Thread: Avengers: The Bloodstone Agenda (TheCorsair & surrealobsession)

Really, it was the little things that reminded Steve just how far he was from home. Natasha had called the night before - twice, because it had taken him a few minutes to find the tiny computer that Tony swore was a phone - to invite him to go to the American Museum of Natural History. Probably it was as much due to Nick Fury and his help Cap acclimate to the present initiative as anything else, but he'd agreed. He'd always loved the museum, when he was a boy. Sure, Natasha, he'd said. Should I meet you two there, or do you and Clint want to swing by Stark Tower and pick me up? The line - an absurd thing to say, he knew, because these hand-held things were straight out of Dick Tracy - had gone dead for nearly a minute. Then, sounding slightly confused, she'd explained that Clint wouldn't be coming along. Which surprised him, but he'd gone along with it and thanked her for the invitation. Then, when she'd hung up, he searched through his contacts and made another call. The phone rang once, twice, three times, and finally hung up. Hey, Steve. What's up? Good afternoon, Clint, Steve had replied. Sure he sounded a little more formal, but the casualness of the 21st century hadn't rubbed off on him yet. Not completely. How are you? Uhm... fine. Something I can do for you? Yes. Uhm, Natasha called, and invited me to go to the museum with her. ...and? I just wanted to make certain that was all right with you. ....sure? I mean, yeah. Go ahead. Have fun. Thanks, Clint. What kind of world had he woken up in, he wondered as he 'hung up' - really, pushed a picture labeled 'off - his phone. In his day, you didn't go out with your buddy's best girl by yourself. Not without asking . But that was last night. This was today. And right now, he was busy sketching rapidly on his pad, catching the outlines of an exhibit in pencil. He'd never really thought much about Indians before - Native Americans , they were called now - other than when he'd watched Tom Mix and the Lone Ranger in the serials. But standing here, in the Hall of Northwest Coast Indians, he was acutely aware of just how much how much the world had changed0. He wasn't particularly aware of the attention he was attracting, either. He wasn't in uniform, just grey slacks and a blue checked shirt and his bomber jacket, but that wasn't necessary. He was still six feet tall and handsome, with sandy-blonde hair and startling blue eyes and a build somewhere between a martial artist and a boxer. He knew how much Erskine's formula changed him, but even after two years - almost three, counting the 'future' - he still hadn't internalized that fact. It's curious, Natasha, he said, eyes flicking between display and sketch as the dugout canoe took shape on his pad. All this stuff we do, all the terrible things the news still seems to focus on, and things just get better and better. He began shading the sketch, then pointed with his pencil. Look at that. When I was a kid, we called those people savages and thought we did them a favor by rounding them up into reservations. A few more lines. Now, we're celebrating their accomplishments. Steve grinned at that, uttering a small laugh of sheer joy. We've come a long way, haven't we?