2012-07-08 Unorthodox

So far, it's been a pretty ordinary summer day. The sun is shining. The bees are buzzing in the blossoms. It's fragrant, it's warm, and the city seems to have fallen into a bit of Sunday relaxation. Luckily, though, with all deadlines met and the Sunday papers securely on doorsteps, Lois gets that holiest of holies: a proper day off.
That was the plan, anyway. Things might be changing when a sleep black sedan with blackout tint on the windows pulls up to Lois Lane's apartment. Two men, both wearing earpieces, black suits, and dark glasses -- really, could they get any more stereotypical? -- come striding up to the door. They knock politely, hands crossed before them. All work and no play, these two.
Yeah. A proper day off. Lois takes the time to relax with some yoga on a mat on the floor. Focused on breathing, the reporter is sifting through everything in her mind, from the attacks at Stark Expo to the aliens and mutants and now demons from hell she's met, to the most recent brush off from the one person she can always count on to take her barbed remarks like a champ.
The knock at the door breaks her concentration, and Lois pushes herself up with a sigh.
She grabs a towel and rubs at her face as she heads to the door, calling out, "I gave at the office."
There's the briefest pause. Then "Miss Lane?" is called through the door right along with another round of knocking.
Lois sighs at that, then moves to yank open the door. "What," she blurts out before she spies the Men in Black. "Oh, great. Did Dad send you," she asks, planting a hand on a hip the other on the open door.
The complete lack of a sense of humor from the men on the doorstep is a pretty good indication that they're military of some stripe. Maybe secret service. The car seems a little too sleek for the Army. "This has nothing to do with General Lane," one of the two men says. "We can wait for you to get ready. You'll want to bring a voice recorder. Probably a notepad. We will also allow a camera."
Lois blinks twice. In that span of time, the military brat rules out MPs. Secret service, definitely. Presidential interview? Most likely. She nods and motions for the agents to step in before she moves toward her bedroom. "Sure. Gimme a minute," she says before she disappears into her room.
It doesn't take her long to shower in a rush, change into a business suit, and gather her recorder pen and her digital notepad. She checks to make sure the memory is clear on her pen before she heads out and follows the SS toward the sleek black car.
It's really a pretty good guess. It's close. The two men wait with incredible patience, ushering Lois from her door to the car and opening the door for her to step inside. They move to the front of the car. There's already one person in the back.
The man is forgettable. Instantly forgettable. You could forget about him while you look at him. Hair thinning, face unmemorable and calm, a faint smile, an average build. Everything about him is average barring the same get-up as the other gentlemen.
His lips stretch in a slight smile when she gets into the car, and as the door is closed he reaches out to shake her hand. The overhead light is on, which is just as well as the blackout windows actually block the view from within, too.
"Sorry for the theatrics, Miss Lane," he begins as the car sets off. "I'm sure you've already figured out most of what's going on. Due to the nature of the individual we'd like you to interview, you'll understand if we're cautious about security. It won't be a long trip, and you will be getting what I believe in your industry is called an "exclusive." That is, nobody has yet had an in-depth interview with this individual."
Lois slips into the car without a thank you to the agents. SS guys tend either not to care or not to respond. The latter always makes Lois uncomfortable. Better to just let them do their jobs without needing to worry about civility.
Inside, Lois does a dobule take before she seems to really notice the person in the back seat with her, and she shakes his hand while chiding herself mentally. He was too easily forgettable that her mind just sort of discounted him from the get go. It's an odd sensation. When he begins talking about security, though Lois is nodding, used to such things, that is, until the clues start dropping.
"Of course. I understand," she replies, though her voice carries a clear note of question. The President has HAD in-depth interviews before. Granted, she's never given them, not to THIS president, but still... who on Earth could require THIS much security and NOT have been interviewed yet. Puzzled, she tucks a slightly damp lock of dark red-brown hair behind an ear.
"Could I have some preliminary intel so I know what sorts of questions I'm going to be asking," she asks.
"The individual you're going to be speaking to," the agent begins, "is a man about whom little is officially known. He's a war hero, recently returned from an extensive stint MIA. And he asked specifically to be interviewed by you, Miss Lane." He smiles faintly, sitting ever so still and comfortably in the backseat with Lois. "More than that will have to wait until we get there, but it won't be long now..."
The wheels in her head gets turning at the meager intel, but Lois hides the fact by smiling politely and turning her face to peer out the blackened window. Her smile falls and she sets to chewing the inside of her cheek thoughtfully. War Hero. MIA. Asked for me by name. Who the hell is this guy? She leans an elbow on the arm rest of the door, finger coming up to tap at the tip of her nose. Very Winnie the Pooh - Think, think think. Obvious questions come forth: What war? Were you a POW? How long were you MIA for? Was AlQueda involved? What part of Afghanistan were you in? Or Saudi Arabia, or Iraq, hell.. depending on how old this guy is... Korea? Vietnam? But what War Hero that was MIA... for ANY of those wars would warrant such extensive security. Because, let's face it, the US Government's going to keep this Captain America locked up tighter than Fort Knox! Besides, he was probably a stunt man anyway. Very convincing stunt man. Had all the right answers. Lois played her part well, she thought. Daddy always said, when the Army brings out a new toy to a public press conference, you check to see if anyone's razzing it. If so, keep your questions on the fence and your doubts to yourself. You want better answers, you do it in private, and check your clearances... and don't ask me for squat.
That's when she frowns. This has got nothing to do with Daddy. What the hell...?
The car stops, rocking gently to a halt. "This is for you, Miss Lane," the agent says. He passes over a soft eyemask, the sort people wear to blot out the light when they're sleeping during the day or in an airplane. His expression is calm, peaceful, and belying the fact that he is probably quite capable of pinning her to the seat and strapping it to her face if need be.
