nexus_sages | Hello Soldier

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Hello Soldier

There is a man in the Nexus. Standing tall, he is cut like a champion athlete or a Greek god. The uniform he wears proclaims him to be proudly American - a star emblazoned across his chest - and the shield that hangs on his back should leave no doubt as to who he is. He pores meticulously over one of the brochures, brows furrowed as he reads the strange information it provides. Having finished it, he shakes his head in disbelief before sliding it into a pocket and looking up to pay more attention to his surroundings.

"First a robot tries to take over the world and now this," he mumbles to himself. Passing a hand across his eyes he lets out a quiet sigh before straightening his shoulders and turning to the the Nexus at large. The instructions are to ask a question, and he seems to wrestle for a moment with his thoughts. Captain America has no room for doubt, but Steve Rogers? Well, he could use a fresh viewpoint, and if he's lucky this will all be some strange dream and he'll at least wake up with a little clarity.

"Duty entails sacrifice. That's a pretty cut and dried concept. How do you know if you're sacrificing too much? Is there a too much?"

((And we'll just keep this spoiler free!))

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Well this person seems familiar. He carries himself in a way that's very reminiscent of someone else the Captain knows, they resemble each other, but this very much isn't he Hawkeye he knows.

"Barton?" Colour him confused. "You uh, never seemed to have many doubts as far as I was able to see. Ask me, you seemed to be the most together out of all of us."

There's enough of that color for both of them. "You're kidding, right? I was a mess when you met me. In prison, remember?" Beat. "Aw, crap, this is the Namor thing all over again. You're not the Cap I know, are you?"

"I'm afraid you've lost me, son." One of the benefits of being 90 years old, you can get away with calling people that. "The man I know is a good man. May not always agree with his methods, but prison doesn't seem his style. Hang on..."

He pulls the brochure out again, skipping ahead to reread it. "Alternates. So you know a different version of me?" Damn it science, why can you never be simple?

"'Son'?" Clint looks incredulous for a moment. But hey, even the Cap he knows says that sometimes (sometimes to people he really shouldn't). "Yeah, I think so. And you know a different me. I made a few bad choices, trying to be a hero, and ended up a thief. When the first Avengers team broke up, you gave me, Wanda, and Pietro a second shot. How, uh, how'd it go for you?"

"Sorry. Force of habit." Back when he was from it wasn't as big a deal, and during his time with SHIELD he'd had to bust it out a few times. "We all make mistakes. I'm sure the other me saw something in you worth giving another shot."

He blinks at the names of the twins used so casually. "The Barton I know, he's a good man. Good soldier. Fights hard, pulls the team together. Don't always agree with his methods, but he fights the good fight. First time I met him he was working for SHIELD along with Romanoff. As for the twins, that's...complicated."

"Natasha'n I were already in SHIELD when we met?" He can't resist a laugh. "The KGB must've had kittens! When was this?"

"If I've got the story right, you were sent to eliminate her. You recruited her instead. The two of you - them are close." He give a confused head shake, he's not made for figuring out this parallel universe stuff. "I'm not overly clear on the timeline, the two of you - them - tend to play it close to the vest. Suppose that happens when you're a spy."

"Wow, me, a spy. Sounds better'n carny thief. She actually, uh, kinda played me like a fiddle the first few times we met."

"We all have our stories. Wouldn't be you without yours." He smiles knowingly, shaking his head. "Romanoff's good at that. Guess some things never change, no matter what universe you're in."

Clint just shakes his head a little, marveling, "Same old Steve."

"I'm gonna take that as a compliment." He smiles. "If there's one thing I'm learning, it's that our histories only go so far when it comes to defining us."

"That'd be the way to take it." Clint remembers the topic that started all this. "What's got you thinking duty and sacrifice, though? What's up?"

"I'm glad, it might have bruised my ego otherwise." Haha, Cap is a joker. "A lot's changed since I went into the ice. I suppose I'm still finding my footing, getting used to the way things are now."

Clint nods thoughtfully. "That's fair. How long's it been?"

"Since I woke up? Or since went under?"

"Either? Both? What year is it--there's a Namor who hasn't been in World War II yet hanging around here somewhere."

"Since I woke up, about three years. Since I went under, going on seventy. And I'm afraid I don't know any Namors. Strange name."

Clint gives a low whistle, adding the years up. "Longer than my Cap was out. Anything I can help with?" Because this Steve still feels like his friend.

"He's Atlantean. The Namor I know fought in the war alongside the Cap I know. Later on, he kinda, uh, invaded New York a few times."

"Really? Wonder how he took it all." He pauses for a moment to think. "Tell me the best coffee place in Brooklyn? I used to know, but the neighbourhood's changed a little."

"Atlantean? As in from Atlantis?" A beat. "Doesn't sound like he's really got his mind made up on that friend or foe thing."

"Anyplace with a mic in the corner's a good start, but for my money you can't go wrong with Perker's. They do the fair-trade weasel-poop coffee, but they're not all snooty about it."

"Well, Hitler was kinda everybody's problem, right? But after the war, no more Hitler, but there were still plenty of other people dumping crap in the ocean, and he took it kinda personal."

Steve pulls his notebook out of a pocket, followed quickly by a pen, and scribbles down the names. "I'll keep an eye out. Don't know how I feel about weasel-poop coffee though." He lets out a low chuckle. "A lot's changed since I went under."

"Right. Can't say I don't see where the guy is coming from though. I wouldn't take to kindly to people dumping their trash in New York either."

"It's not--okay, there's these critters that run around in the coffee fields, right? And they eat the ripest coffee berries, but they can't digest the beans. Now, since they eat the best berries, they, uh, leave the best beans. And it's somebody's job to go hunt those out. So, some places let those little guys run wild, and they're legit, and some places just want to put the fancy name on their beans, so they catch a few of those critters and force-feed 'em whatever coffee berries they've got. You don't wanna go to those places."

"Yeah, I can see where the guy's comin' from. I mean, he gets pretty arrogant about it sometimes, and he's usually a jerk in person, but I get the 'stop dumping crap on us' thing."

"Still doesn't sound appealing to me. Call me old-fashioned, but I like my coffee black, brewed from uneaten beans, and preferably not having come out the rear end of an animal." He can't help but crack a smile a little at that last part. "No judgment on anyone who's into that kind of thing though.

"Sounds like someone I know." A pause. "I gotta say, you're a lot more verbose than the Barton I know."

"That's fair. Perker's has that, too. Takes all kinds, right?" Clint smirks.

"Hey, I was raised by carnies. You're lucky I'm not all 'hurry, hurry, hurry, see the greatest show on Earth.'"

"I'll put it on the list. And working with the team I've been working with? I'd say that's true too." Because you don't really know what the term 'all kinds' entails until you've had to work with Tony Stark after all.

He laughs. "That's a 'secret origin' I can get behind. It's a lot more familiar than 'injected with a super soldier serum' or 'cryogenically preserved super assassin.'" Someone still has issues with that, apparently.

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ICON APPLICABLE!

\o/

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