ten_fwd | First Entrance

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First Entrance

He'd been to visit Peggy when he got the call from Director Fury to check in. He was making it a routine, every Tuesday afternoon when he wasn't on a mission. Then it became every Tuesday afternoon and every Saturday morning. It's funny how long it took him to work up the nerve to see her, and now it's all he can do to stay away. She's still his best gal.

He parks his bike in his usual spot in the underground garage next to the Triskelion, shoulders the bag with his gear in it, and starts walking to the elevators. He's wondering what kind of mission Fury's sending him on this time when the sun catches his eyes ... wait, where's that coming from?

He blinks hard, and when he opens his eyes ... this is not the elevator. This isn't the garage, heck, this isn't even D.C. He's in a room, some kind of restaurant or bar. People are milling about, some in uniform and others in civvies, and outside the windows ... jeepers, that's a lot of stars.

His hand tightens on the strap of his bag and he plants his feet shoulder's width apart, jaw set. He isn't sure what kind of trick this is, but if he doesn't get answers soon he's going to start demanding them.

[ooc: Hello! Steve is pre-Winter Soldier, but only just, and he has entered the room in civvies. Slacks, button-up, leather jacket, boots, his usual affair. His cowl is in the bag, along with his shield and a few other things, but by all accounts he looks like an average guy. Well, an average tall, strong guy. Any takers welcome!]

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"A long time ago," Steve says, his voice taking on a heavier register. It wasn't that long ago for him, but it was long enough that now his whole world has changed. Everything is different. That world is gone. "I once fought a war all across Europe."

It's not the kind of topic you usually cover with a little kid. Steve would be glad to leave it at that. "I did get to see some beautiful places, though."

"We're at war now," she says. "The whole world is, all at once. Again," Sinthia notes, sounding less than pleased with this but also less than particularly perturbed. She hasn't really been alive long enough to know about many other conditions of life, sadly.

She smiles when he mentions beautiful places, though. "There's a window in my father's office that's the prettiest view ever," she says. "It's big, it looks out on the mountains. I like watching the snow."

The pristine picture she paints is lost on Steve, who has gone rigid as the first words out of her mouth sink in. His hands remain gentle, though. If Sinthia notices anything at all, it'll only be a slight shift in his shoulders.

"What year is it?" he asks carefully. For the first time, he's considering that this little girl may not be from 2014.

Oh, she notices. And she looks down at him, leaning to one side curiously to see his face. She wasn't really aware she'd said anything that could make him mad.

"1944," she answers. "What about for you?"

His expression could be mistaken for anger, but if she can see his eyes she'll see that they're cool and confused. He's frowning just slightly, a deep line between his eyebrows. "2014."

He glances up at her, wondering what the odds are he'd meet some kid from the Second World War here on a ship traveling through space, or at least giving off the impression they're traveling through space. Steve's been tricked before, but none of the illusions SHIELD painted were as detailed as this one.

"I guess, wherever we are, they don't put much stock in time," he says, forcing a smile. It could be a coincidence. It could be. He's just got a bad feeling about the whole thing.

She leans way over--holding herself steady is easy--and looks at Steve's face, brows creased as she does. "What's wrong?" she asks. "What did I say?"

He stops walking once a mess of dark hair floods his vision, hands tightening protectively on her legs to keep her from losing her balance. He blinks at her, upside down and worried as she is, and huffs a laugh.

"I remember that war," he says, by way of explanation. "I didn't expect to meet anyone here who did, too. That's all."

Regardless of what's happening, war is never something you talk about casually. Not with a kid who, god knows, may have seen some pretty awful stuff.

The upside-down face is still easy to read, concerned as Sinthia is, and her brows crease a little more. She's not stupid; she knows people are dying all the time in the war. It's half of what her father wants to happen.

