuality, and I think possibly his gender as well. He was one of the most beautiful souls I had ever met, and he was swallowed up by depression. He killed himself because he just couldn’t handle life and its complications anymore.” Rafa sat forward and caught Steve’s gaze. “So, please, Steve, talk with me or text me at any time if you’re feeling down. I don’t care if it’s 3AM, and you’ve had a dream about Bambi’s mom dying. Text me. I can’t lose another friend that way.”
Steve hoarsely whispered, “Okay.” That one word was one of the most difficult he’d ever had to say. But Rafa was offering him a tether, a lifeline, and not out of pity. If for nothing else, Steve would reach out to make sure that Rafa wasn’t worried about him. He couldn’t, wouldn’t , do it for himself, but he could for a friend. “Okay,” he said more firmly.
“And Steve?” Rafa said. “Thank you for trusting me. I know that can’t have been easy. And you don’t have to worry about me saying anything. I was outed before I was ready, and I wouldn’t do that to anyone else. It’s no one’s business but your own.”
Steve thought that over. It was what he had always thought, but now he had a choice. He never had a choice before about coming out or not. At best, he and Bucky would have simply been jailed, but at the worst? He shuddered even thinking about what happened to some of the men and women he had known before the war. A surge of anger went through him at the injustice of it all. How could people maim and kill others based on who they loved? It never made any sense. But maybe that was just human nature.
They finished eating in a not uncomfortable silence. When they started cleaning up their meal, Rafa said, “Steve, I know things have changed, but I think you should see a therapist.”
“A shrink? No, thank you.”
“Look, I know you met with one that S.H.I.E.L.D. appointed, but they only have one goal: to make sure their assets are functional. But my friends and I all have therapists. I can give you the name of some who are LBTQ friendly and not associated with S.H.I.E.L.D.''
Steve wanted to refuse again. There was nothing wrong with his head. Except... sleeping for three days is not healthy. Feeling empty is not healthy. Why was it that the voice curbing his baser instincts always had Bucky’s voice? Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to talk to someone, especially if they were outside of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s reach. “Okay, send me a list,” he told Rafa, who looked surprised, but pleased. “And I’ll think about it.”
“That’s all I ask for. I know no one understands exactly what you’ve gone through, but a good therapist doesn’t have to experience what you have in order to help. And I do think it would be helpful to talk to someone about being queer now versus back in the forties. We’re still not completely free, but it is better.”
As Rafa gathered his things, Steve thought about no longer being at the cabin. He itched to get out of it, but what was the next place? Would he still feel as confined, even if he had more freedom? Would a shrink help with that? He was lost in his thoughts and didn’t realize that Rafa was headed to the door until it was opened. Leaving his musings behind, Steve went to say good-bye.
The agent held out his hand and said, “It’s been a pleasure and an honor getting to know you, Steve. Not Captain America.” Steve smiled as he shook Rafa’s hand. “Remember that you can text or call me at any time, day or night. I’ll get back to you as soon as I’m able.”
“Thank you for everything, Rafa. I don’t know how to say just how grateful I am.”
“I get it, and you’re welcome.” Rafa headed out the door, but then turned back and said, “By the way, if you do anything outside of S.H.I.E.L.D., use a pseudonym. Therapy, emails, social media. Everything you do is permanent and discoverable with the internet.” And with that, Rafa walked to his car and drove away.
The next morning, two cars and three agents arrived at the cabin. Steve answered the door, and the agent in front said, “We’ve come to take you home, Captain Rogers.”