Pulled from her reverie, Lois blinks a bit and looks at the blindfold. The first thought she wants to blurt out is: You've got to be kidding me? The second is: Not again. The third is: You want the story, right?
Lois sighs softly, forces a weak smile to her face, and collects the soft blindfold. Setting her purse in her lap, Lois fights that edge of adrenaline prickling fear as she pulls the blindfold on and waits, hands falling to once more clutch her purse. Security blanket?
The agent's arm goes around Lois's back as he opens the door. There's a faint sense of sunlight as the door is opened, but the blackout blindfold is good. Walking up a short flight of steps, but he guides her so effectively that he must have aided the blind on many, many occasions. The walk isn't too long: indoors, walking across what feels like a wooden floor. Down a hall. A turn. Guided forward across a rug and gently ushered to a chair. And when she's sitting down at last, a gentle voice -- not the agent from before, this mild baritone -- says "You can take that off now."
The room, when the blindfold is removed, looks like something out of the late 1930s. The furniture, the colors... there's even a large wooden radio cabinet and a phonograph. She's been placed at a small table, large enough for her pad and recorder and anything else she'd like. There's a pitcher of icy water there with two glasses.
And sitting at the table, fully in his costume with the Shield of Freedom leaning against one leg, is Captain America.
"I told them," he says, "that you would come if we just gave you a call and told them where to go. They insisted on this," he says, waving a hand. "At least the room is nice. Thank you for coming, Miss Lane. I've been looking forward to this."
('Stay calm, girl. You're fine. It's just an interview. You've done weirder things for an exclusive,') Lois is telling herself silently as she's led about, adrenaline heightening her other senses but not giving her any more clarity of the situation with it.
The comfort of the chair is welcomed, and no matter how much the urge to pull the blindfold off starts to overwhelm, Lois stays still, trying not to tremble, until that voice rings out. She hadn't expected it, the gentle warmth of it, and so she jumps slightly in her chair.
Blinking, Lois pulls off the blindfold and looks around. Radio cabinet? Phonograph? Hood lamps? Did she just get ported back to post depression America? Lois's gaze slides about the room and settles upon the spangly image of...
"Captain America," Lois breaths out, cheeks flushing in an instant. Yeah. Not what she was expecting... at ALL. And her mind goes blank for a solid ten seconds.
The smile they put on all those posters breaks across the good Captain's face and he nods his head. "I sincerely find it amazing that people still remember me. Lots of other heroes and notables have cropped up over the decades, but people still watch the old adventure serials. I have to admit it's kind of flattering."
He picks up one of the two glasses of water, handing it across the table. "There's coffee, too," he says softly. "Think you might need some?"
"Thanks," Lois says, blinking back to herself as she sets her purse down, and reaching for the water. "Before we... get on the record... or maybe this is for the record... Are you... really?" Her nose wrinkles faintly, head tilting. "Not just some... actor in a suit... cause my dad used to..."
"Born in 1920," Cap replies, a grin growing on his face. "Brooklyn, New York. Your dad's Sam Lane, right? General Sam Lane? The name's familiar, but I can't imagine I served with him. Technically, after all, I'm ninety-two years old. It's really me, Miss Lane. I'm the guy in the newsreels. But before I ever went to war, I *did* play the USO shows in a pair of spangly tights."
Spangly? Lois can't help but fit a giggle at that, biting her lower lip to fight down the urge. To help she focused on her dad and nods. "Yes. General Sam Lane, US Army. He's always been a fan, even if.. he never really liked..." She waves her hands about. "Meta..super... whatever." She clears her throat and brings the coffeee to her lips, hoping it steadies her.
"So, ah.. Captain... You wanted to give me an interview, so... if I can start recording?"
Almost regretfully, Cap agrees: "Seems like even among other people who don't like anything other than the average Joe, I tend to get a pass. I'd rather not be that kind of special. But go ahead: this is for you, after all. You and the curious public. You know that there's some things I can't talk about, of course. Most of my history's declassified, but nevertheless..."
Lois pulls out her pen and stops, just shy of flipping it on. Her head tilts at him, brows knitting faintly. 'For me?'
"If you'd rather just chat for a bit? I mean... Sorry. That was really rude," she says and puts her pen down. "I think I've seen just about every USO news reel of you. World's First Super Hero, right?"
He takes a drink of water and smiles at the request. "I'd like that. I know we really didn't give you a lot of opportunity to prepare an interview. At least I got them to agree to more than the fifteen minutes they wanted to allow. Told 'em I'd just find you on my own," he says, leaning in with a growing grin. And the Brooklyn accent is there: not deeply pronounced, very much as if he was exposed to enough other accents in early adulthood to flatten it out. "That's what they call me," he continues. "Punched Hitler in the jaw over two hundred times. In the shows, at least: never managed it for real. Believe it or not, there were more pressing problems."
Smiling, Lois just watches this flesh and blood of all those old reels. Her father liked them, not so much for Captain America (so he said), but for the patriotism of it all. Lois's take-away? Wars can be won on the backs of the media, and the journalists - good journalists - are every bit as effective and stalwart as any soldier. She can't help but find that hint of Brooklyn accent charming and ...homey.
"I'll say.... But why me? Out of all the reporters in the country? I'm not exactly... the nicest reporter on the Planet, and I don't try to pull my punches...."
"Honestly? At least a part of it is because one of the first people I met when I woke up was a fella you call Superman. Is it true you actually gave him that name? Well, he struck me as a pretty super guy, and I found out you were the person who interviewed him first. He spoke highly of you. That, and you were teh most coherent reporter asking questions at that press conference. I talked to a few more people and realized two things: I liked your spirit," he says, "and I like how you don't pull punches. You have to ask the hard questions. Even if it's of someone you like. I don't want to be treated specially because of this icon status I seem to have. I'm as answerable as any other man."
