The White Cliffs of Dover ((primarily for Quicksilver))

[shieldborne]

There's no such thing as a happy ending, because nothing's ever really ended. Not yet. In fact, most of the fights Steve Rogers has ever thrown himself into were to stave off an ending, for himself or someone else; most recently, for the Universe itself. That's a lot to ask from a kid from Brooklyn. It's probably all to the best that he's retired now. Semi-retired.

Forcibly semi-retired.

His physical therapist is going to chew him out for missing their session today, but he's been away from the Nexus for long enough. First, the broken PINpoint, then the Decimation, the battle with Thanos...and since then it's been a series of surgeries and attempts to put his delicate little body in some semblance of working order, while his brain adjusts to sensations he hasn't felt in over seventy years.

He unlocks the door to the clubhouse quietly, taps the keycode into the alarm system, and looks around. There's nothing broken, shockingly. No sign of break-ins, no thick layer of dust. Someone's been looking after the place. That makes his heart leap a little with mixed anxiety and relief.

He's going to have to answer a lot of questions, and he's not looking forward to that, but someone's been here. Someone remembers, and still cares. That's a really, really nice thought.

There's not much work to do, but he can't just sit idle with his thoughts or he'll go nuts, so he clicks on the lights and starts up the jukebox. Half the contents are 80s hits and the other half are from the 40s, and Steve has a definite preference for the latter. Vera Lynn's sweet alto starts up as he begins sorting through cabinets, taking inventory of the supplies in preparation to re-stock.

When someone comes in, he's crouched to look at a lower shelf, which makes him look even smaller than he is now. This is no longer the musclebound clean-cut Captain America. This is Steven G. Rogers, who is 5'4" in his shoes, who has an asthma inhaler in his pocket and a blue neoprene shoulder-brace over his button-down shirt. Who has reading glasses perched on his nose because he's not getting any younger. Who gave all of his serum-enhanced strength and the persona that came with it as a sacrifice to win the Soul Stone.

Comments

[shieldborne]

Likewise! And I'm fine. Had to get my shoulder replaced but it's no big deal.

[Well, that's an understatement, really, but to a man who has a prosthetic arm, Steve figures a joint implant or two is cake.

There's a moment where he wants to reply wait wtf do you mean soda, but then he realizes that's a commentary on Thor's need to not drink, rather than the weakening of Steve's constitution. Oh.]

Soda, nothing. I demand a chocolate milkshake.

[pirateangelbaby]

I heard you're mortal again, too.

[No avoiding that, of course. Healing from his own war wound had taken a great deal of time, and Thor had his Asgardian strength to draw on. Without the magic formula that had given Steve his own strength, he can't imagine it's been an easy or short convalescence.]

That's a demand I can meet. I have not had one in several years but I think the Crossroads Cafe serves them.

[shieldborne]

Well, I wouldn't say I was ever not mortal. Just less so, maybe. I hope you like being taller than your friends because you've got almost a foot on me now.

[Funny, height was a sore spot for Steve before, but now it's the least of the things that bothers him about the change. He's not thrilled about having to shop in the boy's section for clothes now, though.]

Really? Years? Next time I see Loki I'll tell him off for not feeding you right. You got a minute now? I can meet you.

[pirateangelbaby]

I'm used to it. But don't let Hulk hear you say that, he gets competitive.

[It's relieving to be able to joke around with a friend again, awkward and distanced though this is. When Steve offers to make a meeting now, rather than some other date, Thor cannot help but jump at the opportunity.]

I do. Meet you there.

[shieldborne]

I don't think any of us can compete with Hulk for height.

[Or much of anything else, frankly!]

Sure thing! I'll be maybe fifteen minutes. Walking a little slower lately.

[Walking, though! Walking is good.

...god, he hopes Thor recognizes him when he walks into the Cafe.]

[pirateangelbaby]

[ooc: Switching to prose if that's okay!]


Fifteen minutes is plenty of time for Thor to wash up from the garden, give the ravens a treat or two, and make his way to the Nexus. He's dressed lightly by Norwegian standards, fit for a little outdoor work with dirt smudges on his pants to prove he's already been doing just that, sleeves rolled up to expose his forearms. He doesn't see Steve just yet, and so grabs a corner table, his long legs sprawling out away from the main walkway.

He's seen a photo of Steve before the serum once, years ago. Just the once. Thor hadn't read Fury's files in depth, too proud to admit that he hadn't understood half of what he'd been reading and figuring it didn't make much difference in the long run anyway. Now he's slightly regretting it, lifting his head every time the door opens to see if it's his friend.

Thor does a small doubletake when he recognizes Steve. Even after he'd been told that his enhancements were taken from him, Thor was still half-expecting to see the broad-shouldered man that he'd known before. This Steve is... so tiny.

He moves to stand, then thinks better of it, relaxing back into the chair. "Over here!" he calls, waving his real hand.

[shieldborne]

He's nervous about this. About seeing Thor again when he's looking so different, himself. Of all his old teammates, Thor's feeling sorry for him would sting the most. Which makes no sense, because the guy's already a god, so it's not like Steve was ever likely to beat him arm-wrestling or anything (a draw, perhaps). He always felt like Thor respected him anyway, though, on a level that had less to do with physical strength and more to do with intangible drive and personality. Those parts of him haven't changed, at least.

Really, though, they've both been through some intense physical changes, and he's reminded of that when he sees Thor. The missing eye, the lost arm. They're both old soldiers, with different kinds of scars. The nerves dissolve when Thor waves, and Steve smiles at him.

Yeah, it's gonna be weird, but the okay kind of weird.

"Hey," he greets, and wanders closer, pulling out the seat across from Thor and sitting, hooking his ankles behind the front legs of his chair. The body language comes across as a little more youthful somehow, now that he's half the size he was. "You look good. Were you gardening?"

[pirateangelbaby]

There's surprise on Thor's face, but rather than pity, more than anything else he looks pleased to see Steve, in the manner of someone meeting a good friend after a long time apart. Whether this is 'his' Steve or not, it's rarely made much difference to Thor.

"I was," he confirms with a bright smile that bears only a hint of the embarrassment he'd once felt at embracing this side of himself. "Harvesting herbs, mostly. They're always in demand, either for the healing hall or the cookpot. Or both, sometimes."

Speaking of healing... Thor's eye has already traveled over Steve as the man approached, taking note of the change to his gait, the slope of his shoulders. He says nothing of it now, but there's a slight relaxation in his own body language at seeing his friend upright and... relatively healthy, considering. "It's my favorite part," he says instead, steering clear of the topic until Steve indicates otherwise. "Seeing what my hands have helped create."