milliways_bar | (no subject)

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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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Shephard nods, once.

"They called it the Seven Hours War, sir. I dunno if anybody survived who was wearin' a uniform that day."

"Then it seems to me," he says, slowly. "That you're about the most qualified man on Earth."

To borrow a line from Gordon:

... he hadn't thought of that.

Well, it's true.

"The Marines," he begins, gearing up for a Speech. "Have a long and proud tradition. You can't let that tradition die with you."

Adrian would like to flail right now. He really would. But he's a Marine, and dammit, Marines do not flail.

He draws himself up a little straighter, though (consciously or unconsciously, it's tough to say), and nods. You can't not, when a man like Rogers is talking to you this way.

"From 1775, men have worn and died in that uniform. You will survive, and you will be victorious, and you will live to induct others into that tradition."

Less than twenty-four hours ago he was being pinned to the wall by the forearm of an angry, bereaved man shouting that he had no right to the uniform at all. He didn't expect the pendulum to swing the other way quite so soon, or so sharply. But far be it from him to complain about it.

"Sir! Yes, sir!"

Steve stands up, bone-straight, and salutes.

It's a pity no one's around with a camera. They could use a photograph of Adrian's returned salute in a textbook one day.

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