The mere mention of Superman's name is enough to elicit a tiny blush, and the tucking of hair behind an ear. It's subtle, that motion of school girl crush, and one that is all Lois allows herself as she reaches for her coffee to hide behind taking a sip. Taking a breath, she nods, and sets the cup down again.
"Yes. I did. He... saved my life, and when a coworker asked if the S stood for anything... well, that was the first thing that came to mind." Superlame, but yeah. We're stuck with it. Lois looks at the Captain, and bites the inside of her bottom lip to keep from swooning over the thought that Superman said anything highly of her. If only he'd talk like that to her!
Oh, but then Captain has to go and flatter by saying her likes her spirit and the school girl blush deepens by a full shade. "It's how I was raised, and it's what I believe the press needs to be. We're the voice of the voiceless, and it's to us that Congress shall pass no law that would abridge our freedom to speak our minds." She smiles again, giving a soft chuckle. "Just like you said the first time we met... sort of met." She laughs then, recalling the small riot that was THAT particular press conference.
He doesn't miss that shift of hers -- nor, for that matter, can he blame her. "He's an impressive guy," Cap says. "And I haven't even really seen him in action outside of recordings. He's got a lot of heart. I don't think it's fair when people compare him to me, though: I don't think *I* can compare favorably to the legend. He's done an awful lot on his own, and I'm proud to see him out there."
He nods decisively as she goes on, too: "That's exactly what I like to see. It's not about being sensational or getting the story out there first: it's getting the story right the first time. Doing your research. Publishing the stories people need to know about, not just the ones they ask for."
Lois nods to that, reaching for her coffee again as her mind ticks through the half dozen or so unfinished stories waiting for her at home. His support of that, the almost unspoken acknowledgement of faith in her, was just what the doctor ordered for the reporter who'd been staring at the scattered notes about martians and other extra-terrestrials, mutants, and demons, trying desperately to figure out what she was goig to DO with all of these stories without any of it ruining her reputation. Lois looks up into those blue eyes (her favorite color), and sighs again. It's not a swoony sort of sigh. It's a relieved sort of 'everything's going to be okay' sort of sigh.
"The reels don't do either of you justice. I saw how you handled that midget," she quips, no longer able to supress the giggles.
"I wanted to say that fella had it //coming//." Cap taps the table when he says it, even looking just a touch embarrassed. "I didn't want to kick the little guy, but he got me with a knife beforehand. Someone, if you can believe it, put the video up online. I understand they've made..." He grimaces, trying to remember the word. "A me-me of it? I don't know what it's called. With the..." He waggles his fingers. "The captioned pictures. I don't know. People get excited about the weirdest stuff."
Lois bursts out into giggles and reaches for her phone. A few touches and she shows him the picture he's talking about. A faint snort as the giggles reign supreme has Lois clapping both hands over mouth and nose in a struggle to contain herself.
"Sorry. A me-me, yes. I was doing some research on you and... I come across the weirdest things," she adds, still chuckling, but now no longer in danger of snorting at him. At least, for the moment.
Cap leans over to look at the picture and grimaces, nodding: "Yeah. That's the one. One of the ones." He looks slightly embarrassed, but at least he has a sense of humor about it: smiling and shrugging, he just lets it be for now. The mention of other weird things has him curious, though: "Tony -- that's Tony Stark -- was saying something about other pictures of me. Some artists drew me, apparently? Apparently a whole lot of artists drew pictures of me and shared them on this network? It seems like an awful lot for just one week of being officially alive."
Lois puts the phone on the table, screen down and tries really really hard not to blush at SOME of the pictures she's come across in her reseach.
"Yes, well, the internet's.. an odd beast. Exposure to anything grows exponentially in a matter of minutes. And well, you're an icon. People was to feel.... safe again, after everything that's been happening recently," she comments, resisting the urge to hug herself, sot hat all that she does it bring her elbows in and seem to shrug.
"It really is sort of flattering," Steve admits, "though apparently some of the pictures -- well, they shocked Tony enough that he was laughing for a good half hour." Shifting a touch uncomfortably, he tilts his head when she too begins to look uncomfortable. He reaches out to put a hand on her shoulder: "It's been a crazy time, I understand. Suddenly everything seems to be chaotic. But we're a nation made up of a lot of really strong individuals who come together like champs when the going gets tough. Even today, it happens. It's not victory gardens anymore, but it is blood drives and donations and volunteering and heroism even still."
Lois opens her mouth, but thinks better of asking Steve what kinds of pictures, given what she's heard of the playboy. She can imagine and suddenly wishes she HADN'T. The touch on her shoulder calms in an instant, a relieved sort of sigh drifting from her.
"How do you that," she asks on a complete tangent that makes complete sense to her brain.
The question throws him briefly, but he smiles at the question and shrugs his shoulders. "I don't have superpowers like that, Miss Lane," Steve says gently. "I'm just a kid from Brooklyn. But I believe. I'm not a perfect man, I'm not a great politician or diplomat or anything like that. I just believe. I've got some old-fashioned notions: optimism, for one. Maybe it's because I honestly believe that despite its flaws, the world really is a good place made up of a lot of good people."
Lois just watches that smile and the shrug. "You're from a different time," she offers softly, finding herself completely at ease around him. He's just so damn... confident, and composed, and... old-fashioned. It's like her dad was before... Lois shakes her head slightly, forcing THAT thought away before her eye lashes flutter as she averts her gaze to hide in her coffee onc emore.