"I'm sorry," she replies, softly as she sits back up. "It's supposed to be over soon, though. We have a weapon that will win it quickly, as soon as it's finished." Or so she thinks. Unfortunately...that isn't really how it goes. Mainly due to Steve. "We would have had it done before except someone let loose all the workers at the factory. And then blew it up."

Strictly speaking Johann blew his own factory up, but he didn't exactly specify upon the recounting Sinthia managed to overhear. And she's not questioning it much.

Conversely, Steve's questioning everything.

He's still even after Sinthia sits back up, staring blankly ahead. He can feel his pulse his neck, the rattle of his heartbeat in his ears. Right now, all his focus is on being completely still.

'We have a weapon that will win it quickly...'

'...someone let loose all the workers at the factory. And then blew it up.'

His thumbs twitch.

"Hey, kiddo," he begins, voice surprisingly gentle. "I'm going to put you down for a second, OK?"

"Okay," she replies, knowing something is up as he swings her down, just as gently as he picked her up. This is a girl who doesn't understand Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, and who has no memories of life outside HYDRA and the war--mostly because she hasn't really had a life outside those circumstances. But that doesn't mean she can't tell something's wrong.

"Does it upset you if I talk about it?" Maybe, if he's from after her, he knows how the war ends. Maybe he's upset that America lost. She doesn't know and doesn't want to go looking yet.

He sets her down on an empty tabletop so her legs are swinging over the edge, and bends to her level. He's quiet as he does so, wheels grinding as he tries to work out how to proceed. "Do you know who I am?"

Simple, direct questions seem like his best option.

"Steven Grant Rogers, you said earlier," she replies. Luckily for her--unluckily for this conversation, and perhaps painfully for Steve--her father has kept the problem of Captain America, at least in name, out of his daughter's earshot. The man is fully convinced he'll be no match for the Red Skull. And he talks about arrogance.

"From Washington, formerly New...York."

Sinthia pauses, considering Steve as if he's in a whole new light just then. She's not a stupid child--but it's quite a leap to make it from Random American who was involved with the war to Captain America. But still. This is looking like a conversation she did not expect to have at all. Much less right now.

He watches her eyes, noticing the slight dilation of her pupils during that pause. Realization. Nat's taught him a lot about reading verbal tells, but he usually knows what it means when someone breaks out into a sweat, or their eyes change shape.

He clenches his jaw once, twice. "Do you know who Captain America is?"

A funny thing happens while he's watching her; most people reach out, try to touch something steady to reassure themselves. Sinthia doesn't. Her hands fold into her lap and she looks nowhere but at Steve, but she isn't reading his mind. She isn't reading anyone, not even the stray passing thoughts, and that is not an easy task to manage. And no, she doesn't know who Captain America is, but she can fit the puzzle pieces together with amazing acccuracy.

"You're him, aren't you."

She really should kill him now.

Her whole manner has quieted down, and that tells Steve one of two things: either she's scared, or a threat. He doesn't answer her question. Like he said, she's a smart kid, and he's intelligent enough not to play his whole hand.

"I fought in that war, probably against your father," he says, without a clue just who exactly her father could be. But if he was in that factory, or close to the Red Skull, Steve may have fought him numerous times. "The factory you talked about? I was there. The men that were being held were prisoners of war. Some were being tortured. Do you understand that?"

He never raises his voice. He's imploring, trying his best to divine whether she's been raised to be his enemy, or if she's just too young to understand what's happening.

"They were our enemies," she says softly. "They would have killed us if our positions were reversed." She specifically means her, because that is always what her father's told her; if she doesn't kill them--whoever they may be--first, they will kill her. Or potentially worse.

"Don't lie. If you're Captain America, you're definitely against my father."

"I'm not lying, Sinthia," he says. On that, he's very firm. He hasn't fed her a single untruth or treated her like anything less than a person since she approached him. "You are not my enemy. The men with guns and tanks who were trying to take away the lives and freedom of the men and women I fought beside, they were my enemies. I wanted surrender, not death."

"Yes," she says quietly, after a long pause of silence, "You are my enemy."

