milliways_bar | (no subject)

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(no subject)

Steve is looking very serious today; he's got newspapers, a map, and graph paper spread out in front of him, enough of it to take up an entire table. If one looks closely, the papers are all detailing the 'retirement' of Captain America, the map is of a several-storied building, and the graph paper is covered in doodles, scribbles and plans.

He looks like he could use some distraction.

Tiny Tags: Rojhaz, Adrian Shephard, Scaramouche, Hey Arnold, and Zexion.

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He sits straighter, if that's possible, and nods. "Retired General Steven Rogers, US Army, 2090."

Shephard could not have snapped to attention and a full salute faster or more neatly if he'd been a marionette and Jim Henson had been pulling his strings. "Sir."

Almost immediately: "At ease. It's good to meet you, Corporal."

"Yessir." Shephard drops his hand and settles back on his heels. "Same here, sir. I only just got here last night, I don't know much about the place yet."

"If you have any questions, I'll try to answer them. I've only been here a few times myself."

Shephard nods. "A couple of folks've tried to fill me in so far, and they're doin' all right, I guess, but..." He hesitates. "You said you're from 2090, sir?"

"I did. Time works strangely here."

"Yeah, they mentioned that... Sir, I don't suppose there's any chance you could tell me if there's a Pittsburgh in your time? I'm just... well, my world's got problems, and I"m just tryin' to check up on one of 'em..."

Steve passes over a map of America current for his time. There are several places starred in red pen. There are several concentric circles with a star in the middle doodled in the Gulf of Mexico.

"It's still there." And taking up much more room than it did in the past.

Shephard nods slowly. "Okay," he says, "okay. Uh. 's just occurred to me you might not... you know, be from the same world as me. They ever call it 'the Scab', where you come from? Or was there ever somewhere called 'City 23', or 'City 17'?"

"No, we aren't from the same world. I've heard City 17 mentioned."

But he won't say by who.

"Ah. Damn." He shakes his head. "Sorry, sir. It was worth a shot."

"I'm sorry I couldn't help more, Corporal." He marks something on his pad. "Tell me, do you know Gordon Freeman?"

"Fuckin' dog bastard sh-" He pulls himself up short. "Sorry, sir. Yes. I am familiar with the name, sir."

Steve narrows his eyes.

"In what capacity?"

Shephard takes refuge in formality, as generations of every kind of soldier have done before him.

"Sir, the Hazardous Environment Combat Unit was dispatched to Black Mesa Research Facility on May sixteenth of 2001 under orders to put down the alien intrusion caused by the scientific experiments being performed on the premises. There were additional orders to silence all possible witnesses and leave nothing present alive. Dr. Freeman was the only scientist of whom I am aware who mounted any kind of resistance."

He takes a breath.

"Sir, I am aware that those orders are illegal. My transport plane was shot down before our CO could give us those orders. I did not become aware of them until most of HECU had already pulled out. That does not change the fact that Dr. Freeman killed more Marines in one day than a bad drill instructor does in a year, sir."

He goes still and silent, listening to his story. He knew Freeman was fighting a war, and there are always, always causalities in war. That doesn't make it any easier when faced with evidence of those casualties outside of battle.

"No, it doesn't."

Shephard nods once, hands behind his back.

"May I ask how it is you know the man, sir?"

Shortly: "You may. He is assisting with a revolution on my own world."

"Oh."

It's ... difficult... to think of anything to say beyond that.

Although it does leave Shephard wondering, as his eyes drift down to the map again, just exactly what some of those markings signify...

Killing soldiers is part of why they need Gordon Freeman. He isn't going to apologize for that.

He will answer questions if asked, however.

There are moments that Shephard does not admit to when he takes an honest look at his situation and feels himself to be seriously and profoundly alone. This is one of those moments.

But moments pass, that's their nature, so he nods and clears his throat. "Unrelated, sir: just what sort of grace period does this place give on the tabs? I had about thirty dollars in my wallet when I got here and somehow I don't think my Visa card's worth much any more."

"I am probably not the person to be asking," he says, apologetically. "Someone is covering mine."

He does, however, lay down his pen and turn to Shephard. "I'm sorry for your loss, Corporal."

Shephard bites his lip a moment. "Sir," he says, "thank you, sir; but Black Mesa's kinda small compared to everything else that's happened since then back home. I got bigger things to worry about than that."

"Such as?" He knows a little about Gordon's world, but not as much as he should.