The smile is steady and broad, and Steve lightly taps Lois on the bottom of the chin with one finger. "I am," he agrees. "Not a perfect time. It could be argued whether it was a better time, though I don't think 'better' makes sense when you talk about that. But it had smart men and strong women and vice versa. People who were afraid like any normal person would be, but who stood up and spoke up anyway. That's what it was about. That's what it was always about. Just... seeing something that needed doing and doing it. Seeing a problem needing solving and trying to solve it. For me, it's bullies. Believe it or not," he says with a grin, "I was a short, skinny kid. I got kicked around a lot. Manny Ruszkiewicz, my next door neighbor, got kicked around for being Polish. Two blocks down, David Klein, first for being Jewish, then for being a German Jew. Guy couldn't get a break. Patrick O'Toole, one of my best buddies, for being... well, what they call 'gay' nowadays. Didn't matter who you were, didn't matter how harmless you were: someone out there would try to use it against you."
Chin lifting at the gentle tap, violet eyes meet that steady, friendly azure gaze. Her coffee forgotten on the table.
Bullies... Lois blinks once, brows pulling together. "Like what's happening with the mutant riots.... Nothing's changed, has it? Nothing at all. we're still all just.. bullying each other?"
He looks infinitely sad as he nods. "There's a saying that's as old as... well, as old as sayings. In French, it's 'Plus ca change, plus c'est la meme chose'. In Latin, it's 'Nihil sub sole novum.' The more things change, the more things stay the same. Nothing new under the sun. We fought so hard. So many good men died, gave their lives for the weak so they'd never be victimized again. So that the world would learn. And we didn't. That... that's the hardest thing about waking up. Seventy years, almost, Miss Lane. Seventy years later and we still just don't get it."
His eyes drop from hers, stern and sad. But he takes a deep breath and raises his head again, offering her a bracing smile. "All that tells me, though, is that apparently I've still got a job to do. And so do you."
You know. When Captain American looks you right in the eyes and tells you that you have a job to do... Lois' back straighens that quarter inch into something vaguely US Army at-attention. Whatever worry or doubt in what she was doing fade away. His stern sadness, that seriousness, the down to earth, boy-next-door, follow you into hell and back, gives his words the weight no super power ever could. Lois Lane, reporter from the Daily Planet, nods.
"Yes, sir," replies the army brat softly, having not uttered those words with that much meaning since she was told she couldn't cry over the loss of her mother and that she'd have to be the one to protect her sister when he couldn't be around. Unbidden, her violet eyes mist at the associative emotions, but she never, for a moment, seeks to avert her gaze or blink the threat of tears away.
He can see it in her. The strength he saw the first time, the persistence, the dogged fighter that he always saw in the women he admired most. There were lots of pretty girls, but there weren't all that many strong ones. Not who let their strength show.
Captain America rises, moving around the table and urging Lois to stand. He embraces her then, cupping the back of her head with one hand, wrapping the other arm around her back. "You can and you will," he says, turning to whisper the words in her ear. "I've known a few ladies like you. Not that many at all. But they're made of steel and hard as nails and the world'll break before they do. You wouldn't have taken the job if you didn't know you were strong enough for it. Good enough for it."
A woman's strength can come from tears. They aren't heart wrenching sobs or mewling whimpers. They are the silent drops of a release from doubt and self-bashing that frees a warrior to soldier on. Lois leans her head against the captain's chest, and her arms move to wrap around his sides, to hold to his ribs. A single sniff of emotion, and Lois is nodding to his words. Just that tiny bit of praise, and Lois quivers once, shoulders shaking at the end of the emotional roller coaster then past week and a half has brought.
He holds her as long as she needs. She feels, as far as he can tell, no guilt in those quiet sobs: good. Sometimes they're just what you get. "I know it's rough," Steve continues, sifting his fingers through her hair. "It's scary. But courage isn't about not being scared. It's about being terrified right down to your bones," he says, pulling back to look her in the face, "and doing what you have to do anyway." He leans down to kiss her forehead, resting his own forehead against hers then and smiling.
The smile grows a little as he lifts his head again, tipping her chin up toward him: "This is probably not quite orthodox for an interview, huh?"
The silent sobs fade as he runs fingers through her still lightly damp hair. She tilts her face up to him as he pulls away to peer down at her, and that gentle kiss has her smiling, eyes misting slightly. But that's all. She's smiling, ignoring the wet streaks on her cheeks, and her eyes close when he rests his forehead to hers.
She inhales the scent of him in the guise of taking a long slow steadying breath in through her nose. The feel of his mask odd against her forehead, and reminding her that his is Captain FREAKING America! And she's in the very enviable position of being in his arms, forehead to forehead.
As he lifts his head and tilts her chin further up toward him, Lois smiles, hands daring to shift toward his chest so that she's more encompassed by his arms. "I'm not complaining. Besides... I think this, unrecorded... the feel of this is... so much more poignant than a 'so i'm sitting down with a war hero' question and answer session," she says, then grins with a twinkle in her eyes. "Would you mind if I did something completely brash and reckless right now?"
He grins a little. Poignant. Yeah, that's reporters all over. Though is that Steve looking a trifle nervous as Lois's position shifts slightly? As she looks up at him with that twinkle in her eyes? He's seen that look before. It's a very, very dangerous one on a lady.
"Depends on what it is," he replies. There's the faint suggestion of an eyebrow raising behind that mask. "I'm trying to keep my identity secure, just so I can actually go for a run in the morning without getting stopped every ten feet. So this should probably stay." That's obviously what she had in mind, right?