She's always been his, even if he doesn't know it. It's a strange, sad life to have the constant knowledge of enemies and assets, usefulness and efficacy and war. But there's nothing that could rewrite it for her. "You want Johann dead. Why wouldn't you want me dead too?"

He can honestly say that she's stunned him. He's fought a lot of different people, even done some things he wasn't all that proud of, but to hurt a child? To even threaten her? It goes against his grain, and he can feel a prickling sensation start at the back of his neck, warning him that if she really is his enemy, sent here to exploit a weakness, she's already got the upper hand.

"Johann Schmidt?" he asks, bitter incredulity invading his voice. "Johann Schmidt was a murderer, responsible for the torture and senseless killings of hundreds, even thousands, of innocent people. He believed that humankind was inferior, that the whole world should be filled with people just like him. He was a blood-thirsty lunatic, Sinthia. Stopping him meant stopping the war, because if someone didn't do it the killing and fighting would never have stopped until he'd destroyed every last living thing."

He shifts carefully. "Look around this ship. What do you see? Do you see people deserving to die? Because I don't think you do, and that's why I would never harm a hair on your head."

She wasn't precisely sent anywhere; as a weapon she's only in the preliminary stages, still exploring the extent of her abilities and still learning to squish down that last flaring flicker of regret that most of them cause in her. It's only that impulse that will, eventually, be her saving grace but it coming into play is a long way off. For now she's like a new kind of bomb with a new kind of fuse, one no one can time exactly or predict what damage it could do.

But Sinthia listens to Steve rail against her father--and in part of her mind she knows everything he says is true. She's certainly listened to the man himself long enough to know his predilections. But she's never known anyone with softer opinions, with more regard for humanity, because no one dares argue with Johann in his own organization. It produces a kind of...detached, uncomfortable feeling. One like she's been pulled out of all her moorings and is watching her worldview be played with and rearranged like a piece of clay. And after he's done, when she finally has words that don't sound wrong in her head, she answers.

"Johann Schmidt is my father."

That's the only thing Sinthia can answer to, because she doesn't know what she sees yet. She sees people not like her, who don't know anything about her or what to do with what she can be. She also doesn't know how to begin processing someone saying they'd never harm a hair on her head, because that's simply never been in the cards in her life. Ever.

For the second time in as many minutes, she completely stuns him. He draws back, but only by an inch, recoiling in surprise. It's the last thing he could have expected. The last thing he would ever have thought possible.

Now that it's said, he can see something of a resemblance in her features, her dark hair, her eyes, but it's still too hard to really believe.

"What?"

"Johann Schmidt is my father," she repeats, just as clearly as she can.

"If you think he's that bad, what could you think of me?" she asks. She's accepted the possibility--likely the fact, in her mind--that at just about any moment he'll probably try to capture her. Maybe interrogate her before he figures out what to do with her. She's expecting that.

It's a very, very good thing Steve can't hear what's going on in her head right now.

It takes another few seconds for the words to really sink in, but once they do he's hit with a tidal wave of conflicting emotions.

"I think you're a kid who was given the short end of the stick," he says, painfully honest. Delicacy and polite untruths don't play into Steve's wheelhouse. "The war I fought against your father does not fall on your shoulders, just because you're his blood. I don't like bullies, Sinthia. People who try to push other people around and force them to do whatever they want. I believe everyone makes their own destiny."

She blinks. Partly because she doesn't understand the metaphor--what stick is he talking about? Does he have one hidden somewhere?--and partly because she can't tell who she should believe.

Steve is the easy, obvious choice. He's going against everything she's been told for her entire life. "But isn't that what the Allies are doing too?" she asks.

He purses his lips. "Maybe as far as Germany is concerned, but we didn't start the war, and it wasn't until after Hitler's Nazis started making claims to other countries that the Allies got involved. We weren't the aggressors."

Germany, Japan, all hit them when they were weak, poor, and starving.

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