(no subject)

[quigonejinn]

1. At the age of four, by himself, in the sunlight on the floor of the living room with the radio.

2. At the age of six, with his mother, at a pipefitters-and-boilermakers union fundraiser dance in support of longshoremen striking for humane working conditions and living wages. She wore a light blue dress with a white collar, and Steve's father held her up so that he could see her speak on stage -- the women of Brooklyn support their brothers and sisters struggling to bring dignity to the working condition in the ports of San Francisco. There was a band afterwards, and she came down from the stage to applause and held out her hand.

Steve's father handed him to dance with the woman of the hour. Steve came up to her hip, and he could smell the old-fashioned carnation blooms she had tucked at her waist.

His father was dead two years later. What does Steve remember about his father?

3. At the age of seventeen, with his mother, when it was her turn to die. The nurse's union helped her get a private room, and Bucky drove him out to it on his day off. Bucky was in the hall now, flirting with a nurse to keep them around past the end of visiting hours, because who knew when they could get out here again? Next week?

Again: the wireless. Again: sunlight on the floor. Steve, realizing what it felt like to hold someone smaller and more frail than yourself, and learning what it means to say goodbye.

4. Peggy, and it was -- not so long ago, by Steve's way of thinking of it.

5. By the side of Tony Stark's infinity pool. Old was new, and retro was modern again. It was a fancy event, so there was a band, and Steve wore a white jacket.

"Does it fit?" Pepper comes out to make sure he is all right. She has her hair down; she looks happy, and the green silk hangs beautifully off her shoulders.

"It's perfect," he says. "You look wonderful."

She smiles, touches him on the elbow, and sees his hesitation, so she stays out there for a moment longer, hand still resting on his sleeve, and then goes back into the music and the dancing and the people. He sees Tony come up to her, say something that makes her laugh, and he takes her champagne glass and gets her to dance with him. Tony is also wearing a white jacket. The music drifts out to the pool.

Steve takes a deep breath and listens to the ocean, to the music, and moves his feet a little, too, and thinks of his mother. Peggy. Bucky. All these things that are not quite lost, and not quite past, yet completely out of reach.