Lois giggles at that, but nods. The mask will stay, even if NOW she's wondering what it'd be like... But, he's so... sweet! Reallly, the kick him out of his boots kiss... no longer an option straight out the gate. He's too nice a guy for that. She does, however, reach up to wrap her arms about his neck, shift up to her tippy tip toes and move to kiss his lips gently. She'd have loved to have to courage to do that to another boy in blue, but she never really worked up the moxy. Right now, she feels like she could do anything, so this boy in blue is the one that gets the girl.
It's quite possibly cute that he doesn't actually get what she's doing until she's kissing him, and for a moment he's so stunned he really can't do much about it. But Steve does, very gently indeed, give the lady a kiss back. It's relatively chaste, all things considered, and when he lifts his head again his cheeks are flaming.
"Miss Lane," he begins, his voice gentle and soft, "I don't know what to say. But I'm sure flattered." He's looking at her for a long moment before he very gently withdraws, swallowing hard. "That," he says, hazarding a smile, "definitely doesn't happen in all your interviews. I'd have heard."
It's adorable! The gentle kiss in return has Lois sighing into him, and not fighting or clinging when he pulls away. His blush makes her blush, if only because it suddenly REMINDS her that she was just kissing Captain FREAKING America! She moves to step back when he withdraws, tucking a lock behind an ear and shaking her head.
"No, no, not at all. Never, actually. Um.. sorry," she's stammering faintly, looking to get herself composed and professional again. Just where DID her professionalism go again?
"Umm... yeah. Ah.." Congratulations, Steve! You kissed Lois Lane speechless!
"I don't think that's something you really need to apologize for, Miss Lane." Captain America -- definitely Captain America -- tilts his head down to her and offers her a comforting smile. "I have kissed a girl before," he whispers. "It's a thing that happens, especially in the heat of a moment. And you didn't hear me complain. But maybe that's not a part of this interview," he says with a soft chuckle.
He reaches out toward the table, picking up the glass of cold water. Refilling it, he reaches down and wraps Lois's hand around the cold glass.
Boy. He's going to have trouble forgetting that. Not that he's necessarily inclined to just yet.
"Oh, definitely not part of the interview," Lois blurts out, cheeks flushing a bright red in an instant! Because kissing Cap is the last thing she needs right now! First being spotted, dripping wet, in a two piece, with Bruce Wayne's arm around her hip; then getting flown around by a GREEN guy as opposed to Big Blue.. and yeah. Adding Captain America to that list... not the best of ideas.
The cold glass helps, and Lois brings it to her lips almost instantly, seeking the cooling liquid to do just that: cool. In her college days, Lois could chug like a boss, and while she's not exactly chugging...
Cap withdraws then, pouring himself a cup of the cold water and taking a quick and bracing drink. Yeah. That's the stuff. He looks to Lois with a slight smile, but it's... such a complicated situation. He's been careful. Very careful, in fact. She's not the first lady to be interested in him, and if he's to be perfectly honest with himself it's not like the interest is completely one-sided. But Captain America? The whole reason he's been woken up is to be an icon. More than human. A legend. Something for people to believe in. How that would work with dating a girl? He doesn't know. Steve Rogers might have a better chance, but he'd never want to keep a secret like that from someone important to him.
"Was there anything else you wanted to talk about today?" he asks. "We've still got time, if you like."
Lois downs half the glass before she comes up for air. Her eyes close a moment, remembering that chaste, gentle, uncomplicated... And yet.. Her eyes open, and she glances at Cap over a shoulder, fingers toying with the glass of water.
She totally lost it on Superman for keeping a secret from her. She was heartbroken about it. That's what started this mess, if one were to put a fine point to it. Her world was flipped upside down when Superman lied to her face, then took nearly a week to apolgize, and then only did so when she threatened him into it, only to tell her that he's lied to her before and would probably keep lying to her. A definite note of sadness drifts across her as she averts her gaze back into her water glass.
That's Captain America. He can't take off that mask... because then he'd never get a chance to just be... whomever he is when he's not being Captain America, a legend. It'd be unfair to ask him to reveal that and yet... knowing that he's keeping something from her would sting just as bad. Frowning, Lois sighs softly; resigned?
His words make her blink, searching for that professional (and completely FAKE) smile of hers, and failing miserably. She looks back over to him. The smile she gives instead is sweet and genuine. "Um... well, technicially we never did go on record, so... I wouldn't mind... just chatting more."
It's not that it's impossible for Steve Rogers to be genuine. It's just impossible for Captain America to do it. Steve Rogers, bright and rather conservative guy who lives in Brooklyn and likes to go running at five in the morning to see the sun rise, is probably allowed to date. But Captain America? He just doesn't know. He's sure of one thing, though: the worst way to start out any relationship, including a friendship or anything deeper, is with a lie.
The smile he gives her, therefore, is warm and genuine as well. "I wouldn't mind that either," he says. "Not at all. Why don't you tell me about yourself? I know your dad's a general. Where were you born? Did you move around like most military families?"
Lois glances about for a more comfortable place to sit and tell her tale, speaking before she finds a place. "I was born in Norfolk, we moved to Russia when I eight, right after Lucy was born. Did some time just about everywhere, so yeah... typical military family, until the General - that's my fahter - decided that we needed to settle down until Lu and I were done with high school. I graduated from a military academy and then pretty much just... rebelled."
Lois chuckles now. "Went to Columbia State. Best journalism college in the nation. The General was so pissed... I don't know what he wanted from me. I played nice, did all the PT and 5am drills and crazy military stuff growing up. Hell, I can clean and prep a standard side arm better than I can boil water.... But... I don't know... I never really... liked it. I got out of there as soon as I could. Never really looked back."
