"Peggy..."
"I'm here."
"I'm gonna need a rain check on that dance..."
"All right. A week next Saturday at The Stork Club."
"You've got it."
"Eight o'clock on the dot. Don't you dare be late. Understood?"
"You know, I still don't know how to dance..."
"I'll show you how. Just be there..."
"We'll have the band play something slow..."
"I'd hate to step on your--"
Captain Steve Rogers woke with a start, grasping for his shield. Breathing heavily, he looked around, sighing. He was in a cold sweat, shaky, and haunted by that memory... the last thing he remembered before going under for 70 long years... He regretted leaving others to fight the good fight without him... He regretted losing his best friend... but he regretted not seeing Peggy Carter's face again... "Its what you had to do.." Rogers would always tell himself... but that didn't matter much at night. He looked at the clock on the side of his bed. The small room he had was decorated in 40's styled posters. It was around 6 in the morning... about the time he would always wake up. He stumbled out of bed, wearing nothing but boxer shorts and a white t-shirt. Minutes later he came out of the bathroom, with his blonde hair neatly done, wearing a new t-shirt, and some cargo pants and boots. He looked like a soldier, a very handsome one at that. He grabbed a small dufflebag with workout equipment, and headed for the gym inside the S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters.
Ever since the battle of New York he has been a covert S.H.I.E.L.D. operative, working with other agents like Black Widow and Hawkeye. He walked to the punching bags. It was old fashioned, but it was routine for him, and it let out most of his worries... He wrapped tape around his hands, got into position, and started punching away as he did many times before.
Two hours went by and Rogers had already broken three bags, and he was hardly breaking a sweat. He kept punching until he heard a voice from behind him. "Um... Captain Rogers?" Steve stopped and turned to see a woman wearing a S.H.I.E.L.D. uniform, admiring Rogers. He was a living legend. A man whose stories were told to many people. He was a true american icon, and seeing him here in the modern world usually gave people a sense of awe. "Director Fury would like to speak to you about a mission..." She said.
Rogers nodded. "Thank you, Ma'am. Tell him i'll be up soon." He said, taking off the tape from his hands. As he did he wondered what this mission would be this time. stealth land in the deserts of the Middle East and destroy missiles? Or the arctic tundra to stop an elite team of russian terrorists from making weapons of mas destruction? He grabbed his bag, tossed it over his shoulder, and walked back to his room. After showering and changing into an athletic shirt and new cargo pants, he made his way towards the elevator, pressing the button to Nick Fury's office.
"I'm here."
"I'm gonna need a rain check on that dance..."
"All right. A week next Saturday at The Stork Club."
"You've got it."
"Eight o'clock on the dot. Don't you dare be late. Understood?"
"You know, I still don't know how to dance..."
"I'll show you how. Just be there..."
"We'll have the band play something slow..."
"I'd hate to step on your--"
Captain Steve Rogers woke with a start, grasping for his shield. Breathing heavily, he looked around, sighing. He was in a cold sweat, shaky, and haunted by that memory... the last thing he remembered before going under for 70 long years... He regretted leaving others to fight the good fight without him... He regretted losing his best friend... but he regretted not seeing Peggy Carter's face again... "Its what you had to do.." Rogers would always tell himself... but that didn't matter much at night. He looked at the clock on the side of his bed. The small room he had was decorated in 40's styled posters. It was around 6 in the morning... about the time he would always wake up. He stumbled out of bed, wearing nothing but boxer shorts and a white t-shirt. Minutes later he came out of the bathroom, with his blonde hair neatly done, wearing a new t-shirt, and some cargo pants and boots. He looked like a soldier, a very handsome one at that. He grabbed a small dufflebag with workout equipment, and headed for the gym inside the S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters.
Ever since the battle of New York he has been a covert S.H.I.E.L.D. operative, working with other agents like Black Widow and Hawkeye. He walked to the punching bags. It was old fashioned, but it was routine for him, and it let out most of his worries... He wrapped tape around his hands, got into position, and started punching away as he did many times before.
Two hours went by and Rogers had already broken three bags, and he was hardly breaking a sweat. He kept punching until he heard a voice from behind him. "Um... Captain Rogers?" Steve stopped and turned to see a woman wearing a S.H.I.E.L.D. uniform, admiring Rogers. He was a living legend. A man whose stories were told to many people. He was a true american icon, and seeing him here in the modern world usually gave people a sense of awe. "Director Fury would like to speak to you about a mission..." She said.
Rogers nodded. "Thank you, Ma'am. Tell him i'll be up soon." He said, taking off the tape from his hands. As he did he wondered what this mission would be this time. stealth land in the deserts of the Middle East and destroy missiles? Or the arctic tundra to stop an elite team of russian terrorists from making weapons of mas destruction? He grabbed his bag, tossed it over his shoulder, and walked back to his room. After showering and changing into an athletic shirt and new cargo pants, he made his way towards the elevator, pressing the button to Nick Fury's office.