The Soldier And The Cabbie

I Was Wondering

January 17, 1942

    January was full of rainstorms, all the way to thunder and lighting type downpour, and of course, Steve Rogers ended up in an alley in downtown Brooklyn, in a fight after he had snapped at a guy cat-calling some girl across the street. He had no doubt that the guy's friends had split as soon as it began to look like rain, even though nothing had come down yet, and that at least meant he only had one guy beating on him. Just as he stood up again after being knocked down for perhaps the tenth time, a girl's voice came from behind the guy, causing him to turn, and giving Steve a moment to lean on the wall.

     "Hey! What are you doing beating someone up in my alley?" The jerk turned towards the girl, taking a few steps towards her, which led to Steve attempting to move, and failing spectacularly as he almost fell flat on his face.

    "Don't see your name on it, sweetheart." He said, seeming to be trying to placate her by flirting. The girl wasn't phased.

   "Maybe not, but it's my family's property where the law is concerned, and you're trespassing." She began to move past him, but he grabbed her left wrist. The girl was, Steve assumed, glaring at him as she spoke again. "You have five seconds to let go of me before I bash your head in with this wrench. Five." The boy laughed, which went on for a few seconds.

   "Listen, sweetheart. I'm-" He crumpled as the wrench hit the side of his head. The girl seemed to frown, though he couldn't see her well yet.

    "Hmm, I think he actually thought I was kidding." She walked quickly over to him, and he realized it was Elaine, dressed in a shirt, overalls, and working shoes. In her belt loop, was a wrench, which he assumed had just been used to knock out the other boy. She pulled Steve's arm over her shoulder, helping him move more quickly towards the building to their left, and he realized that he must have picked a fight in the alley right next to her machine shop, and moreover how lucky it was that he had. The guy had landed a solid punch to Steve's head, leaving him a bit dazed, but not with a concussion. Steve had had enough of those to know when one had occurred.

Elaine helped him to a chair in a side room, and began to start a fire in the fireplace, allowing Steve a moment to look around. The room was small, but not in a way that made it cramped, which made sense as Elaine was severely claustrophobic. He had only ever learned that when the ferris wheel on Coney Island had gotten stuck, and she had nearly had a panic attack. He was the one who hated heights, while she seemed to thrive on the thrill of being miles in the sky, so he had been quick to understand, calming her quickly. But this room was warm and inviting, the wallpaper worn, but not dirty, and the cushion he sat on was comfortable. Elaine herself seemed to belong in the room as much as she did anywhere happy and comfortable. She seemed to flourish in joyful circumstances, always the optimist.

   The girl herself came back to his side, a first aid kit in hand, and began to clean him up. Her expression, however, was different than her usual worry. Her brow was creased, her eyes were glossy with what looked like tears, and her lip was trembling as she did her best to keep it in check. Even her hands, which we're usually steady enough that he'd trust her right next to his eye with a needle, were shaking so hard he thought they might fall off. She wouldn't meet his eyes, and that scared him. So, when her hand came back with the damp cloth held in it, Steve took it in his own. Elaine looked down, and the blond boy dipped his head to look at her, trying to catch her eyes.

     "Hey, are you okay? What's wrong?" Elaine sat back on her heels, blinking hard as she stared at the ceiling for a moment before tiring to him.
  
     "You scared the hell out of me, Rogers." She said, her voice quiet and low. He cocked his head in confusion.
 
     "How?" Elaine looked at him again, but not directly. Almost like she was avoiding his gaze.