"Your dad gave you 5am drills and PT and made you call him General?" Cap is somewhere between amused and amazed, and the combination makes him shake his head. "So he expected you to go into the service the same as he did? I can imagine you as an officer. I can also imagine you as an officer's wife: one of those women who's as much behind her husband's success as he is. But I don't think you'd be happy in that life. What tipped the balance for you? I confess to not being a very good soldier, myself. They say a lot of things about me, but what they don't say is how well I followed orders, and there's a reason for that. I did, mostly, but like my old colonel said, close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades. I was a pretty good commando, but I wouldn't call myself a good soldier. I bet you'd have the same problem: incapable fo taking an order if you thought it was a damn stupid one."
Lois is nodding, having found the way to a little sofa not far from the table to sit on the edge of. Enough room for two without quarters getting too close for amiable comfort.
"He always wanted a boy," she admits, tone a bit soft, only for her eyes to widen as Steve goes on to say he could ppicture her as an officier's wife. Her nose wrinkles in clear 'not-going-to-happen' fashion. Lois shakes her head.
"You pretty much nailed it, Captain. I don't like asinine orders, at all. Soon as I was eighteen, and the Gener- umm Dad was willing to consider me an adult and loosen up, and I took off. Like you said, I would have made a terrible soldier. I'm stubborn, I'm loud, I'm nosy... Everything a good reporter should be!" She sing-songs that last, straightening up in mock joy of the phrase. She dropps back to normal after than, chuckling faintly.
"Besides... The media can win a war just as a well as an army. Sometimes cleaner, sometimes messier, but... If the military, government, business.. if all of that got too wrapped up in itself, and no one ever stuck their hand up and said 'now, wait a gosh durn minute, you!', we'd probably still be an English teritory."
"Spreading the word. An important part of the whole war, to be sure," Steve replies with a faint smile. "And don't take the officer's wife thing as an insult, please. No, I don't think it's anything you could have happily settled for, but I knew women with your kind of -- what I mean is that I think //anything// you set your mind to would get itself done out of fear of what you'd do if it didn't. The English call it bloodymindedness, which I think sounds more... picturesque than stubborn." He flashes a quick smile.
"And I do have great respect for journalists. Openness and honesty are part of what this country is based on. It doesn't always work all that well, but I'm not a big fan of secrets without a good reason. And most of what they call 'good reasons' aren't always so fine."
There's a faint chuckle, shoulders shaking lightly at the sound. Lois lifts her hand to show she's not taking the comment as an insult. "Thanks. Dad used to just say mulish," she adds, glancing down to her glass when he flashes that quick smile at her. She's smiling herself as well.
"And, despite any harsh words I might use sometimes, I really do respect those men and women that go into the military, or public service... firefighters, police officers. Men and women without.." She half motions to the good Captain, as if indicating the superness of the spangly one, "...all this, and yet they /still/ rush forward, they /still/ /put themselves between... well, between the bully and the weak." Her tone is stronger as she finishes, seeming to almost be half quoting someone else, and is finding herself more and more agreeing with the words and the sentiment.
"Yes ma'am," Steve replies. With fervor, even. "I am not here to replace the real heroes. The people who put their lives on the line every day for low pay and less appreciation. I'm not here to overshadow them. If anything, I want to make people more aware of them. Of the people who do what they do so that nobody else has to. Of the unsung and the unappreciated. They deserve the ultimate respect of everyone in this land, Miss Lane."
Lois nods to that little speech, her motion just as filled with fervor as his 'yea ma'am' was. Her lips are smiling warmly, comfortably, at the good Captain. "You know, I had the oddest run in the other day, at Stark Expo. A young man, a mutant, named Colossus. He's the one that really got me thinking about," she pauses, her right hand lifting from the cool water glass still held between her hands, to wave once, as if hte mere motion would conjour up the rest of her thoughts for her. "...all of this bullying, and putting people down because they are different and weaker and... well.... It's sort of the same topic. I'm sure that for as much good as he tries to do in protecting those others weaker than himself, he's still not appreciated by others because of what he is. IF I could get the two of you in a room, what would you say to him, to others like him, who are trying to do what he's doing, what you did... during the War?" Yup, she's still a journalist.
It's a question that makes him smile, and not so much from its content as the fact that she is, indeed, still the journalist. Even when she's a slightly flustered journalist. "Well, when it comes down to standing up for people who can't stand up for themselves, it seems there's a lot of ways to do it. There was Gandhi, for example. Peaceful resistance is beautiful and it is strong, and it works against a force who doesn't want to look bad. But there's a point in life where I think you have to stand planted firmly and say 'this far, and no further'. If what he's doing is standing between the weak and those who would victimize him, if he's doing what he believes is right, then he's doing what any American has the right to do, and good luck to him. Just because we're Americans doesn't mean we have any immunity to being bigoted and cruel and domineering. I'd say that the first mistake -- the first evil -- is treating people as property. Dehumanizing someone because they're different. That's where evil begins."
Lois's smile is light in response to Steve's smile, though she's not sure where it comes from. For a moment's she worries that she might have edged him back toward that 'guh, talking to a reporter' feel he had to start with, but as he begins to answer, her expression clears, and her smile warms into that 'hell yeah, that's right' at the end. Lois bites the inside of her lower lip, the pull of it barely visible in the tension along her mouth. It's her attempt to keep from jumping on that bandwagon. Journalists have to stay somewhat distant at times.
"All forms of dehumanization? From slavery to the refusal of civil rights like marriage, or the harassment that comes with a different creed, belief, religion.... eye color," she asks conversationally. Truly, while part of her tone is that of the reporter, there's the emotion she wouldn't normally take into a more formal interview bleeding through in her eyes and the way she catches the inside of her lower lip to keep herself from breaking out into a complete and full smile of agreement.
