[ Out of the Captain America suit, Stephanie Rogers is almost unremarkable, just a stereotypical blonde American woman with a questionable fashion sense. But her handshake is firm, and her posture has a military quality to it. She gives Tony a well-practiced smile, one that softens into something more genuine when Pepper bids her leave. "The pleasure is mine, Miss Potts," she says, and even that is softer, too.
She tries not to stare at Tony as he moves about the room. God, Howard has a son. A son. Who looks and is a lot like him, if the articles she's read could be believed. Yet she still can't quite wrap her mind around that, even if it's already been weeks since she'd been hauled from the ice and forced back out into the world. Even after having gone to see Peggy, and Bucky's sister, Becca, who'd both been old and senile and had believed her dead. Even after having had better food, learning that polio had been eradicated, and discovering the Internet. Yeah, she's definitely not in 1945 anymore.
She hesitates, then follows Tony to the bar. It's fancy, unlike the bars she'd been to in the course of the war, but she at least knows this particular language of men. She runs her fingers along the countertop for a moment, studying the handiwork, before distractedly answeringβ ]
Whiskey.
[ βonly to be slammed with the realization that she'd started taking whiskey because it had been Bucky's drink of choice. Quickly, she sits down on one of the stools and surreptitiously grips her thighs so she doesn't get overtaken by her grief or accidentally destroy her host's furniture. ]
Thank you for taking the time to see me. This must beβ
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[ Out of the Captain America suit, Stephanie Rogers is almost unremarkable, just a stereotypical blonde American woman with a questionable fashion sense. But her handshake is firm, and her posture has a military quality to it. She gives Tony a well-practiced smile, one that softens into something more genuine when Pepper bids her leave. "The pleasure is mine, Miss Potts," she says, and even that is softer, too.
She tries not to stare at Tony as he moves about the room. God, Howard has a son. A son. Who looks and is a lot like him, if the articles she's read could be believed. Yet she still can't quite wrap her mind around that, even if it's already been weeks since she'd been hauled from the ice and forced back out into the world. Even after having gone to see Peggy, and Bucky's sister, Becca, who'd both been old and senile and had believed her dead. Even after having had better food, learning that polio had been eradicated, and discovering the Internet. Yeah, she's definitely not in 1945 anymore.
She hesitates, then follows Tony to the bar. It's fancy, unlike the bars she'd been to in the course of the war, but she at least knows this particular language of men. She runs her fingers along the countertop for a moment, studying the handiwork, before distractedly answeringβ ]
Whiskey.
[ βonly to be slammed with the realization that she'd started taking whiskey because it had been Bucky's drink of choice. Quickly, she sits down on one of the stools and surreptitiously grips her thighs so she doesn't get overtaken by her grief or accidentally destroy her host's furniture. ]
Thank you for taking the time to see me. This must beβ