"It's wrong. All of it. It's unworthy of us as Americans, unworthy of us as people. I realize that everyone would probably be happier if I hedged on that, and I agree everyone has their right to their opinion. But that doesn't mean there isn't such a thing as right and wrong." Cap shifts, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. "If two adults want to get married, it's none of my concern. It shouldn't be anyone else's. I don't understand why anyone is so concerned about things other people do that don't affect anyone else. I never have. I think it's wrong to be cruel toa person in general, and in particular wrong to be cruel to a person who can't fight back. All forms of dehumanization. Racism. Sexism. Speciesism. For me, the technical term, as I understand it, is 'mutate'. Someone who was born an ordinary human but got changed along the way. Mutants, as I understand it, are born to human parents. Aliens are sentient individuals who have the same worth and ought to have the same rights as we do. I don't see why any of this is so... so controversial."
"Some people have disowned their own children over this," Lois prompts, brows knitting as she spots Steve leaning forward and resting his forearms on his knees. Maybe's not the best idea to prod him along, and yet the words just come tumbling out anyway. Normally, it'd have come with a smirk, or a quirked brow, and some other hint that Lois is pushing for an emotional reaction to get at the heart of the matter. Today, however....
Lois scoots forward enough to reach out, wanting to put her hand on his knee, or his shoulder, to comfort him. Does he even need it? The talk of aliens catches her though, and pulls her hand forward. Her fingertips come to rest lightly on his forearm near his knee. Her head tilts to one side.
"Lots of peple point to religion.... or use it, to hide behind what I think is just... fear," she adds, giving her opinion in a way she wouldn't in a proper 'get all the information out of her source as she can', question and answer style interview.
"So I hear," Steve says wearily. "They did it in my day, too. But I'll say no religion worth its salt has a base message that includes 'hate and be cruel to those with whom you disagree'. Take the Bible. It's not a mistake that even Paul, who is not known for being the warm-and-fuzziest of guys, says the greatest of all virtues is love. Go to Jesus, and he says to love God first, then love your neighbor as yourself. Love is written all across every religion worth a darn in big huge letters. And while people can point to other passages that say 'this behavior is bad' or 'that behavior is bad', they all take a backseat to 'love one another'. I don't think we should look for excuses to dislike. But I would say that fear doesn't make you evil. Good people can be afraid and they can even do evil things because of that fear, but hating them, degrading them, ridiculing them is not the right answer."
Never having put much stock in religion, for the very same reasons she'd brought up, Lois is never-the-less hard pressed to keep a logical outlook on this. She's no theologian, and so purses her lips in retort, "You'll find the conservative right will argue that point till the lifer gives up and drops back to civies."
"That's fine," Cap replies with a shrug. "People have been arguing about this kind of thing for longer than even I've been around. As long as they don't try to force what they believe on others, they can continue to argue it all they want. What they do is legal, right up until it isn't. And resisting them, standing between hateful protesters and their victims for example, is a good start. People can see reason, but it can take a special effort."
Alright, that smile just can't stay hidden any longer. Lois chuckles lightly, nodding and withdrawing her hand. She looks to her glass, sips at the water, then blinks. Her smile fades lightly, lips pursing. "And when those doing the standing start doing the hating," she asks the Captain. Her brows are knitted, mouth frowning slightly. It's a scary thought.
Steve does turn his own hand to catch hers briefly, giving it a brief squeeze. "It's true," he says. "We all run the risk of becoming what we hate. Of falling into the trap of becoming the bullies. I can't say there's an easy answer for that. Evil rarely comes in huge floods to take over. Evil mostly grows slow, getting a little bigger every day until even atrocities seem normal."
Hand caught and gently squeezed, Lois' troubled gaze returns to Steve but the unease doesn't fade so quickly. In fact, as she peers at him, Lois's frown deepens at recalled conversations. She sighs, upset at herself, and turns her gaze back to her water glass once more. "Well, when you put it like that... Even the sillest of words could seem cruel." She puts on her brave face again and turns that very Lois Lane defiant little inclined-chin at Steve, retorting with a smirk, "No wonder you're the icon."
"I think cruelty has a lot to do with intent," Steve replies with a faint smile. "But it also has to do with action. You can't necessarily control when someone else is offended, but you can just..." He sighs, leaning back in his chair a little. "Just treat people decently. Treat people how you'd want to be treated. It's not hard. It shouldn't be controversial. Watch your words, and when you offend someone, apologize. And when someone offends you unknowingly and apologizes for it, accept it." He blinks at the statement, but he smiles and shakes his head. "I'm not the only one who thinks this way. The proof in the pudding is whether I live up to all this fancy talk."?
His faint smiled response has Lois thinking, and she sets her glass on a near by table so she can tuck the leg closest to him up under herself and scoot back on the sofa when he does. She's nodding and looking none to happy with herself until he's done. At which point the reporter nods, as if having made a decision about something. She turns to face him more fully.
"Which means, Captain, I'm going to be keeping an eye on you," Lois quips, half winking as a smirk blossoms on her face. Is this a good thing or a bad thing?
A broad smile breaks across the man's face and he nods once, sitting up straight. "And that's why you're here, Miss Lane. I know you're out there watching me. Keeping me honest. I know that if you start criticizing what I do, I might want to take a second look at it. One of many reasons I picked you for this interview."
His smile is contagious, especially when it comes with the biggest compliment she can have. Lois, too, straightens. A light laugh bubbles from her, pointing a finger at Steve. "Captain, I hope you know what you're in for," she says, the 'threat' both serious and light-hearted all at once. "And thank you. It's god to know someone feels that way. Most of my subject-matter tend to try to duck their heads when I start calling for interviews. Well, the dirty ones, anyway. .. The dirty-smart ones well... they'll call me to try to pull things past me..." Lois pauses, turning her face half away from Steve, eyes narrowing, smile turning coy and playful. "We're going to be doing this push-me, pull-me dance a lot, aren't we?"
"I don't know if it's all that smart to try to put one over on you," Steve replies with a twinkle in his eye. "I sure wouldn't try it. And I figure we're going to do this a lot, Miss Lane. At least, that's my intention." He rises then, reaching out to Lois and inquiring: "Things do seem to be winding down. I've really enjoyed this. Was there anything else you wanted to know?"
That twinkle, almost mischevious to Lois' sight, makes the reporter smile broadly. Without hesitation, he puts her hand in his, letting him pull her up if he likes. He doesn't seem the type to use it to guide himself /down/, after all.
"Sure. Loads, but I'm guessing most of that's above my pay grade," quips the military brat with a wink. "But... I don't think that your connection to Stark is completely classified. You something like a 'family heirloom'?" Her tone's light, playful, and a hint serious.
"I believe he was actually there when I was found," Captain America replies with a serious nod. "I knew Howard Stark well. He was instrumental in... well, a lot of what made Captain America successful. Tony was there when I was revived, and he's made it a point to make friends and try to acclimate me to modern culture. We... have some very different tastes and opinions, but he reminds me a lot of his father. And I have some very fond memories of Howard Stark. Some slightly less fond ones too, I admit," he continues with a grin. "But I see in the son some of the things I miss about the father."
Not having expecting the seriousness, and still sitting on the sofa, her hand in his, Lois just looks up at the Spangly Wonder, her smile fading until his grin comes forth again. "You seem so fond of him. He's made be changes to his company. I don't know how much different Stark Industries is now than it was then..."
"Pretty different," Steve replies with a tilt of his head. "They don't make weapons anymore, for a start. Though Stark was always interested in more than just military hardware. I understand that's how he made his fortune, but I respect his decision to get out of it. I don't know... I think there's more to Tony Stark than he lets on. Even to me."
"Well... he's Iron Man," Lois goes for the obvious, as if that is even an attempt at explaining anything. With Steve not moving to pull her up, Lois uses her hold to pull herself up. Just sitting here holding his hand is getting awkward. "But I have to admit, I'm more than a lot impressed by it. I wish I could crack his shell, see why the shift, where he's headed, but..." She shakes her head, smiling, "I think part of his mystique right now is that he's a little... I dunno.. zany."
Apparently he got lost there for a moment. Looking down at her. Hm. He does help her as she starts to rise, but he shakes his head to her words: "He's not a shallow guy. He's definitely... uh, committed to having a good time, but there's a reason Iron Man doesn't just fly around impressing people. He has a sense of responsibility. I'm interested in seeing how much it's important to him versus the spectacle of being Tony Stark."
On her feet, Lois stands before Captain American, chin tilted up to look at him. Hand still in his, she watches his expression with a faint smile on his face. "Like I said: mystique. You have it too. Only, yours is being completely open, honest, and genuine. I don't think... I've ever really met another man quite this open... barring the classified stuff. I get that. Military brat," she says, the tale of her words an explanation that comes with her free hand being held up to disspell any bad feelings about that. Lois is well aware of the score, and as such isn't bitter at the soldier that has to keep said secrets, but rather the society that necessitates them. She hrms faintly to herself at the thought.
He drops the hand gently and gives her a slight shrug and a smile. "In your line of work, I don't guess you do. But they're in bakeries and factories and schools and businesses all across America. All across the world. I'm not unique in honesty. I'm just known for it." He looks at her for a long time before taking a deep breath and offering his arm. "If you're ready, I'd be glad to walk you out. The agents will probably blindfold you again," he continues with a sigh, "but at least I can be polite."
You'd think that with who she pals around with she's actually know at LEAST one person, right? Lois returns Steve's look, head starting to tilt, brows lifting, and lips about to part to ask a question when he's offering her his arm. She looks at his elbow a moment, then smiles and nods. A quick step to the table to collect her purse and stuff the unused pen back inside. Items collected, the reddish-brown brunette slips her arm into his and smiles up at Captain America.
"I know. It's /so/ clandestined this way," she quips with a chuckle and a wink.
He gives her an almost sly grin -- it's more of a crooked smile, really -- when she says that, but Cap shakes his head. "You are some girl," he says. "Whatever guy can keep up with you is going to be a lucky one. And he'd better be good, too: otherwise he'll never get the chance to try."
The walk to the door is, regrettably, not very long. The building they're in appears to be clean but not very much used, and the other doors are closed. Some kind of house? The windows are draped, too, just letting enough light in to confirm that it's still daylight. The forgettable agent is standing at the door, smiling faintly.
"Thank you very much for coming, Miss Lane. We appreciate your help. If you'll come with me?" And yes. The blindfold is in his hand.
Why is it that every guy OTHER than the one she crushes on can tell her that she's a dream of a catch and that who ever gets her would be lucky? But then, a friend's words come to mind and Lois is returning Captain's sly grin, that crooked smile, and the shake of his head with a chuckle. She's going to say more, but they've arrived at the door, and not really able to think of much more to say, Lois just gives Agent Forgettable a resigned smile.
Her hand reaches out for the blindfold, even as she looks back at the Captain. "Thank you, Captain," she says simply, her eyes carrying a wealth of unspoken endings to the phrase. Thank you... for a wonderful afternoon, for the sweet kiss, for being an all around nice guy, for really being Captain America and not some putz in a spangly outfit, for all the compliments, for letting me cry on your shoulder like we've known each other for ages, for just... being you.
Lois takes a half step away from Steve, arm sliding away from his with that reluctance of not really wanting to leave someone that could, so easily, be the best of friends, but knowing the visit has to end. She lifts the blindfold to her eyes.
Category:Logs
Category:RPLogs